by Mesu Andrews
2 KINGS 9:27
When Ahaziah king of Judah saw what had happened, he fled up the road to Beth Haggan. Jehu chased him, shouting, “Kill him too!” They wounded him in his chariot on the way up to Gur near Ibleam, but he escaped to Megiddo and died there.
Sheba and Keilah stood with Zev, ready to exit the moment Zabad opened the Temple gates at dawn. “Yes, I remember the signal,” Sheba assured her husband for the sixth time, kissing his cheek.
“Tell us again.” This time Zabad quizzed her.
She reached into her pocket for the unique multicolored priests’ linen, exposing only a peek of it. “If we’re in trouble, I’ll hang this swatch of fabric from a north window of the palace. Now open the gate!”
Zabad glanced at Jehoiada, who reluctantly nodded his approval.
The lump in Sheba’s throat grew. “I’ll be back soon.” She rose on tiptoes and kissed her husband’s cheek—for the seventh time—and left the Temple grounds.
“Are you all right?” Keilah squeezed Sheba’s hand as they walked down the garden path toward the palace, Zev leading them.
She nodded but couldn’t speak. In truth, the inner trembling had returned. Zechariah had sensed it, refusing to nurse, and Keilah had soothed him with her milk supply. Probably for the best. Sheba might have to nurse both Jehoash and Zechariah tonight. Who knew how Zibiah would react to the news about Hazi?
Pressing a breath between pursed lips, she tried to staunch her stubborn tears. “How do I tell her, Keilah? What do I say?”
“Yahweh will give you words.” Another hand squeeze, and they followed Zev through the servants’ quarters, fear chafing at Sheba’s nerves like the sackcloth she and Keilah wore. Though most attendants would be away from their quarters, they hoped their plain robes would avoid suspicion.
Yahweh, I’m frightened. Please calm my fears and prepare the way.
Nearing the southernmost end of the barracks, they ascended the guards’ spiral stairway to the women’s hall on the second floor. Zev opened the hall door, surprising the Judean watchmen on duty. Abruptly, Zev closed the door behind him, leaving the women waiting in the stairway.
“What’s he saying?” Keilah whispered.
Before Sheba heard a word, Zev opened the door and led them past six contrite watchmen, straight to Zibiah’s door. Sheba caught his shoulder as he reached for the latch. “What did you say?”
“I told them Hazi is dead, but unless they want to face the Gevirah’s wrath, they’ll keep quiet until you’ve had a chance to inform his widow.” He leaned close to whisper, “Athaliah’s watchmen have no honor, but they’re not stupid.” He opened the door and stood aside, allowing Sheba and Keilah to enter first.
“Sheba? Keilah, what are you doing—” Even in the dim glow of dawn, Sheba saw Zibiah’s sleepy face—and recognized her fear at the sight of Zev.
Sheba lunged toward the bed, covering Zibiah’s mouth before her wail escaped. Keilah held her in a ferocious embrace, both soothing as best they could while keeping her silent.
Sheba cried too, whispering in her ear, “Hazi was killed in battle, Zibiah. I’m sorry. I know it’s awful, but we can’t weep and wail. Ima Thaliah can’t know until we’ve hidden you and Jehoash, Zibiah. You must be silent.”
Her words seemed to sink in slowly, calming their friend’s flailing and grief. And then confusion. “Why are we in danger?”
Sheba’s heart nearly broke at the innocence of that question. How could an aristocratic sheep farmer’s daughter fathom Athaliah’s plan for the queens of destiny, when Sheba herself didn’t know it completely? Zibiah had been raised at her ima’s knee, helping servants with spinning, weaving, and baking bread, with little exposure to bloodthirsty political scheming. “Anyone with a drop of royal blood is in danger until it’s clear who will sit on Hazi’s throne.”
The handmaids. Sheba turned to find Zibiah’s maids huddled around Prince Jehoash’s cradle. Pinning Keilah with a stare, she nodded in the baby’s direction. Understanding, her friend ambled toward the cradle, gathered Jehoash in her arms, and placed him in Zibiah’s embrace.
Sheba slipped Hazi’s signet ring from her pocket, keeping it hidden for only Zibiah to see. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she ensured the handmaids couldn’t hear her whisper. “Jehoiada will keep this at the Temple, but someday this will be Jehoash’s.”
“But he’s a baby. How long must Jehoash wait to be ki—”
Sheba clamped her hand over Zibiah’s mouth, patience waning. “Shh! Just trust me.”
Zibiah squeezed her eyes shut, nodded, and lowered her voice. “I’m sorry, of course. What must I do?”
“Keilah will stay here with you and Jehoash while Zev and I tell Gevirah Thaliah about Hazi. Gather only the things you absolutely need, and when we return . . .” Glancing back at the handmaids, Sheba added quietly, “You and Jehoash will come with us, but don’t let your maids leave the chamber to slip a message to anyone. I think we can trust them, but . . .”
Word of Hazi’s death had traveled down the women’s hall to the watchmen stationed at Ima Thaliah’s door. “I’m sorry about your brother, Princess,” one of the guards whispered from a bow, the same man who had been kind to her yesterday.
Sheba placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. Is the Gevirah awake yet?”
He stood to attention but kept his voice low. “Yes, my lady. She broke her fast and has already called for the priest Mattan to begin plans for the festival.”
“Thank you again. You may announce my arrival.” He lifted his spear to pound on the door, but Sheba stopped him. “Only my arrival. I’ll introduce the Carite.”
“Yes, my lady.” The spearhead hit the door, and the big guard disappeared inside.
Zev turned a slow, stunned look her direction. “Making friends, I see.”
She lifted only one corner of a smile. Hazi would have been proud too, no doubt. The thought pierced her anew. She sniffed fresh tears and rolled back her shoulders. “Walk behind me, Zev. I know you’re too big to hide, but Ima will know about Hazi the moment she sees you. We need to get as far as possible into her chamber before dealing with her reaction—whatever it is.”
He nodded as the door opened wide, and then did as she asked.
Relieved to see the outer chamber lit dimly with niche lamps, she heard Ima’s voice from the bedchamber. “By the gods, Daughter, why have you come so early?” As Sheba realized her ima might not be dressed yet, the Gevirah stepped around the dividing curtain in full splendor.
And then she spotted Zev.
Stumbling backward, she grabbed the curtain, bringing the heavy tapestry down to the floor with her. Sheba rushed toward her, but Thaliah held her off, arm extended, eyes fixed on the Carite. “Tell me.” No tears, her voice cold and dead. When Sheba tried again to approach her, she screamed, “No! Tell me now!”
Sheba recoiled, but Zev knelt, head bowed. “The traitor General Jehu drove like a madman to Jezreel, killed your brother, King Ram, and chased King Hazi and me in the chariot to Ibleam. Your son took an arrow to the liver and died at the Megiddo fortress. I’ve wrapped his body and await your command, Gevirah. I have no word on the fate of Queen Jizebaal.”
Silence.
Standing by the Carite, Sheba tried to still her ragged breathing. She hadn’t even considered Jezebel! Zev’s report had been masterful. Concise. Truthful. Yet no hint of his real feelings or purpose. Could she ever be as proficient? She heard a sniff and glimpsed a distinct quiver on Ima Thaliah’s lips, tears gathering on her lower lashes.
Four eunuchs continued their morning work in the bedchamber, exposed after Ima pulled down the dividing curtain—one arranging the cosmetics, another making the bed, the others at the washbasins. None of them dared pause and risk her wrath.
“Ima, may I send one of your eunuchs for warm honeyed wine? Perhaps I should stay with you.” Sheba kept her distance, not willing to be rebuffed again.
Surprisingly warm, Ima softened her features and ex
tended her hand for assistance. Both Zev and Sheba hurried to help her stand. “Thank you, my dear, but no.” She wiped tears, smearing the kohl already applied, and then huffed when she noticed it on her hand. “Ohhh, I’ll have to retouch my eyes. Don’t put away those cosmetics,” she shouted at her eunuch. Wiping away another sniff, she took a deep breath and addressed Zev. “Thank you, Captain, for bringing my son’s body home. King Hazi will be buried in King David’s tombs—the last of David’s sons on Judah’s throne. We’ll make sure his memory lives forever.”
Warning shofars sounded in Sheba’s head. The last of David’s sons on Judah’s throne. “Ima, I’m sure Zev is capable of arranging the burial details. I’ll stay so we can discuss your plans for Judah.”
“Forgive my boldness,” Zev interrupted, winning a wicked stare from Ima, “but my duty now lies with you, Gevirah, and my talents lie with sword and dagger, not in women’s work with burial spices.”
“Your duty and your talents lie wherever I command them.” The Gevirah’s tone was unpolished granite. “Deliver my son’s body to the palace garden. We begin the processional into the City of David at dusk.”
Zev stood and bowed once more. “Yes, Gevirah.”
“Sheba is leaving as well,” she called after him. “You may escort her back to the Temple before you make the arrangements.” Ima cradled Sheba’s hand, her expression pleasant. “I will send for you later today, my dear. We’ll talk then about our plans for Judah’s queens of destiny. I must find a messenger who knows something of Ima Jizebaal’s fate. If she’s hiding in Tyre as I suspect, we must continue the work already begun. Go back to your husband for now, but be ready to take action, my girl.” Sheba lingered, and the pleasantry turned to a hiss. “I said go!”
Sheba bowed and then hurried to catch up with Zev at the chamber door. We must get Zibiah and Jehoash to the quarry!
As they exited, Ima called out behind them, “Send in all the watchmen from the women’s hallway immediately. I want them in my chamber now!”
Zev bowed, and Sheba walked out the door as Judah’s watchmen filed in.
It was the longest walk of Sheba’s life. Her steps slow, gait steady, she strolled down the long women’s hall as Zev informed every watchman at each door of the Gevirah’s immediate summons. Every guard showed terror, glancing at Sheba as if she’d undoubtedly instigated his execution—as she’d inadvertently done to Ima’s chamber guards yesterday.
When Sheba and Zev arrived in Zibiah’s chamber, they immediately dismissed the maids. Zibiah sat nursing Jehoash while Keilah fidgeted beside her, not knowing what to pack. Sheba lost all patience. “Zibiah, let Keilah nurse the baby, and you fill a shoulder bag!”
Sheba thought the maids had gone, but one of them tapped her on the shoulder. “My lady, I know we’ve been dismissed, but if we’re seen in our rooms in the middle of a workday—”
“I don’t care! Just get out!”
The girl dissolved in tears and ran, the other maids following. They were gone only a few moments when Sheba’s conscience assaulted her. She paused at the door, casting a lethal stare at Zibiah. “I’m going to apologize, but when I return, we’re taking you and Jehoash out of here—packed or unpacked.”
She calmed herself before opening the door and then peeked into the hall. The maids were descending the grand stairway—a silly way to go unnoticed. She rolled her eyes, then gasped. Two watchmen exited one of Hazi’s wives’ chambers, wiping blood from their swords. Then two more from across the hall, swords also dripping blood. The guards exchanged wary glances, shook their heads, and entered the next two chambers.
Sheba closed the door, clutching her stomach and covering a sob. Zev noticed her horror. “What? What did you see?”
“The guards.” She stared at Zibiah and Jehoash. Lord God, please no!
Zev shook her. “Sheba, what about the guards?” He reached for the latch, but she fell against the door, keeping him from opening it. “We can’t let them know we saw them.”
“Saw them what?” Zibiah asked in a panicked whisper.
Sheba’s eyes locked on Zev. “I saw the guards leaving the wives’ chambers with bloody swords.”
“Ohhh!” Keilah and Zibiah stifled their cries, and baby Jehoash began to wail.
“Shh,” Sheba whispered. “You must keep him still!”
Zibiah handed the babe to Keilah, who hid him under her robe and began to nurse the little prince. She was the one most apt to succeed amid the tension.
Zev drew Sheba close, whispering so only she could hear. “They’re likely killing only the boys—and the imas if they resist. I’ll stay here with Zibiah, but you must get the prince out of this chamber. Can Keilah keep him under her robe all the way to the Temple?”
Sheba considered her resourceful friend. Hiding Jehoash while seated on the bed wasn’t hard, but keeping him quietly nursing while strolling to the Temple . . . “No, Zev. We can’t make it that far without being seen.” Tears started to form. Panic began chewing at her, crumbling from the inside out. “Hazi’s sons! All of Hazi’s sons!”
He held her face—and her gaze—until she calmed. “We’re going to save Zibiah and Jehoash, but we can’t march Zibiah out of this chamber unnoticed. You and Keilah can leave together—as you came—hiding the baby under Keilah’s garment. I’ll stay here to guard Zibiah.” When she nodded, he released her. “Since you can’t make it back to the Temple, you must think of somewhere in the palace no one would search for Keilah and Jehoash.”
“Maybe—”
“Don’t tell me.” He clapped his hand over her mouth, startling her.
The intensity of his stare nearly rekindled her panic. He didn’t want to know in case he was captured—and tortured. The thought chilled her. She nodded and he released her.
Sheba hurried toward her friends and whispered instructions. “Zev will stay here to guard you, Zibiah, and I’ll hide Keilah and Jehoash.” When Zibiah started to protest, Sheba cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead. “I love you, my friend.”
She grabbed Keilah’s arm and nudged her toward the door, snagging Zibiah’s basket of spindles on the way. “Hold this over one arm to hide your little bulge.” She patted her nephew’s warm body. “Stay close behind me, and keep Jehoash nursing. Don’t stop for anyone, and act like you’re afraid of me.”
“Acting afraid won’t be difficult.” Keilah adjusted the baby and the basket. “All right. We’re ready.”
Sheba released a deep breath, steadied her nerves, and prayed for protection. She swung open the door with purpose and, without a pause, turned left, slipping into the guards’ spiral stairway. Keilah closed the door behind them and followed Sheba up. They exited the door near Hazi’s chamber on the third floor.
The watchman on duty nearly dropped his spear. “My lady, I—” Gathering his senses, he bristled. “You’re not allowed on the king’s hallway—”
“How dare you!” Sheba shouted, producing tears at near hysteria. “My brother is dead, and you dare challenge—”
“The king is dead? I had no idea . . . I’m sorry, I—”
Sheba glared through her tears, shaking her head dangerously. “Why aren’t you and the rest of these watchmen in the garden helping with preparations for the burial processional? I’m astonished you would hesitate to carry out the Gevirah’s orders. She’s in no mood for incompetence.”
“We’ll get down to the garden immediately!” He issued a deafening whistle, summoning every guard on the king’s hall—and then apologized when Sheba winced and covered her ears.
Feigning affront, she lifted her chin, heart pounding. “Please inform the Gevirah that I’ll gather a few things from Hazi’s chamber to place in his tomb before I return to the Temple. I’ll meet her in the garden at dusk for the processional.”
“Yes, my lady. I’ll send word to the Gevirah.” He bowed and led the entire floor of watchmen down the spiral stairs.
Sheba hurried toward Abba Jehoram’s chamber, Keilah whispering be
hind her, “I thought we were going to Hazi’s chamber.”
“I’ll retrieve a few keepsakes from Hazi’s room after we find a comfortable hiding place for you and Jehoash in Abba’s chamber. I’ll return for you tonight after the processional.”
43
2 KINGS 11:2
But Jehosheba . . . took Joash son of Ahaziah and stole him away from among the royal princes, who were about to be murdered. She put him and his nurse in a bedroom to hide him from Athaliah; so he was not killed.
With each progression of the morning’s service, Jehoiada glanced toward the palace, pleading for Yahweh’s protection of those he loved. So far, no priestly fabric waved from a window.
The sacrificial lamb was slain and the salting of the offering complete. Nathanael had assigned another priest to trim the wicks on the lampstands and offer incense on the golden altar in the Holy Place. Only the Levites’ psalm and the blasting of silver trumpets remained, and then this morning’s service would be over. Yahweh, forgive my preoccupation.
From where he stood atop the brazen altar, he saw Zabad hurry across the outer court and through the portico. Jehoiada caught his eye as he entered the priests’ court. Disappointment was scrawled across the gatekeeper’s features. No Jehosheba or Keilah. The Levites continued their worship, and Jehoiada turned to Nathanael, who was stationed at the northeast corner of the Temple porch. The high priest relayed the silent message and recognized his own angst on the second priest’s face.
Melodic voices accompanied by harp and lyre ended precisely on a single note. Jehoiada intoned Aaron’s ancient benediction, praying the words over his wife’s circumstance in this moment. “May Yahweh bless you and keep you; may Yahweh make His face shine on you and be gracious to you; may Yahweh turn His face toward you and give you peace.”
The silver trumpets blasted as he descended the altar steps. Nathanael met him before he reached the northern basins. “You didn’t see them return?”
“No.”
“Where could they be?”
