by Mesu Andrews
“I don’t know.” Jehoiada kept walking, Nathanael following as quickly as his bare feet would carry him, through the portico, down the steps, across the outer court, and into the high priest’s chamber—
“Jehosheba!” both men shouted at once, startling her and interrupting Zechariah’s peaceful meal.
The baby cried, and Jehosheba fumbled to close her robe, plopping Zechariah in Gadara’s lap. The midwife already held Joshua, who appeared to be content and well fed.
Nathanael’s eyes were alight as he walked past them into the next chamber. “Keilah?” When she didn’t answer, he stepped back into the room. “Where’s Keilah?” His smile began to fade. “How are Zibiah and Jehoash?”
Jehoiada saw his wife wilting and gathered her in his arms. “Jehosheba, what hap—”
“Where’s Keilah?” Nathanael grabbed Jehosheba’s arm, trying to wrench her from Jehoiada’s grasp, but the high priest shoved him away.
“Nathanael!” Zabad walked in just then and grabbed Nathanael as he was lunging toward the high priest.
“That’s enough of that!” Gadara shouted at the men. Both babies started to wail. “Keilah’s safe, thanks to Jehosheba, and she did it all without acting like an ox in the market! Oxen in priests’ robes, that’s what you are!” She gathered both babies, soothing them as she left the room. “Shame on those silly men for upsetting our day.”
Jehoiada wanted to ignore Gadara, who too often resembled a polished brass mirror—reflecting every blemish of his character. But, as usual, she was right. “Forgive me, Nathanael,” he said, watching Zabad steady his fearful friend. Jehoiada pulled his wife into a fierce embrace. “Can you tell this ox in the market what happened?”
“Keilah is hidden away with Prince Jehoash in my abba’s bedchamber.” She melted into Jehoiada’s embrace, and he guided her to the couch as she gathered her composure.
Zabad and Nathanael sat on cushions at her feet, waiting.
“Ima has planned Hazi’s burial procession for this evening,” she began, “and I plan to retrieve Keilah and Jehoash afterward. It was the only solution I could think of when I saw Ima Thaliah’s guards killing Hazi’s sons.”
“You watched them kill . . .” Zabad said, horrified.
“No, no. I saw the guards leaving the wives’ chambers with bloody swords . . .”
Jehoiada watched his wife’s face drain of color. “Jehosheba, what’s wrong?”
“There was no sound.” Before he could clarify, her panic poured out. “There was no sound! If the guards had killed only babies, as Zev said, surely at least one ima would have wept or moaned.” She was crying now, ranting through tears. “But there was nothing, Jehoiada. No sound. Zev said if I escaped with Jehoash, he’d stay with Zibiah. But he knew, didn’t he? He knew it was the only way to save Jehoash. Zev and Zibiah should have been here by now!”
Jehoiada gathered her in his arms, speechless, exchanging a despairing glance with Zabad. Nathanael dropped his head and wept. When Jehosheba stilled, Jehoiada tipped her chin and searched the windows of her troubled soul. “After you left Keilah in your abba’s chamber, did you go back to find Zev or Zibiah?”
She laid her head against his chest. “No, I came straight back here to feed Zechariah and Joshua. I thought Zev would bring Zibiah here—”
“How did you enter the Temple gate without me seeing you?” Zabad interrupted.
“I used the Corner Gate at the back of the complex. I knew if anyone saw me return without Keilah, worship would stop, and the whole city would realize something was wrong.”
A loud pounding on the door launched Zabad to his feet, Nathanael not far behind him. Within a few racing heartbeats, the gatekeeper had drawn his dagger and signaled the second priest to open the door.
Jehoiada held his wife tighter still. “Yes, who is it?”
“I have word from the prophets,” came a strangled whisper.
Warily, Nathanael backed away as Zabad opened the door. A man barely larger than a child stood at the threshold with smudged face and wild hair. He wore a camel-hair robe and leather belt. No sandals. “Elisha sent me with word of Yahweh’s victory.” His eyes sparkled when he smiled.
Zabad grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside, closing the door before he drew more attention. “Did anyone see you?”
“I’m sure anyone that was looking saw me.” The simple answer confounded Zabad and tickled the prophet.
Feeling a grin threaten, Jehoiada left his wife’s side, inviting the man-child to join him at the table. “Tell us about this victory.”
He knelt across from the big high priest. “Jezebel is dead, eaten by dogs. Not enough left to bury.” He leaned over and spit on the limestone floor. “And that was merely the first of General Jehu’s—excuse me, King Jehu’s—housecleaning.”
“Are you sure?” Jehosheba breathed—relief, wonder, hope playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Are you the princess?”
Startled, she slid off the couch and took shelter behind Jehoiada, seeming somewhat rattled by the strange little man. “This is my wife, and yes—she is King Hazi’s sister. We heard he was also killed in Jehu’s slaughter, but didn’t realize the rebellion was at Yahweh’s command.”
The prophet peeked over Jehoiada’s shoulder, inspecting Jehosheba like a fig in the market. “I’ve heard she’s a descendant of David—not the family of Ahab. Is that true?”
Annoyed, Jehoiada leaned across the table, using his size to intimidate. “True. But we’re talking about Yahweh’s victory, not my wife or her family.”
The little prophet rose to his knees and leaned across the table, mimicking Jehoiada’s tactic with a grin. “Yahweh’s victory is the destruction of Ahab’s family. Jehu killed the seventy princes and even slaughtered King Hazi’s cousins since they happened to wander into Israel.” His face shadowed, and he seemed suddenly dismayed by a thought. “Jehu overstepped his calling when his bloodlust reached into David’s line. I hope your King Ahaziah produced offspring to maintain God’s covenant on the throne.”
The realization toppled Jehoiada back to his cushion. “Jehu has killed the seeds of Ahab and David in Israel . . . Athaliah has killed the princes in Judah.” Lord God, we must save Jehoash. Regaining the breath knocked from him, Jehoiada whispered, “How could Jehu kill everyone so quickly?”
“King Jehu didn’t have to kill them all himself. Jezebel’s own eunuchs threw her off her balcony, and the seventy princes of Ahab were killed by their own tutors—to prove their loyalty to the new king. Jehu is a wild man—unpredictable—but one man obedient to Yahweh can turn the course of a nation.”
The words pierced Jehoiada’s heart like a dagger. Hadn’t he tried to convince Hazi of that very thing? “What will Jehu do next?”
“Our new king is preparing for war, High Priest, and has already commissioned Jehonadab the Rekabite to build more chariots.”
Jehosheba leaned over Jehoiada’s shoulder. “Excuse me, sir, but will he use King Hazi’s Carites as soldiers? They accompanied my brother to Jezreel.” Jehoiada stared at his wife, confused by her sudden boldness.
She planted her fists at her waist. “Zev will want to know what happened to his men.”
“All those associated with the house of Ahab—chief men, close friends, and priests—are dead. Including those loyal to your brother.” The prophet recited his answer like a market list.
Just then, the shofars blew, wresting everyone’s attention from the strange little man.
Memories of the Philistine raid made Jehoiada’s heart race. “Has Jehu come south? Will he attack Jerusalem and begin Yahweh’s reforms in Judah?”
“Hmm.” The prophet paused, rubbing the patchy whiskers on his chin. “That would seem a wise strategy . . . but no. Yahweh commanded Jehu to clean out his own waste pot and prepare for further abuse from King Hazael’s Arameans.” Without warning, he leapt to his feet. “I must return to the school at Jericho. Elisha will send word if Yahweh’s plan affects the
Temple in Jerusalem or the people of Judah.” The prophet whisked from the chamber, leaving Jehoiada and the others gawking when the door clicked shut.
“That was the strangest man I’ve ever seen.” Zabad was the first to voice the shared opinion.
A second shofar sounded, and Jehosheba donned an amazing calm. “Royal heralds are probably announcing Hazi’s death in the streets. While there’s increased activity at the palace, I could use the prophet’s report as an excuse to see the Gevirah again and then search for Zev and Zibiah.”
“I’ll escort her,” Zabad said.
Jehoiada squeezed his eyes shut. He knew Sheba must continue her pretense with Athaliah, and he must trust Yahweh with her safety—again. Is this how faith grows, Lord? Challenging it repeatedly?
Silver trumpets blared from the palace, the signal of court convened in the Throne Hall.
Zabad chuckled. “I suppose we should have expected the Gevirah to call a special session. It appears I’ll escort the high priest to the palace instead of his wife.”
Thank You, Lord.
Jehosheba was on her feet before Zabad finished speaking. “Yes, Zabad! You escort Jehoiada while I get Keilah from Abba’s chamber, and then we’ll search for Zibiah.” She was halfway to the next chamber when Jehoiada heard, “Gadara, I need a gourd and a small blanket to take to the palace!”
The story of Abraham offering Isaac on the altar was suddenly too real. Must he really be willing to give up everyone he loved if Yahweh asked it of him?
Sheba lingered in the palace garden, hiding behind a caper bush, far from the processional preparations but near enough to watch Jehoiada and Zabad enter the Horse Gate. After they disappeared inside, she tightened the blanket around the gourd and nestled it against her chest. The perfect size for a baby.
Strutting as arrogantly as the queen herself, Sheba entered the main hall of the palace. Watchmen shouted threats at the overflow of court spectators in an effort to quell raw emotions. Sheba shouldered past the crowd toward the grand stairway, tilting her bundle toward her chest to keep prying eyes from its true content. Nodding condescendingly to every servant and guard, she ascended the stairs and finally reached the third floor. Relief washed over her. No guards. Of course not, when the chaos is by the Throne Hall. Thank You, Yahweh. Hurrying toward Abba’s chamber, she slipped in without a sound, surrounded by used palace furnishings.
“Keilah?” Nothing. A little louder, she whispered again, “Keilah, are you—”
“We’re here!” Her friend emerged from behind a tall stack of mattresses, her face registering instant concern. “Why did you bring Zechariah?”
“I didn’t. See?” Sheba separated the blanket from the gourd and held both proudly aloft. They giggled together. “I simply needed people to think I brought Zechariah so I could walk out of the palace with a baby.” She took Jehoash in her arms and swaddled him in the blanket she’d brought from the Temple.
“How’s Zibiah?” Keilah’s hopeful eyes dimmed at Jehosheba’s silence. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. She and Zev never returned to the Temple. I came to get you first, and then—”
The door banged open. Two watchmen entered—one of them the man Sheba had deceitfully sent to the garden this morning. “Queen Athaliah has deemed this chamber off limits.” He paused, examining Keilah from head to toe. “I thought you came in here alone, Princess . . . ?”
Sheba’s heart thundered like racing horses, her thoughts keeping pace. “What do you mean, ‘Queen Athaliah’?”
“I mean the Gevirah will assume Judah’s throne in a few moments, and you didn’t answer my question.” He moved to seize Keilah’s arm, but Sheba blocked his path.
“You’re not much of a watchman if you miss a beautiful woman like Keilah walking into Abba’s bedchamber with me. She’s the baby’s nursemaid.” Wise without lies.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m a very good watchman, Princess, and I’ll prove it by taking you both to the queen. As you so rightly reminded me this morning, Queen Athaliah’s in no mood for incompetence.”
Sheba sensed she’d spent her last shekel of intimidation on this man. Tears were her only recourse. “I’m sorry I tricked you this morning.” She sniffed, allowing pools to form on her lower lashes. “The truth is, I never said good-bye to my abba or my brother, and I’m grieving. Can you understand that?”
The second guard handed her a dirty piece of linen to wipe her nose, but the threatening one remained stoic and silent.
“Ima Thaliah has never seen my son,” she continued, causing both men to instinctively look at the babe in her arms. Wise without lies. She squeezed her eyes closed, releasing a stream of tears down her cheeks. “Perhaps today, during the specially convened court, my ima should see her grandson. Isn’t he the only one she has left?” It was a terrible risk. She wasn’t sure Ima had murdered all the princes. And if she was forced to present Jehoash, would Ima kill him, thinking he was Zechariah?
“All right, Princess, I’ll gladly present you and your son to the queen—and tell her I found you in King Jehoram’s bedchamber. I suppose she’ll kill your son like the rest of her grandsons.”
She heard Keilah gasp. Ima had killed all of Hazi’s sons. Sheba forced indifference—and then a slow grin. “I have a better idea, Watchman. You go right now and tell Ima Thaliah that her daughter, a queen of destiny, can’t honor the spirits of the dead in Yahweh’s Temple. Then you ask her if she forbids me to have a private Marzeh ceremony with my son in Abba Jehoram’s chamber. Go ahead. Ask her if she forbids worship of Baal Melkart in Abba’s chamber.” Wise without lies. Wise without lies.
Her new argument confounded the threatening guard, and Sheba attacked his confusion. “With all the sons of David dead and Ima Thaliah on the throne, you would do well to court my favor, Watchman. Have I not always been the queen’s treasure?”
Fear washed both guards’ faces white as a tomb, and Sheba knew she’d won the battle.
While the men debated silently, Sheba hoisted Jehoash into Keilah’s arms and lifted a trembling hand to her forehead. “I’m too upset now to appear before the queen. Come, Keilah, we’re returning to the Temple. Get out of my way!” Plowing forward, she split the guards like freshly turned soil and called over her shoulder, “I’ve got to rest before tonight’s processional. If I faint on the way to King David’s tombs, I’ll tell Queen Athaliah it’s your fault!”
She heard Keilah’s faint footsteps behind her but dared not look back. Lord God, get us back to the Temple safely.
44
2 CHRONICLES 22:10–12
When Athaliah . . . saw that her son was dead, she proceeded to destroy the whole royal family of the house of Judah. But Jehosheba . . . hid the child from Athaliah so she could not kill him. He remained hidden with them at the temple of God for six years while Athaliah ruled the land.
Zabad and Jehoiada again used the shortest route to the Throne Hall, hurrying along the dimly lit corridor of the northern stable. They emerged through a side door into the teeming courtroom and found Athaliah seated on Hazi’s throne, Mattan standing at her right in full regalia, and—
“Jehoiada, it’s Zev!” Zabad spoke over the high priest’s shoulder, pressing him faster through the crowd and closer to the throne. “Look at his face. He’s badly beaten.”
Jehoiada noted the deep cuts and fresh bruises on Zev’s face and his slightly swayed stance. The Carite captain was definitely in pain and had met with violence since coming to the palace. How many guards had attacked him to inflict such damage on a soldier so skilled? Had he been injured while trying to save Zibiah? Would Athaliah trust him to guard her if he’d shown loyalty to Hazi’s wife? Jehoiada had given up trying to understand Athaliah’s scheming, but Yahweh knew.
Lord, give me wisdom to discern truth and courage to protect Your people.
Watchmen separated a scuffle between spectators in the back corner, and the whole room throbbed with angst. Jehoiada and Zabad continued their slow prog
ress toward the front, wincing when Athaliah began pounding the platform with the ancient scepter of Solomon. When her signal failed to settle the mob, she motioned to Zev, who called a watchman to the platform and relayed the Gevirah’s message.
Without warning, the watchman grabbed the nearest spectator and sliced his throat. A collective gasp joined Jehoiada’s horror, and utter silence fell with the dead man.
“You two,” Zev shouted from swollen lips, “out with him.” Two watchmen dragged the dead body from court, trailing a testimony of Athaliah’s ruthlessness up the center aisle and out the grand cedar doors.
“Thank you for your attention,” the Gevirah began.
Jehoiada’s stomach lurched when he felt Zabad’s hand pressing him forward. “Keep going! We should be at the front of the crowd so we can obey if Yahweh calls us to act.” Zabad must have been Yahweh’s infusion of courage. Jehoiada commanded his legs to move, praying he’d be able to hear Yahweh speak over his pounding heart.
“As you heard from the royal heralds in the streets, my son and your king, Hazi, was brutally murdered by the traitorous General Jehu of Israel’s army. And as you can see, Captain Zev fought bravely to return his king’s body to Judah.” A murmur began, but Athaliah lifted the scepter and quieted the room like a tomb. “A messenger from Israel arrived moments ago with news that both King Ram and the Gevirah Jizebaal are also dead.”
Jehoiada and Zabad arrived at her throne as she delivered the news. “Jehu didn’t do that to Zev!” Zabad whispered over his shoulder.
Jehoiada shushed his gatekeeper, realizing Athaliah meant to use Zev to gain the crowd’s sympathy.
“My high priest, Mattan, has divined the meanings of these dire events and will interpret their impact on our nation.”
Mattan signaled six of his priests out of the shadows, each holding a gold basin containing bloody entrails. “The blackened goat heart is the sign of death and destruction . . .”
Zabad leaned over again. “I think I could have divined death and destruction after hearing of Hazi’s, Ram’s, and Jezebel’s deaths, don’t you?”
