In the Shadow of Jezebel

by Mesu Andrews

  Jehoiada ignored him.

  “In the sheep’s stomach, I found an unground kernel of wheat, whole and complete. Baal Melkart has promised a new reign, a whole and complete ruler for Judah.” Receiving a flask of oil from a seventh priest, he lifted both hands. Athaliah slid from the throne onto her knees and removed her silken headpiece. “Athaliah, blood-born daughter of Jizebaal of Tyre and Ahab of Israel, chosen daughter of Judah’s great King Jehoshaphat and Gevirah of our noble King Hazi—by the divine power of almighty Baal Melkart, I anoint you queen and sovereign of Judah.” Mattan emptied the small flask of oil over Athaliah’s head. “Let all of Baal’s people rejoice.”

  Halting applause pattered, crackled, and died. The new queen resumed her throne and raised a linen cloth to blot the oil dripping down her cheeks. In the looming silence, she lowered her head, allowing Mattan to place Hazi’s crown atop her plaited black and gray hair.

  Scanning left and right, the new queen appraised her subjects and then rested her gaze on Yahweh’s high priest. “As I am now the whole and complete ruler of Judah, I decree that every household bow their heads and hearts to my lord Baal Melkart.”

  Zabad squeezed Jehoiada’s shoulder, and Jehoiada squeezed his eyes shut. Yahweh, I know You’re at work in Israel, but what about Judah? What will become of Your Temple and Your people here? A plaintive rumble spread through the gathering, and guards pressed in on all sides. Someone shoved Zabad, sending him into Jehoiada, whose eyes were now wide with fright. The crowd began to surge, roiling its disapproval.

  Mattan, visibly unnerved, approached the front of the dais. “Hear me! Hear me, citizens of Judah! The queen’s order does not prevent the worship of other gods in our nation!”

  The queen pounded her scepter on the platform again. The Carite beside her stared at Jehoiada—held his gaze long enough to reveal the captain’s spirit, as badly beaten as his body.

  The Judeans quieted to the pounding of Athaliah’s scepter, and Mattan took up his plea once more. “Every household will maintain an altar to Baal Melkart, uniting us in worship of one god—the mighty Rider of the Clouds—but this in no way limits whom you may worship.” Baal’s high priest signaled for another golden basin and reached in with both hands, drawing out two bloody entrails. “The gods revealed their will this morning, when two livers were found in a single yearling lamb. Judah’s gracious queen won’t limit her people to one god, but she mandates that every household worship a god that recognizes all gods.”

  “It’s a lie,” Zabad ground out between clenched teeth. “Can’t the people see that he’s manipulating them with sheep guts? You must say something, Jehoiada—do something.”

  “What would you have me do?” he asked amid the sea of confusion. “If I confront Mattan or Athaliah now, will it stop this?”

  Zabad had no answer, frustration shading his neck crimson.

  “Change must take place at Yahweh’s command and in the people’s hearts. Have you received a call like Jehu’s? Have we won the people’s loyalty like King Jehoshaphat?”

  “So, it’s hopeless.” The defeat on Zabad’s face was more terrible than his fury.

  “Yahweh has begun the fight in Israel.” Jehoiada lowered his voice and leaned close. “The reaction of this crowd tells me Athaliah doesn’t have enough support to mount a war effort. Wisdom says wait. We must save Jehoash, teach him of Yahweh, and wait on Yahweh to move in Judah.”

  Athaliah stood, increasing her command over the gathering. She pointed at Zev’s swollen face and shouted, “Captain Zev bears the wounds of Jehu’s zeal for his one god. Israel’s traitorous general annihilated Ahab’s entire family—King Ram and even his seventy sons—to impose Yahweh’s archaic rules. Why serve a god who demands only blood and discipline when you can enjoy many gods that promise pleasure and abundance? Baal offers you freedom, Judah! Freedom!”

  “Long live Queen Athaliah!” came a feeble shout from the back.

  “Long live Queen Athaliah!” another man echoed, this voice stronger. Soon the Throne Hall swelled with the chant. “Long live Queen Athaliah! Long live Queen Athaliah!”

  Those standing near Jehoiada cast furtive glances and stepped away from him, leaving a noticeable divide between the mob and Yahweh’s servants.

  Athaliah pounded her scepter again, and the room instantly grew still, her earlier lesson well learned. “With freedom comes sacrifice, my people, and I have sad news to share. My son was betrayed by his wives.” She lifted a linen cloth to kohl-rimmed eyes, stirring the emotions of her newly won crowd. “I was forced to act quickly when I discovered the treachery in my own palace. Now that the evil has been purged from Jerusalem’s walls, we can move forward in unity and harmony.”

  Jehoiada heard murmurs, questions about the fate of Hazi’s wives, but none were courageous enough to interrupt the new queen as she rushed forward with her plans.

  “Captain Zev now stands beside me as he stood beside Hazi. He will return to his homeland, recruit and train a new force of Carites, and bring them back to Jerusalem to guard me and the remaining royals.” Zev stood like a crumbling statue, stooped but immovable.

  Finally, someone shouted, “How many remain from the house of Judah?” Watchmen swarmed the man, dragging him from the hall as he pleaded for reprieve.

  The queen’s voice lowered to a sultry purr. “There is no longer a house of Judah, my people. I will fashion queens of destiny, transforming Judah from a nation to a kingdom.”

  Silence. The queen’s power was complete, effective, and thoroughly binding.

  Smiling, Athaliah again signaled Zev to bend close for her whisper. Every spectator near the throne backed away—all but Jehoiada and Zabad. She noted their stand and offered a cursory nod as Zev stepped to the front of the platform with a labored gait.

  Wincing in pain, the captain announced with a voice strong and clear, “King Hazi’s burial processional begins at dusk and will proceed from the palace garden through the City of David to the ancient tombs. Let no man or woman, slave or child be found on the streets when the royal procession passes by.”

  Trumpets blared, declaring the session’s end. Mattan escorted Athaliah up the center aisle—their robes smearing the blood of the man the queen had ordered silenced.

  Zabad stood, unmoving, while spectators hurried away from this new reign of terror. “So, Judah is bullied into silence, and Baal Melkart shoves Yahweh into a list of other gods.” He turned to Jehoiada, cheeks mottled crimson. “Why did we come? You didn’t even speak.”

  “Sometimes prudence must temper zeal, my friend. Perhaps we came not to speak but to listen. We now know Judah’s burden—fear—and Yahweh’s Temple can become their refuge.” Jehoiada braced his gatekeeper’s shoulder. “And perhaps we came for Zev. It appears our dear Zibiah is gone, and his countenance conveys a loss greater than I first realized. Yahweh may have plans for the captain of which we know nothing yet.”

  Sheba sat with Keilah and Gadara in her chamber, door barred, each woman with a babe in her lap. Gadara had wept for joy at the sight of Keilah, the two like sisters since the midwife had come to help raise the Temple babies, as Joshua and Zechariah were known to other priests. Gadara adored Prince Jehoash instantly, and all three women prayed for Zibiah, not knowing her fate but hoping somehow Zev had secreted her to a safe location.

  They’d settled onto their cushions around the low-lying table when trumpets announced court adjourned.

  No one had spoken since—not even chatty Gadara.

  How long had they been waiting? Long enough to nurse two babes and let Keilah begin feeding the third.

  Perhaps Jehoiada and Zabad had stopped to talk with Nathanael about tonight’s evening worship. But would there be an evening service? Or would they cancel it because of Hazi’s processional? Or will we flee to the quarry and never worship in Yahweh’s Temple again?

  Fear grabbed Sheba’s insides and shook her, robbing her breath. Her thoughts spun in circles—all ending in death for her husband, her
son, her friends.

  No! She took a deep breath and released it slowly. I will wait in hope for the Lord; He is my help and my shield. I will wait in hope for the Lord; He is my help and my shield. I will wait in hope—

  The door latch turned, and a hard thump hit the barred door. All three women jumped, letting out a faint cry.

  “Jehosheba?” Jehoiada’s voice!

  “Yes, yes! I’m coming!” She plopped Zechariah in Gadara’s lap and raced to open the door.

  Jehoiada rushed in, nearly smothering her in his embrace. “Thank the Lord you’re safe.”

  “I was going to say the same about you!” She peeked over her husband’s arms and saw Zabad followed by Nathanael, who barred the door behind them. No Zibiah.

  Nathanael hurried toward Keilah, circling her waist with a possessive hug, showing her off like a new pair of sandals. “I got my wife back—thanks to Jehosheba.” Keilah’s cheeks grew pink, and the whole chamber filled with love and laughter.

  Zabad offered a quick wink to Gadara—the only two in the room not hugging. She squeezed the two babies in her arms, burying her face in their necks.

  Sheba could hold her tears no longer. “Zibiah?”

  Jehoiada glanced at Zabad before brushing his wife’s cheek. “I’m sorry, my love. Zev was guarding Athaliah at court. He’d been badly beaten and seemed . . . defeated. Athaliah hinted at her savagery—trying to justify it—by saying Hazi’s wives betrayed him. She confirmed the house of Judah is no more.”

  Sniffs and quiet sobs filled the room. Sheba clutched at her husband’s sleeve. Another loss. She squeezed her eyes closed and laid her cheek against Jehoiada’s chest, feeling the jewels of the sacred breastpiece. The twelve tribes—Yahweh’s covenant remains. The sacred garment that once condemned her now reminded her of Yahweh’s faithfulness to generations past and future. Glancing at Jehoash, she nudged her husband toward their newest proof of Yahweh’s protection. “You should get to know your nephew.”

  Jehoiada lifted the babe from Gadara’s arms. “Shalom, young prince. Yahweh has great plans for you.”

  Jehoash began to wail, unaccustomed to the big man with shiny clothes.

  “Don’t worry, little prince.” Gadara took him back, juggling Zechariah on one hip and Jehoash on the other. “The high priest is big and grumpy, but his character is improving.” She winked at Sheba.

  Jehoiada grinned at his favorite adversary and then sobered when he returned his attention to Sheba. “Do you realize what you’ve done, Wife?”

  Suddenly anxious, she wondered if the court session had uncovered something she’d done wrong. Had she betrayed Yahweh somehow? Or Jehoiada? Revealed too much to Ima Thaliah? “What did I do?” she asked, ready to make amends, not flee or hide.

  “You’ve saved the only male heir to Judah’s throne.” He brushed her lips with a kiss. “Remember when you heard Yahweh’s voice? His call to a greater purpose?”

  “David’s covenant,” she breathed.

  Her husband’s glistening eyes became the familiar mirror of love, but this time something more. She saw respect, admiration.

  Zabad cleared his throat, interrupting the intimate moment and rousing nervous giggles.

  Jehoiada reached for Sheba’s hand and faced their friends. “We must find a way to protect Prince Jehoash until he can lead Judah back to Yahweh—”

  “Wait! What happened in court?” Gadara blurted the question. “Will Athaliah take us to war against Israel?”

  “I don’t think she has enough public support to challenge Jehu.” He glanced at Zabad, inviting his comments.

  “Jehoiada’s right. Judeans would protect their homes if Jehu attacked, but they won’t rally to Athaliah when they’re ruled by cruelty and fear.”

  “Athaliah rules with fear, but she also seems ruled by fear. She’s ordered Zev’s return to Caria to recruit and train a new royal guard who will protect her and the queens of destiny.”

  “Wait!” Sheba said, startled by the report. “Ima publicly revealed the queens of destiny? Did she explain its origin, its purpose? Did she say if any of Hazi’s daughters remain?”

  Jehoiada drew her close again. “She explained very little. We know very little.” Then, glancing at their friends, he shook his head. “For now, we must continue as if nothing has changed. Sheba must play the loyal daughter, and we will continue to worship Yahweh. Wise without lies.”

  He lifted his son from Gadara’s arms but held him close to the prince. “Our Zechariah resembles Prince Jehoash enough to be his twin, so as long as only one of them is seen with little Joshua, we should avoid suspicion. Everyone on Temple grounds knows two infant boys live in these outer chambers.”

  Gadara snuggled Prince Jehoash close. “You’ve had a rough start, little one, but no army can breach General Gadara’s walls.”

  Warm laughter was healing balm after a painful day—and sweet elixir for whatever bitter herbs they must swallow this evening.

  45

  2 KINGS 9:28

  [Ahaziah’s] servants took him by chariot to Jerusalem and buried him with his ancestors in his tomb in the City of David.

  Though Sheba longed to melt into Jehoiada’s arms, she matched Ima Thaliah’s posture atop her royal white donkey. The two women led Hazi’s burial processional to King David’s tombs. Zev followed in Hazi’s chariot, which he’d ordered converted to a funeral bier. Judean watchmen lined Jerusalem’s high wall, standing guard over every street along their path.

  When Sheba’s donkey reached the bottom of a hill, she reined him to a halt and stole a glance behind her at the processional winding through the City of David. Jehoiada and his Temple guards descended the hill at the end of Hazi’s processional, her husband’s golden garments glistening in the last rays of this wearying day. Mattan, royal counselors, and Judah’s military commanders surrounded the king’s bier, followed by rows of soldiers and every Baal priest and Astarte priestess in the city.

  Prodding her donkey gently, she hurried to catch up with Ima Thaliah and pondered the day’s events. Had it only been this morning that Zev arrived unexpectedly in their outer chamber? How could so much change in a single day? Hazi and Zibiah dead. Jehoash hidden at the Temple. Ima Thaliah queen. And Baal the legally mandated god of Judah. Yahweh, deliver us from evil.

  “Captain! Control that horse!” Ima’s stately facade cracked when the chariot stallion spooked their white donkeys. Zev strained at the reins, his muscles and veins bulging with the effort.

  Sheba found brief solace in the undignified frenzy. The stallion’s stomping mirrored her inner battle, and she masked a smile, cheering him on.

  Don’t let them take your heart. They’ll try, but don’t let them, Hazi had warned her in Jezreel. He’d watched her heart rage against Ima Thaliah’s restraints, Jezebel’s wickedness, and Baal’s deception.

  No one took my heart, big brother. I gave it freely. The thought made her smile. Jehoiada hadn’t taken her heart, nor had Yahweh. She’d given it willingly—each time a lamb’s blood was spilled, each time the sacred incense wafted heavenward. Sheba’s fighting was over. Her heart had been won, not stolen.

  “How can you smile, Sheba?” Ima Thaliah’s tone was laced with pain, a dangerous threat in her glare. “Did you love Hazi so little that you can smirk at his burial?”

  “I loved him so much that I can enjoy the antics of his horse.” She held her ima’s gaze, pressing into her heart. “Don’t you think Hazi would have used his stallion to make this moment bearable for us?”

  The queen’s hand trembled on the reins, her eyes filling relentlessly while the muscle in her jaw danced to a silent dirge. Turning away without a word, Thaliah kicked her donkey, hurrying their pace to the tombs. Within moments, they arrived. Ima slid off the small creature before a guard could assist and nearly dragged Sheba from her own donkey’s back.

  “Come, Sheba. Don’t dawdle.” Ima looped her arm in Sheba’s, hurrying her toward the stone-walled courtyard of King David’s tombs.
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br />   At the entrance, Sheba stopped. “I’d like to wait for Jehoiada.”

  Mattan arrived just then. “What’s the delay?”

  Zev and five Baal priests carried Hazi’s body on their shoulders, followed by Judean commanders.

  “Jehoiada isn’t going into the tomb.” Ima Thaliah ignored the others and pierced Sheba with her words—brow raised, battle lines drawn.

  Sheba’s throat went dry. “Why?”

  “Mattan will send Hazi’s spirit to Mot’s underworld without any interference from your high priest or his god.”

  Sheba felt a wave of panic when she saw Jehoiada and Zabad shouldering their way through the rows of soldiers, approaching the tomb’s entrance. Both men were a head taller than most guards, but they were unarmed, while Judah’s soldiers wore full battle armor and fidgeted with their swords.

  “Choose, Sheba. Your priest returns to his Temple, or both he and his guard join Hazi.”

  Sheba glimpsed the watchmen perched atop Jerusalem’s wall, lining the streets, and now forming double rows around the Temple guards behind the processional. Ima had planned this. Too many watchmen separated her from Jehoiada and Zabad. They would die before they reached her.

  “Stop, Jehoiada!” Her loud cry rattled the solemn stillness.

  Her husband gasped, halted, fear shadowing his face before the familiar anger crawled across his features.

  She prayed as she spoke, hoping to save all their lives. “Since I know you cannot yet embrace the mighty Baal Melkart, we cannot allow you to participate in King Hazi’s burial. Return to your Temple, and I will return after the Marzeh is complete.”

  “No! I won’t leave you.” Jehoiada took two steps before Zabad pulled him back, and the watchmen drew their swords. The pain in his eyes was unbearable.

  “Go back to your God.” Sheba held his gaze, pressing her meaning into his soul. “I go now to bury my brother and fulfill my own calling.” Her knees nearly gave way when she saw Zabad turn him around, leading Yahweh’s high priest back to the Temple.