In the Shadow of Jezebel (13 page)

Inhaling a deep breath, Jehoiada approached the first basket once more and addressed his brother priests. “We need not be disheartened when Yahweh is specific in His choosing. We have seen the Urim and Thummim prove faultless in communicating the Lord’s perfect will.” He reached into the first basket and stirred the lots before withdrawing a second family stone.

His heart fell. His mouth went dry. “Jehoiada.” Eyes stinging, he could barely breathe, let alone speak. How could
he
be Yahweh’s choice? And how could he bear the shame of stating there’d be no need for a second basket to write his family names?

He cleared his throat and forced his gaze up from his sandals, but found his brother priests staring intently at their own. “I have no sons or grandsons.”

Awkward silence ushered him toward the breastpiece of decision, where Elan had already replaced the Urim and jostled the two stones. Jehoiada need only reach in and hear the Lord speak. His hand trembled, hovering over the pouch.
Yahweh, please. I cannot be Your high priest.
I am not worthy.

He reached in and drew out the white Thummim.

The room erupted in celebration, but Jehoiada heard it as if in a dream. Leaning against the table for support, he gasped for air, suddenly wondering if he might die on the spot and be the shortest-tenured high priest ever.

The celebration died into silence, and Remiel approached the table. “Jehoiada, since you’re no longer married, we need only consult the Urim and Thummim to determine Yahweh’s decision on King Jehoram’s request that you marry his daughter.”

Beads of sweat gathered on Jehoiada’s brow. A nod was his only reply as he offered the white Thummim back to the assistant and turned to face Remiel as the stones jostled within the
breastpiece. The air hummed with anticipation, but for Jehoiada the scene felt as if he were in another place.

“The breastpiece is ready, my lord,” Elan said, giving Jehoiada the encouragement he needed.

The new high priest reached into the breastpiece. His fingers slid around one stone—then released it and drew out the other.

The white Thummim.
Yahweh said yes
.

A cheer arose, so loud the Temple rafters shook, and Jehoiada braced himself against the table while well-wishers slapped his back and offered premature congratulations. Had they forgotten the circumstance of this bizarre marriage? Had they and the king lost their senses? But the question uppermost in his mind, the issue that stole his breath:
What kind of marriage
can I have with the child I met in the
quarry?

1 S
AMUEL
18:25

Saul replied, “Say to David, ‘The king wants no other price for the bride than a hundred Philistine foreskins, to take revenge on his enemies.’”

W
ell after dawn, Sheba awoke, curled in a ball atop her fur-covered bed, wearing the filthy robe she’d traveled in all day from Jezreel. The Asherah she’d forgotten to pack for Jezreel sat on the bedside table. “Perhaps if you’d been there to protect me, I wouldn’t be promised to a priest of Yahweh.” Jizebaal’s teraphim had certainly betrayed her.

Sheba’s mouth tasted like a camel smelled, and her stomach noisily protested missing last night’s meal. She had just reached for the servant’s bell when a knock sounded on her door. Perfect timing. “Come!” she said, her voice as rough as she felt.

A maid entered and assumed a deep bow. “You’ve been summoned to the king’s chamber—immediately.”

Sheba dropped the bell, hearing it clatter to the tile floor as she dashed out the door, down the hall, and up the grand staircase. Nearly slipping in front of Hazi’s chamber, where a servant knelt scrubbing bloodstained tiles, she righted herself and leaned against the wall, mind racing. Had Abba died in
the night?
God, oh god
, whichever god is listening, please don’t take Abba so
soon.

Hurrying to the king’s private suite at the end of the hallway, she slowed her pace when she saw the Carites standing like pillars on each side of the entry. No torn clothing or ashes in their hair or beards. A measure of relief crept into her frantically beating heart.

Sheba bowed to the guards, and they opened the doors without hesitation. The fumes of incense and human waste nearly overwhelmed her. Clay incense bowls surrounded Abba in his bed, now the centerpiece of what used to be the king’s private meeting chamber. Abba Jehoram appeared pale as the white linen beneath him. Hazi sat on a couch to his left and Ima on a couch to his right, dabbing her nose with a purple sachet holding aromatic spices. Mattan stood like a gold-turbaned soldier behind Ima Thaliah, stone-faced. He’d barely acknowledged Sheba since the Gevirah announced her marriage to the Yahweh priest.

“You look as bad as your abba.” Ima’s disapproving gaze roamed the length of Sheba’s morning appearance. “How dare you come into the king’s presence like a beggar?”

“Thaliah.” Abba’s one-word rebuke quieted his wife and warmed Sheba’s heart. Though only days had passed since he’d been her champion, it seemed a lifetime since anyone had challenged Ima Thaliah.

“Please forgive me. I meant no disrespect.” Sheba bowed, holding back tears. “I’m afraid sleep was a miser and made me a beggar. I awoke to your summons and responded without preparing myself.”

“Come, sit between us, Sheba.” Ima Thaliah’s voice softened, and she patted a place on the couch beside her.

Sheba glanced at Hazi, trying to guess what was coming. He looked grim, and her heart plummeted. Servants hustled about the room, tearing sheets into bandages and rinsing soiled cloths. The palace physician consulted with three other Baal priests, no doubt preparing to plead for supernatural healing since a physical one seemed hopeless. For a fleeting moment, she wondered
if she’d be called on to assist the other priestesses, stitching the priests’ wounds after their frantic chanting, dancing, and cutting.

“We’ll attend your brothers’ funeral pyre this evening at twilight.” The warmth in Ima’s voice sent a shock of warning, and her smile resembled Jizebaal’s.

Mattan leaned over her shoulder, his beady eyes suddenly devouring her. “After your maids have done what they can to make you more appealing, you’ll serve as chief priestess for tonight’s ceremony—since it will most likely be your last offering to Baal Melkart.” He smiled, his pointed nose resembling an eagle’s hooked beak. Sheba felt like prey. “Since you’ll never be initiated as a high priestess, I believe your ima will appreciate the special role I have planned for you in tonight’s festivities.”

Dread strangled her voice, and she reached for Abba’s hand like a lifeline. He squeezed her fingers, and she found him smiling through a pained expression. “They’ve chosen a new Yahweh high priest, my lamb.”

“Already?” she said, turning to Ima Thaliah.

“Yes, and he’s coming here to discuss the arrangements.”

“Here? When?”

“Soon.” Abba ventured another smile, but the effort seemed to cost him dearly. A low moan escaped, and beads of perspiration gathered on his brow. Sheba released his hand, snatched a wet cloth from a servant, and began dabbing Abba’s forehead herself.

Hazi stilled her hand and tilted her chin to meet his gaze. “Sheba, he’s coming here now to talk about your marriage. Perhaps you’d like to . . .” A sweet smile creased his lips. “I don’t know. Maybe smudge a little dirt on your other cheek so they match?”

“Now?” She used the cloth to scrub both cheeks, hoping to redden them. She bit her lips, tasting blood, and then smeared them together. A knock on the door stilled her. Back stiff. Eyes wide. “What do I do now, Ima?”

Athaliah rolled her eyes and commanded the servant at the door. “Escort the priest.”

Sheba laced her fingers together on her lap, waiting for the first glimpse of her new husband. Would he be short, tall, fat,
thin? He must be handsome. She couldn’t bear to stare at an ugly man for the rest of her days . . .

“You?” Sheba gasped at the sight of him—the angry old priest from the quarry. There must be some mistake. She glanced at Ima, Abba—both stared at their guest. She looked at Hazi for reprieve, but his compassionate gaze told her there was no mistake.

Jehoiada had sent a Levite to the palace this morning as a simple courtesy to inform them of Yahweh’s choice of high priest. He’d thought,
Surely the king will wait to speak of wedding plans
until Jerusalem is rebuilt.
But no! Jehoram summoned Jehoiada to his chambers immediately, despite the mounds of restoration yet to be done.

Frustration at its peak, Jehoiada determined to engage the king in
real
bridal negotiations. He’d negotiate as fiercely as any other suitor, demanding the bride’s fidelity—to him and to Yahweh—and requiring her to leave her abba’s household, as would any other bride.

Escorted by two Temple guards, Jehoiada ignored the Carites at the king’s chamber and pounded on the door himself. After an inexcusable delay, the double cedar doors opened, and the smell of illness assaulted him. The beleaguered faces of the king, the queen, and their two children startled him into the painful world of Jehoram’s illness and the adjustments this family was enduring.

“You?” he heard the young woman gasp, and for the first time he considered her broken dreams. From the moment this marriage was mentioned, Jehoiada had considered only the high priest’s interests.
But what of
this young woman’s first love? What of the children
she’d hoped for?
His heart nearly stopped at the thought. Did the princess know of Jehoiada’s previous marriage, of his childlessness?

Her cheeks were flushed. So young, so beautiful—she looked terrified.
Yahweh, did You really consecrate this
marriage with the Thummim?

“Come, Jehoiada,” Jehoram said, his voice weak. “Surely I haven’t grown more repulsive than I was yesterday.”

Jehoiada realized he’d stopped at the threshold. Regaining his senses, he proceeded into the chamber, thanking the servant who placed an extra couch near Prince Ahaziah. Jehoiada took his place between the prince and the king’s bed. “You are not repulsive, and I’m sure you feel better under your physician’s care.”

King Jehoram attempted a smile but winced instead.

Prince Ahaziah offered his hand in greeting. “I’d like to thank you properly for protecting Abba during the raid.” His expression, his whole countenance, seemed genuine. “I’ll be speaking for King Jehoram today since his illness makes it difficult to converse.”

Jehoiada nodded, agreeing. He glanced at Athaliah and the princess—the queen cool and distant, the young woman trembling, unwilling to meet his gaze. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaled, shook his head. “Perhaps we should reconsider this marriage, Prince Ahaziah. Isn’t it plain that your sister deserves a younger—”

“No!” Jehoram rallied his strength.

“No!” Queen Athaliah’s eyes blazed, and she placed a quieting hand on the king’s shoulder. “My husband and I have discussed the matter and both agree that offering our daughter to Yahweh’s high priest is a worthy match—whether it averts His judgment or not. We seek to make a covenant with the god of Jehoshaphat.”

Jehoiada considered the queen’s argument, realizing Jehoram must have shared the details of their conversation in the quarry since Athaliah’s words so closely matched the king’s pleas. “We do not make covenants with Yahweh,” Jehoiada replied. “The sons of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are already in covenant with Him, and the best course of action for everyone would be to abide by the covenant He gave to Moses at Sinai, which is the
Law
. Now, if you’ll let me explain—”

“The king of Judah needs no explanation of his own heritage,” the Baal high priest sneered. “You take the term
covenant
too literally, Priest. It’s a simple treaty marriage to unite the king’s house with Yahweh’s priests.”

“A treaty marriage,” Jehoiada repeated as understanding began to dawn. This was as much—or more—a political maneuver as a spiritual act. “And why do you wish to join the house of David with Yahweh’s high priest?”

Prince Ahaziah tapped his shoulder, wresting his attention from the stone-faced queen. “You see, Jehoiada, as high priest you judge matters concerning the Temple in central court at the palace only once a week. On all other days, you remain sequestered on Temple grounds. Abba Jehoram feels that through the treaty marriage with my sister, you’ll become more attuned to the overall political matters of the entire nation.”

Jehoiada studied the prince’s eager expression. He’d obviously been briefed on all that Jehoiada and King Jehoram had spoken about in the quarry. If he knew Jehoiada had lived in the Temple all his life, he undoubtedly knew of Jehoiada’s previous marriage and inability to produce children. If that presented no problem for the royal household, Jehoiada would leave the issue unspoken. However, some things must be declared.

“If I am to marry Princess Jehosheba,
she
must agree to my terms.”

The princess sat stoically perched beside Athaliah, still refusing to look at him.

Ahaziah scooted to the edge of his couch, apparently prepared to negotiate. “We waive the mohar, understanding that you as a priest of Yahweh have no personal wealth to offer as payment for a bride.” He chuckled, nerves seeming to get the better of him. “I suppose you’re a little like the young David, who paid the bride-price for King Saul’s daughter in Philistine foreskins.”

Jehoiada was not amused. “I’m not young, nor am I
asking
for the king’s daughter.”

Ahaziah cleared his throat and continued. “Well, Sheba will still receive a shiluhim from Abba Jehoram on her wedding day. The dowry will be reduced due to the recent raid but will probably contain greater wealth than you’ve seen in your life.” The prince’s features registered regret as soon as the words escaped.

“Have you forgotten that I minister in the splendor of
Yahweh’s Temple every day—that is, every day of my pauper priestly life?”

“I’m sorry, Jehoiada. I—”

“How could you know what my life is like, Prince Ahaziah?” He clasped the young man’s shoulder, casting a penetrating gaze in the queen’s direction. “I don’t believe your ima or any of her children have attended a single sacrifice at Yahweh’s Temple.”

Queen Athaliah offered a slow, sinister smile. “How flattering that you’ve noticed our absence, Priest. But I assure you that my children and I are extremely devout.” She patted the princess as if stroking a pet. “Sheba has been well trained in ritual arts and will continue to serve Judah well as a confidante in political matters.”

Jehoiada felt as if his chest were on fire.
Ritual arts?
Confidante in political matters?
Containing his initial spark of fury, he issued a condescending smile equal to the one given. “I will gladly marry your daughter, Queen Athaliah, after our ordination ceremonies and after our Feasts of Passover and Unleavened Bread.”

The queen shared a triumphant glance with the Baal priest behind her, making Jehoiada’s next words to Prince Ahaziah all the more satisfying. “And I have two more conditions. First, she must renounce any claim to Baal Melkart and worship Yahweh alone.” He heard gasps all round but continued undaunted. “Second, she will leave the palace and live on Temple grounds as a common priest’s wife, not as a pampered princess or
partner
in whatever you have planned for Judah. These are my terms.”

He stood amid a flurry of Jehoram’s pained cries and Athaliah’s outraged shrieks. Prince Ahaziah met him eye to eye and extended his hand. “I will speak with my sister and send word of her decision by sunset tonight.”