In the Shadow of Jezebel (26 page)

“Please, don’t,” she said, choked by tears. They stopped, waiting for her to say more. “I can’t talk now, but please don’t give up on me.” She turned over, sobbing into her pillow, emotions completely out of control again. Would she ever be able to speak without crying? Were fear and darkness her permanent prison?

“Ladies.” She heard Jehoiada’s strong voice. “Thank you for checking on Jehosheba. Neither of you were at fault for her sorrow, and she’ll need good friends when she’s regained her strength. May I send for you both when my wife feels ready for a visit?”

Sheba kept her head buried in her pillow but heard both women’s kind assurance of their love and friendship. She didn’t deserve such goodness.

“And Keilah.” Jehoiada lowered his voice as if Zibiah had already gone. “I owe you an apology. I treated you coolly because of my own pain. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Of course, my lord, think nothing of it.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Sheba wanted to see their faces, but she dared not risk more pity by emerging from hiding too soon. Feet shuffled to the outer chamber, and the door clicked. She sensed Jehoiada’s return and peered out from beneath her pillow. “Thank you.” Tears started again, and she growled her frustration.

He sat on the bed, pulling her close. “We must talk about many difficult things in the days to come, my love. If I promise not to be ashamed of my tears, can you promise to abide with yours?”

Such sweetness melted what little restraint she had left. How could anyone be this good, this loving? Surely he would disappoint her again or grow tired of her weakness. Dare she open her heart to him once more?

“Let me tell you about my life,” he said, laying her on a pillow and crawling into bed beside her. “Make yourself comfortable, because it’s a long one.” His dark eyes sparkled, and she almost grinned. Almost.

Sheba yearned to nestle under his wing, but her eyes fell on the partially packed shoulder bag from last night. Jehoiada, Hazi, Zibiah, and Keilah—could she trust any of them? All of them? None of them? Perhaps if she preserved a relationship with Keilah, she’d have a way out if Jehoiada proved as good a liar as Hazi.

P
SALM
116:11

In my alarm I said, “Everyone is a liar.”

N
o, Hazi.” Jehoiada paced the small Temple side chamber. “I don’t care if Queen Athaliah sends the whole Judean army after her. Jehosheba is
not
going to the palace for a private meeting with your ima. Only a few weeks have passed since Sheba’s collapse, and she’s just begun eating regularly again. She’s in no condition—emotionally or physically—to face the queen.”

“But Zibiah says she’s improving, that she’s talking to both her and Keilah now.”

“She’s talking, but she’s not ready to play war with Athaliah!” Jehoiada ceased his pacing and sat in the chair opposite Hazi. “Why don’t
you
stand up to Athaliah and tell her to visit Jehosheba at the Temple?”

“Because I enjoy breathing.”

Jehoiada lifted a brow. “We’ve been talking about your saba Jehoshaphat for weeks now, but perhaps you don’t know the story of his abba Asa. When Asa became king, he deposed his ima—the Gevirah Maakah—because she made an Asherah pole. Perhaps we should learn more about King Asa.”

“I know about King Asa. Uncle Ram threatens Jezebel with the story regularly.”

“You have to make a choice, Hazi. You can’t serve Yahweh
and
Baal.”

“You sound like the Gevirah.” Hazi leaned back in his chair and then gawked as if seeing it for the first time. “Why isn’t this table and chair set in your living chamber? I sent it as a gift for Sheba.”

The two ebony chairs and ivory-inlaid table had been delivered from the palace the day after Jehosheba’s collapse, but the sight of them sent her into a trembling panic. “We don’t really have room in our chamber, Hazi, and I thought we could use them while studying the records of the kings of Judah.”

“Sheba hated them, didn’t she?”

Jehoiada sighed, nodded. “But what I said is also true. We don’t have room in our chamber.” He tried to sound encouraging. Hazi had been especially concerned for his little sister.

“She hated them because they reminded her of Jezebel—because everything at the Jezreel palace was ebony and ivory.”

Jehoiada eyed his brother-in-law, utterly bewildered. “If you knew that, why did you send them?”

“Has Sheba told you everything that happened in Jezreel?” Hazi’s chin rose defiantly, making his point.

“No . . . I don’t know. But I don’t want
you
to tell me!”

“Why? What if I think you need to know?”

Jehoiada slammed his hand on the table. “Don’t you understand? Jehosheba feels betrayed by
everyone
who loves her. If you confide something about Jezreel that she hasn’t told me, then you’ve betrayed her again.”

“Aaaggghh!” Hazi removed his crown and raked his fingers through his hair. “How do we help her then?”

“We love her with integrity while Yahweh heals her from the inside out. It’s taken years for Athaliah to tear her down, Hazi. We’ve got to give ourselves time—and trust the Creator—to build her back up.” He placed his elbow on the table, hand in the air. “Whoever loses has to tell Athaliah that her daughter is feeling ill and is unable to answer her summons.”

Hazi rolled his eyes and thumped his elbow on the table. “It’s hardly fair. You’re an old man.” They locked hands, and the arm wrestling began.

Jehoiada had conquered many unsuspecting younger priests—usually winning their portion of vegetables or escaping waste pot duty. Hazi’s face reddened and his neck veins bulged.

“Impressive strength for a prince.” Jehoiada’s compliment completely deflated his opponent, as intended.

Hazi’s arm bent back, his hand pinned to the table. “Not fair, old man!”

Jehoiada laughed, accustomed to similar reactions from overconfident young priests. “Give the queen my regards.” He stood, moving toward the door.

Hazi remained seated. “Ima Thaliah commands Sheba’s presence.”

Jehoiada halted where he stood, his back toward the crown prince. “Give me the truth, Hazi. No pretty arguments.”

“Ima heard from one of her Temple spies that Sheba’s mind is gone. She fears the information she and the Gevirah divulged in Jezreel is at risk and might fall into Yahwist hands—namely, yours.”

Jehoiada stormed back to Hazi, sweeping the chair and table aside like toys. “Your ima has
Temple
spies?” Hazi nodded, eyes round as sacred censers. “And you expect me to deliver my wife to her executioner?”

“I’ll stay with Sheba for the meeting. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.”

Jehoiada grabbed the prince’s robe, lifting him to his feet. Hazi winced, but the high priest merely drew him near enough to whisper, “You will remove the queen’s spies from Temple grounds. And let me assure you—if your ima hurts Jehosheba, I will hurt you.” Jehoiada released his robe and led Hazi out the door. “
You
will explain to your sister that she must face Queen Athaliah. I refuse to inflict this pain.”

The two marched through the side gallery, down the steps, and across the inner court, and arrived at Jehoiada’s door. Hearing the women’s voices inside, Jehoiada paused, having learned that
any sudden movements sent his wife into a panic. He issued a final glare at Hazi and opened the door slowly. Someone should have prepared
them
for the sight.

The three women stood in a circle, drafts of wool wound round each shoulder, every one of them dangling a weighted spindle near the floor.

Hazi was first to ask the obvious. “What are you doing?”

Zibiah giggled. “We’re spinning wool. What does it look like?”

Jehoiada’s heart nearly burst when he saw the smile on Jehosheba’s face. Forgetting his anger at Hazi, he hurried to his wife, who chewed her bottom lip, concentrating.

“This was Keilah’s idea when she heard that Zibiah lived in Beersheba—sheep country.”

Zibiah chimed in. “I sent one of the guards to the palace to gather the wool and spindles.”

Jehoiada’s heart twisted in his chest.
Yahweh, thank
You for giving Jehosheba this joy—before the grief.
He met Hazi’s gaze, lifted an eyebrow, and spoke. “Jehosheba, your brother has something to say.”

Her hands dropped to her sides, knotting the hard-earned yarn. Fear stole the pleasure from her features. The other women stilled too and then gathered around her. Hazi stood alone, and Jehoiada almost pitied him. Almost.

Sheba stared at the ivory comb on her bedside table and willed herself to stop shaking. “I want a mirror to see how my cheeks are healing before I meet with Ima.”

Jehoiada had removed every mirror from Temple grounds when he’d discovered Sheba crying at her reflection. He’d promised that her self-inflicted cuts from the breastpiece would heal completely, but the rough, peeling scabs told her she could expect Ima’s disdain.

“Look at me, Jehosheba.” He tilted her chin, and she obeyed. “You don’t need a mirror. See your reflection in
my
eyes. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, and I love you more than life. And Yahweh Himself loves you with an everlasting love.”

She cradled her husband’s gray beard and peered into the deep-set, dark eyes that searched her heart. “In your arms, I can believe all those things.”

In the weeks since she’d discovered Jehoiada’s first marriage, her tears had become less frequent. She still startled easily and felt a constant trembling within, but Yahweh somehow seemed more real, felt more present in her solitude. Jehoiada’s staggering transparency had taught her much about the invisible God they must both trust.

Jehoiada kissed her gently, but his passion grew—seeming almost desperate—as he clutched her finest robe like a lifeline. She pressed his shoulders, a gentle reminder that a roomful of guests lingered in their outer chamber. “I must go.”

“If you’re not back before the twilight sacrifice, I’ll put a sword in every Levite’s hand and search the palace.”

She laid her head on his chest, listening to his heart thunder. “If I’m not back before the twilight sacrifice, you should search the Valley of Hinnom for my bones.”

“Jehosheba!” He grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t say that.”

She pecked his cheek with another kiss. “For the first time since Hazi’s feast, I’m calmer than you are.” The thought comforted her.

The two emerged from their bedchamber and met four sullen expressions—Hazi’s, Zibiah’s, Keilah’s, and Nathanael’s. Each looked as if they’d already carved her sarcophagus and chosen the tomb.

“Are Zabad and Zev waiting to escort us to the executioner?” Sheba’s offhanded remark earned rebukes from everyone but Hazi.

He chuckled, offered his arm, and bowed. “It won’t be so bad. We’ll prepare some of your answers on our short walk, and when we get to Ima’s chamber, I’ll do most of the talking.”

“You always do most of the talking.” Sheba grinned, heart pounding, and stepped away from her husband to link arms with Hazi.

She glanced over her shoulder, fighting tears, for one more look at Jehoiada as they walked out the door. Nathanael pressed
against Jehoiada’s chest, holding him back, whispering something as determination knit her husband’s brow. Zabad closed the door behind them, providing rear guard, as Captain Zev led them toward the Guards’ Gate.

Hazi tightened his grip on her arm and squeezed her hand. “Relax, you’re with me, Sheba. I’m still your Hazi.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. As promised, he began coaching her on their journey between the Temple and palace. “Ima will use her usual tactics with you, attacking immediately. She’ll put you on the defensive somehow—criticize your appearance, insult Jehoiada, challenge your loyalty. Something to throw you off balance right away. She’ll undoubtedly say something about the marks on your face, so be ready.”

Sheba stopped abruptly, nearly causing Zabad to trample her. “I never realized her comments followed a pattern. She always does this to me, doesn’t she?”

Hazi’s belly laugh captured the attention of several guards milling about. “Yes, little sister. She always does this.” He gathered her under his arm and began walking again.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” She was still contemplating when they passed the Horse Gate and neared the servants’ entrance.

Hazi tapped Zev’s shoulder, halting his captain, and then turned to the Temple guard behind them. “Zabad, I’d like you and Zev to stand guard while I meet privately with my sister in the captain’s chamber. I’ll return with Sheba in a few moments.” Zev blocked Zabad from the royals, hand ominously placed on his sword.

Zabad reached for Sheba with one hand and his sword with the other. “Jehoiada won’t approve—”

“I am Judah’s crown prince!” With the speed of lightning, Hazi—trained by the king’s Carites—wrenched the Temple guard’s arm and rendered him helpless, his dagger at Zabad’s throat. “I don’t take orders from Yahweh’s high priest. Is that clear?”

Zev grabbed Sheba’s arm, pulling her clear of the fracas.

Zabad’s face was crimson fury. Fearing he’d do something
heroic—and utterly unnecessary—to protect her, Sheba jerked free from Zev’s grip. “Hazi, put your dagger away.” She marched toward Zabad, grabbed Hazi’s wrist, and pushed it away from the guard’s jugular as she reassured Jehoiada’s dear friend. “My brother will not harm me, Zabad. We both get a little tense before meeting Ima Thaliah.”

She turned and shoved her brother toward the servants’ quarters, casting a glance over her shoulder. Zev and Zabad stood awkwardly side by side. She hoped they didn’t kill each other by the time she and Hazi returned.

Hazi sheathed the blade as they walked down the long, smelly corridor. She assumed it was the guards’ barracks, though she’d never seen their accommodations until now. Hazi opened the last chamber door on the right, and she followed him in, closing the door behind them.

He stood in the center of the room, a superior smirk on his face. She walked to within a handbreadth and slapped him. “That was stupid and uncalled-for.”

A slow, sinister smile creased his lips. “And that’s how I hoped you’d respond.”

“What?” She tilted her head, releasing a frustrated snort. “You’re insane.”

“And you must prove to Ima you’re not.” He stepped forward, backing her up. He kept walking toward her, stalking like a lion cornering his prey. “No! Don’t retreat!” he shouted. “Sheba, you’ve been meek as a lamb for weeks. You must remember how to fight or Ima will destroy you.”

She felt the heavy cedar door behind her.
Yahweh, help me! There’s no way
out.
She glanced at Hazi’s dagger and back at his eyes.

He smiled. “Sure, go for my dagger. Try it.” She flattened herself against the door, turning her face away, wincing as he drew near. He slammed both hands against the door beside her face, shouting, “If you show weakness, Ima will kill you and everyone you hold dear! You’ve got to prepare for the fight.”

Without thinking, she drove her knee into a man’s most vulnerable spot. Was it Ima Thaliah’s priestess training that
prepared her to disarm a man, or was it in answer to her prayer that she remembered the tactic? Regardless, it worked. Hazi staggered, bent over, groaning.

She stood there, rattled, but felt a measure of satisfaction. “I think I’m prepared to fight now, Brother. Would you still like to do the talking, or should I plan to carry the conversation?”