In the Shadow of Jezebel (8 page)

“What do you mean, if Abba is dead?” Sheba tried to staunch her tears, but this terrifying possibility on top of yesterday’s barbaric revelations . . .

“You are a princess of Judah, Sheba—and now a queen of destiny. Act like it.” The utter disgust in Ima’s reprimand slapped her as surely as a physical blow. Judah’s queen turned her attention to Hazi. “Right now, our best strategy is to remain in Jezreel until we know Jerusalem’s standing—and that’s the end of the matter.”

Hazi trembled with barely controlled rage.

Please, Hazi. Don’t make trouble here.
Sheba remembered the Gevirah’s glowing report of Hazi’s pliability. It was the only thing keeping him alive.

He rolled his shoulders back, straightened his spine, and then inhaled before offering Ima an exaggerated bow. “If I am dismissed, General Athaliah, I would like to confer with
King Ram
and his commander. Perhaps I can arrange the menu for our midday meal—unless you’d like to decide that too.” Without waiting for a reply, he marched away and slammed the lattice door—and Sheba’s chamber door beyond.

Ima Thaliah turned to Sheba, lifting a single eyebrow. “He needn’t bother with the menu. We’re having roast lamb with lentils and garlic.”

Sheba’s heart twisted. Could she really be so cold? “Would you stay with me for a while, Ima?” Perhaps a little time together would remind Ima Thaliah of their bond—who they were before they arrived in Jezreel, before the Gevirah issued threats and changed Sheba’s future. Maybe time together would remind Ima Thaliah of the love she had for Abba Jehoram.

“Your maids are lazy and undisciplined, Sheba. If you’d commanded them as you should, they would never have allowed Hazi into your chamber before finishing your cosmetics. Now we’ll likely be late for our meeting with the Gevirah.” She lifted a carefully painted brow. “Take care of your servants, Daughter, or I’ll discipline them—and you.”

“Yes, Ima.” Sheba bowed as Queen Athaliah left the balcony with the same slamming of doors as her son moments before. Tears threatened again, but this time Sheba refused them. She would not suffer weakness—nor would she let herself consider what might be happening in Jerusalem.

1 K
INGS
18:26, 36, 38–40

Then [the prophets of Baal] called on the name of Baal from morning till noon. “Baal, answer us!” they shouted. But there was no response. . . . Elijah stepped forward and prayed: “O L
ORD
 . . . let it be known today that you are God in Israel.” Then the fire of the L
ORD
fell and burned up the sacrifice. . . . When all the people saw this, they fell prostrate and cried, “The L
ORD
—he is God! The L
ORD
—he is God!” Then Elijah commanded them, “Seize the prophets of Baal.” . . . They seized them, and Elijah had them . . . slaughtered there.

J
ehoiada hummed one of the Levite’s psalms, trying to block out the incessant sound of water dripping down the quarry walls. They’d set up camp near a pool of crisp, clean water, but King Jehoram’s declining condition made it difficult to keep their water clean.

“Obadiah?” King Jehoram stirred, waking after another nap.

“No, it’s me, the priest Jehoiada.” He picked up the only clay lamp burning and positioned the small circle of light to encompass the king. The quarry ceiling in this area was as lofty as the Temple, a vast chasm at the bottom of a system of divergent tunnels and narrow passageways. Without Obadiah’s
sharp memory and sense of direction, none of them would have found this quarry, nor would they find their way out.

King Jehoram lay on his side, propped on one elbow, using his now-filthy robe as the only padding between him and the limestone floor. Jehoiada sat down and placed the lamp between them. “Obadiah and Zev have returned to the entrance, checking the time of day and making sure we haven’t been discovered.”

“Has there been any report on the city? Have either of them tried to reenter through the Sheep Gate?”

“Not yet.” Jehoiada bowed his head, praying for wisdom. He’d had two days to gather his thoughts and calm down. “King Jehoram, may I ask you about something you said on the night we escaped?”

The king released a beleaguered sigh. “I’d actually like to ask you a few things about that night as well.” Jehoiada bowed his head, deferring to the king’s questions first. “You said my sons invaded the Temple and attacked the Holy Place and its furnishings.”

Jehoiada nodded.

“Why didn’t Yahweh strike them dead that night? If He’s so powerful and demands such exacting holiness, why not kill anyone who steps into His Temple the moment they trespass?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you see, here’s how my wife and Jizebaal would explain it. They would say Yahweh is declining in strength and Baal Melkart is increasing. They would say
their
priests can outshine your sacrifices with divination and sorcery, and so far, Priest, I would have to agree with them.”

Jehoiada tamped down his rising temper and kept his voice calm. “And what about Elijah’s rousing victory over Jezebel’s priests of Baal on Mount Carmel?”

Jehoram erupted with a full-bellied laugh. “Well, the queen of dung, as you call her, concedes that Elijah’s three-year drought, the slaughter of Baal’s priests on Mount Carmel, and the pillar of fire that consumed the offering were impressive displays of Yahweh’s strength.”

“But . . .” Jehoiada coaxed.

“But after Elijah incited the Israelites to kill the Baal prophets, he ran for Jezreel and didn’t wait for the rest of the display. The Gevirah says immediately after hearing of her priests’ slaughter, she began killing Yahweh’s prophets, and only
then
did the storm god Baal send rain. Why do you think Baal worship rose again so quickly in Israel? Queen Jizebaal convinced the people that Baal Melkart sent the rain to end the drought after she killed Yahweh’s prophets.”

A wave of nausea washed over Jehoiada. He’d never heard such a blasphemous interpretation of Yahweh’s victory at Mount Carmel.

“Which returns me to my original question,” the king pressed. “If your God is so powerful, why didn’t He strike down my sons for invading His Holy Place?”

Fighting the urge to pummel the king of Judah, Jehoiada kept his tone even. “Perhaps I can answer your question when you answer mine. On the night of our escape, someone mentioned a letter from Elijah. What did the letter foretell—if you don’t mind me asking?”

Lamplight gleamed in the king’s eyes. Was it indecision battling behind the windows of his soul? Fear? Anger? “I
do
mind you asking,” Jehoram said finally. “But because you might provide some understanding, I’ll tell you. Elijah said that because I had killed my brothers and walked in the ways of the house of Ahab, Yahweh would strike my people, my sons, my wives, and everything I own. Plus, He’d afflict me with a disease in my bowels.” He lifted a single eyebrow. “I suppose we have to admit Elijah got that one right, but he said my bowels would eventually come out. Have you ever heard such lunacy?” He scoffed, waving his hand as if shooing a pesky gnat.

Jehoiada’s anger surrendered to pity—and then shame.
Yahweh, how do
You tolerate any of us? Our feeble little minds and
bodies have no grasp of Your infinite plan.

“Well, don’t just sit there!” the king shouted. “Tell me what you think!”

“I think Yahweh will strike your people, your sons, your wives,
and everything you own—and your bowels will fall out of your body.”

Silence. Nothing but the trickling of water down the walls of the quarry.

“Yahweh had His chance to kill my sons in the Temple. Why didn’t He do it the moment they trespassed?”

Ah, the king’s original question made more sense in light of Elijah’s letter. Timing. The king wanted to know
when
the events in the letter would take place. Jehoiada himself had often struggled with God’s timing. “We don’t get to decide when or how Yahweh acts, King Jehoram.” Amariah had spoken those words countless times, but they sounded contrived on Jehoiada’s lips.

“But if my sons and I die, hasn’t your precious Yahweh broken His covenant to forever maintain a son of David on Judah’s throne? Where’s the justice in that?”

“Justice?” Jehoiada’s pity fled, chased by quick fury. “You measure the Creator’s justice? You, the pagan king, who killed his godly brothers and innocent Judean governors so you could steal the treasures your abba Jehoshaphat gave them before he died. You speak to Yahweh—to me, His priest—about justice?”

“I don’t want to lose my sons! Can’t you understand that? Don’t you have sons?”

The question pierced Jehoiada’s heart, silencing his fury.

The king masterfully interpreted the silence. “You don’t! You don’t have sons. Ha!” Rising up on his elbow, he goaded Jehoiada. “You’re probably like Mattan—celibate, unmarried.”

“I am not like your Baal priest in
any
way, I assure you. I was happily married for forty years to a beautiful woman whom I loved more than breath.”

The king held his gaze, refusing to be cowed. Silent, blinking, measuring—the two stared. Jehoiada would have thrashed any other man, but he waited, refusing to be baited into more futile words.

Finally, King Jehoram spoke. “Have you lived on the Temple grounds all your life?”

Not sure why it mattered, but realizing he must answer the king, he offered a single word. “Yes.”

“Even as a child?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Jehoiada gritted his teeth, begrudging his obligation to explain. “The high priest and his second priest always live on Temple grounds with their families. I am Amariah’s second, as my abba was the second to Amariah’s predecessor.”

“And why is it necessary for the high priest and his second to live on Temple groun—”

“Really, I don’t see why—”

“I am still your king, and you will not interrupt me!”

The sound of gravel crunching underfoot drew their attention, and Jehoiada blew out their lamp. The quarry darkness engulfed them, so utterly black it weighted them like soldier’s armor. A dim light shone in one of the passageways, brighter as it bounced closer.

Trying to steady his breathing, Jehoiada whispered, “Stay here. I’m going to wait at the tunnel entrance to surprise them.”

Taking his sword, he rose and kept his hands outstretched to keep from running into the natural limestone pillars. He stepped carefully, stealthily, toward the ever-brightening tunnel.

“Shalom! We’re back!” came Obadiah’s strained whisper.

Both Jehoiada and the king sighed, but it was the priest who vented his frustration. “You’ve got to give us more warning. You almost met the business end of my sword.”

Obadiah and Zev walked toward the sound of Jehoiada’s voice, and the three of them followed the sound of the king’s tapping in order to find him in the looming darkness.

“What did you see at the entrance?” King Jehoram asked before the men lit a second lamp.

The two explorers shared a disappointed glance, and Zev delivered the bad news. “We didn’t dare return to the Sheep Gate, but the whole area north of the city is quiet as a tomb.”

“How will we know when it’s safe to leave the quarry?” Jehoram sounded more like a pleading child than a reigning king.

“Amariah will come,” Jehoiada said with certainty. “Or he’ll send someone he can trust. For now, waiting is best.”

Obadiah offered a compassionate gaze to the uncomfortable king. “Jehoiada’s right. We’ve got enough food for another day or two.”

“We didn’t see anyone coming in or out of the northern entrance, my lord. No one.” Zev’s grave tone insinuated some deeper meaning Jehoiada didn’t understand.

“Why the concern?” he asked. “Perhaps travelers are entering through the other gates.”

The other three men gawked at Jehoiada as if he’d grown a third eye. The king released a disgusted sigh and turned to Obadiah. “I was about to tell the priest why living on Temple grounds narrows his vision. Why don’t you interpret the broader view of decreased traffic through Jerusalem’s north gate?”

Obadiah’s forbearing smile made Jehoiada feel like a child. “It means the Israelites haven’t come to help us. It also means no merchants from the north, which cuts into our already diminished trade profits from those traveling between Damascus and Egypt.”

“Had you considered those issues, Priest? Allies and trade? Small things, really,” King Jehoram said, sarcasm dripping from each word.

Jehoiada wished he could wipe off the king’s smug grin, but he returned his own cynical sneer. “Why should I worry about trifles when such a godly man sits on Judah’s throne?”

Obadiah frowned at both priest and king. “Did Zev and I miss an important conversation while we were checking the time of day? It’s just past midday—if anyone was wondering.”

King Jehoram fixed a stony glare on Jehoiada while addressing Obadiah. “The priest and I were discussing the many ways he is different from Baal priests, including Mattan’s willingness to be involved in the world around him, whereas the Yahweh high priest—and his second—lock themselves away in their gleaming Temple, refusing to face the challenges of the real world.”

“The
real world
, as you call it, King Jehoram, is in Yahweh’s capable hands. Amariah and I dedicate ourselves to His service and allow the Lord’s prophets to deal with rebellious kings.”

Jehoiada saw Jehoram’s superiority crack. “My future may
be forfeited, it’s true.” He paused and then struggled for words. “What if I offer Yahweh a gift—or a treaty like the treaty between two nations? Will it save my life or the lives of my family?”

Jehoiada scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Lord is not a man or king that He would condescend to a
treaty
.”

“What about His covenant with Noah?” Obadiah’s quiet words echoed in the cavern. “Every rainbow is a reminder of Yahweh’s covenant. And what about the Lord’s covenant with Abraham that gave us the land beneath our feet? And what about the covenant Yahweh made with King David—”

“That’s different!” Jehoiada shouted. “Surely you can’t compare Jehoram with any of those righteous men!”

Obadiah waited until the echo of shouting died. “But God’s covenants with Noah, Abraham, and David weren’t based on their righteousness. Those men offered nothing to secure God’s promise.”

“And I’m willing to offer Yahweh my most precious possession,” Jehoram said, desperation lacing his tone. “What if I pledge my favorite daughter, Jehosheba, to marry Yahweh’s high priest?”

Jehoiada’s laughter echoed off the limestone walls. “Amariah is more than ninety years old. He would never marry your daughter. She’s a child!” When he realized no one else was laughing, Jehoiada stared at Obadiah, pleading for a reasonable man to join his reasonable argument. “Yahweh has given the Law to His people, and it’s the
only
way sins are forgiven, the
only
treaty available, King Jehoram!”

Like Obadiah, the king allowed a few moments of silence to punctuate Jehoiada’s shouting and then continued his argument. “Surely you realize the benefit of joining David’s royal house with Yahweh’s high priest. Amariah could give his blessing to the
next
high priest, a younger man. He could then marry my Jehosheba and become a member of the royal house—privy to the political and business aspects of the kingdom.”

Before Jehoiada could dismiss the king’s proposal, Obadiah interrupted. “Jehoiada, I believe the king’s plan is something the high priest himself should consider.”

“What? Obadiah, it’s ridiculous. Amariah will never—”

“You don’t know the high priest’s mind. Nor do you know Yahweh’s mind until you consult the Urim and Thummim.” Obadiah’s matter-of-fact tone left little room for reply. “Now, let’s eat. Zev and I found some berries near the entrance that will make a welcome addition to our bread and hard cheese.” He and Zev began a quiet conversation with the king, leaving Jehoiada to ponder the ludicrous proposal before him.

While watching the others divide the meager portions, Jehoiada found little appeal in the fare. After hearing Jehoram’s plan to use his daughter to gain Yahweh’s favor, he had weightier matters to chew on.