Elijah (12 page)

Obadiah felt the muscles in his cheeks tighten briefly, and he knew Jezebel caught his surprise. Having pierced his armor, she pressed her advantage. She continued in a mellow and confidential voice.

“Obadiah, Ahab is much more interested in Israel than in the protection of a weak tribal god. Melkart and Asherah are stronger than Yahweh. It is only logical that he seek the aid of the stronger.” She paused, then measured her words. “Someday soon you will have to be disloyal either to your king and queen or to your god. On that day, you had better choose wisely.”

Obadiah returned her gaze coldly. “I shall choose wisely,” he said.

At that moment, the chamber door opened and Meor-baal was announced.

“Ah, my honored priest. You have come quickly.”

“As you beckoned, my queen.”

“Meor-baal, we are encountering some difficulty with a suddenly obstinate high priest of Yahweh.”

“Zebul?”

“I know of no other high priest of Yahweh.”

“Pardon my surprise, Queen Jezebel, but I did not anticipate such an act. Do you know what he plans?”

“No. Only that he refuses to sit where he is assigned.”

A grave look came over Meor-baal’s face. “My queen, this is not good.” He spoke solemnly. “He is making a play for the people’s sympathies.”

“What alternative do you propose?”

“I know of none. He cannot be given the higher seat. We have struggled too hard to bring the worship of Baal to this point. Zebul has made a good tactical move.”

“You will have him destroyed.” Jezebel’s eyes smoldered. Obadiah gasped, not expecting such a drastic move. Meor-baal waited for further direction. Jezebel continued, “His death must appear to be an accident. He is not popular with the people, so he will not be mourned for long.”

Obadiah’s mind raced. “My queen, you know my sympathies, so I shall not try to cover them. But should the high priest die his successor must follow. What will you have accomplished?”

Meor-baal interrupted. “My queen . . .” He paused and glanced furtively at Obadiah. “My queen, perhaps I should speak with your privately.”

Jezebel stared coldly at Obadiah, who remained silent and expressionless. She maintained her gaze and answered with a hint of mystery. “No, Meor-baal. I think the Governor should know the official business of the court.”

The Baal priest continued. “My queen, is not Zebul a usurper?”

The queen leaned forward, “A usurper?”

“Yes. He claims to be high priest. There is only one high priest of Baal. He resides in Byblos. Likewise there is only one real high priest of Yahweh. He resides in Jerusalem. What right has Zebul to claim to be high priest of Yahweh?”

Jezebel sat back in her throne, smiling. “I see.”

Obadiah shifted his weight, trying to cover up the nervousness he was certain the queen noticed.

“Zebul can be executed as a usurper,” Meor-baal continued. “He is not popular with the people, as you noted. They will accept that explanation if we make it with the pretense of purifying the religion of Yahweh.”

Jezebel smiled. “Excellent. The Yahweh fanatics will be left without priestly leadership, too. See that the job is done well.”

With a bow, Meor-baal strode from the chamber.

The queen turned to Obadiah. “You see, my good Governor, the strength of Melkart. You are foolish to continue to protect a weak god.” With a flick of her arm she announced, “You are dismissed.”

Bowing, Obadiah made his exit. He walked across the courtyard with his usual composure, but his mind raced back over the events of the day.
Why did Jezebel let me know her plans regarding Zebul? An error? No, Jezebel was too brilliant for such a mistake. Why, then? Perhaps I should warn Zebul. But for what reason? Because of his size, he cannot hide. Jezebel would have someone watching Zebul, anyway. I could not even get close enough to warn him. Perhaps that is her way to trap me?

The thoughts plummeted end over end through his mind.
What is Jezebel’s next move? What is my next move?
Gradually, as he made his way across the black pavement and through the corridors, the possibilities began to fall into order. Zebul was beyond saving. Jezebel was using this opportunity for all-out war on Yahwism. She also was trying to force the Governor of Ahab’s House either to prove his disloyalty or join forces with her.

Obadiah entered his chambers and crossed the large room that served as his center of business and entered a small room that overlooked his private courtyard. He lay back in a heavily-cushioned, satin-draped lounge chair and stared out his window at the garden. Oleanders lined the walls on three sides. Gnarled olive trees, their branches interlaced curiously, filtered and softened the glare of the sun. “Oh, that the world were so peaceful,” he whispered aloud.

Methodically, Obadiah began to consider the strengths and weaknesses of the Yahwists’ position. Ahab, vacillating at best in matters of religion, was gone. In the end, when all of his alternatives were considered, he would agree with the conclusions that underlay Jezebel’s action. The Yahweh followers had no single, strong leader other than Elijah, who was in hiding. Public opinion had been caught up in the excitement of the new ideas and moral laxity of Melkart and Asherah. The people moved with the tide created by Baal’s offensive.

Ah, public opinion
, he thought.
It moves with the force of the ocean, crushing everything not caught up in its sweep, an ally when it moves your direction, an archenemy when it does not. What strange and unknown force directs that sea’s energies? Such strength! Does it move by itself and determine its own way, or is it moved along a current of history of which it is only a passive part? If Yahweh really is the one great God, someday the sea will change its direction.

But until that day, Obadiah concluded, the Yahwists have no hope of winning. The logical course of action, then, is to protect as many as possible of those who are faithful to Yahweh. And to do so, he must take the greatest care not to be proven unfaithful in his responsibilities as Governor of Ahab’s House.

Tongues of flame flickered from tips of shallow, elongated oil lamps. The dancing light emphasized in shadow-etchings on the walls the movements of nervous men. Every raised arm, every small shuffle, every twitch was exaggerated in profile on a wall. The shadows criss-crossed one another in varying shades of gray and black, broken by V’s above each wall niche from which oil lamps cast their lights.

Obadiah stood in the center of the large room. His sensitive nostrils caught the pungent odor of unwashed bodies, but he forced him mind to accept the smell and ignored it. Every man there was bearded. They sat, leaned, squatted, and stood all around him. The eyes and hands of each one told their own stories of nervousness here, as though each tragedy already pressed its weight; blank acceptance here, as though the news had not yet been apprehended; twitching here, as from a swordless warrior fanatically ready to dash barehanded into battle; calmness here, as though the price of war had been considered long ago and accepted as part of the game. The moods of stark terror, anticipation, excitement, worry, cowardice, bravery, fear, thrill, and shrugging acceptance were as varied as the dress of the men. Some wore wide leather waistbands over short drapes of cloth. Some wore the hair long and in tangles. Some wore sandals with leather straps wrapped around their ankles and lower legs. Some were barefoot. Some had the long, flowing, uncut hair of Nazirites, who vow never to have a razor touch their hair nor wine their lips until the vow is fulfilled.

Obadiah had heard the news only hours ago. He was outside the city walls checking the granary shafts at the time. Zebul had been hauled to a fast-erected stand in the marketplace, his head and arms bound in a wooded ox yoke. According to the report, the high priest had stood silent and erect as the charge of usurpation of his claimed office was read. At first the people reacted in stunned silence at the accusation. Then their silence gave way to low murmuring against the queen. But the newly appointed priest-in-charge skillfully read the queen’s proclamation of defense for the purity of the ancient religion of Israel. The final denunciation of Zebul was scathing, and it capitalized on his lack of popularity. The people’s mood changed to glee.

Zebul’s death was that accorded a conquered and despised king. The yoke was removed and he was bound hand and foot. His feet were roped to the back of a chariot and he was dragged full speed through the rough streets of the city, his fat body rolling and bouncing along hard black stones. No one knew how long he lived before the careening horses finally were brought to a stop. Except for his size, Zebul’s body was not recognizable. His wife had remained stoic. Except for her station in life, she had long ago ceased to care what happened to her fat husband. By now, Obadiah knew, the dogs would have licked the blood from the streets.

As Obadiah revealed the story of Zebul’s transformation to the prophets of the Samarian guild, they responded with mixed emotions, but he could sense the building of a sympathy for the once-despised priest. Along with the sympathy a sense of foreboding also grew. Soon, though, their reactions began to take more definite forms.

A young, stringy-bearded prophet shouted out his challenge. “Yahweh is stronger than Melkart and Asherah! We will stand face to face with the prophets of Baal and show them the strength of the true God. Who is with me?”

Immediately a clamor went up, some of the men shouting defiance of the gods and prophets of Baal, others crying for silence and sanity.

Finally the oldest prophet, thinly robed, small of stature, with red blotches over skin that had lost its hair, arose and with the aid of a staff made his way to stand beside Obadiah. He held his arm high. Voices died down until the room was silent. He spoke slowly and laboriously. “Let us seek the advice of Obadiah. He knows well the mind of Jezebel.”

Obadiah responded immediately. “I believe Queen Jezebel will seek to destroy as many prophets of Yahweh as possible. I advise you to go into hiding.”

“He calls Jezebel his queen!” An angry young man was on his feet. His back and head arched toward Obadiah, his face contorted with anger. “How can you be faithful to Yahweh and call Jezebel your queen!”

Obadiah spoke firmly but simply. “My advice stands.”

Another prophet, tall, wiry, wearing a leather waistcloth and leather sandals, spoke gently but with a resonant voice that made his words sound profound. “Obadiah, I speak as chief of the coenobia of prophets. You cannot expect Yahweh’s prophets to escape from danger. The very nature of our lives is danger. It is especially in the hour of danger that we are called to speak.”

“Nevertheless,” Obadiah responded evenly, “God hides Elijah, who surely is not afraid of danger. Perhaps Yahweh, too, feels that retreat is a virtue.”

The reference to Elijah relaxed the prophets. Even those who were antagonistic to Obadiah remained quiet, though sullen.

“There are caves in the limestone of our city’s hill. You know of them, but the prophets of Baal whom Jezebel brought from Tyre and Byblos do not. You must find the best hidden and least accessible ones to hide you. Some of you younger men must take on yourselves the task to search out the best choices. I will see that you are provided with food and are kept informed of events. Once in hiding, you must never come out except at my instruction. And one other thing. You must trust me without question. If you cannot do so, find your own place to hide. I have neither the time nor the stomach to tolerate your distrust.”