Jizebaal’s expression lit with compassion. “Think nothing of it.” She chuckled warmly. “I’m aware of my Judean neighbors’ play with my name. Now, your answer, please. Was it indeed Yahweh’s Temple that was raided, and what losses were incurred?”
The man seemed to relax and offered a wholehearted explanation. “Yahweh’s holy Temple was stripped of its gold and furnishings, but the greatest loss was the life of Amariah, our beloved high priest. All of Jerusalem mourns his passing.”
The Gevirah feigned concern. “Oh, I’m sure he was a great man, your high priest. Sheba, my girl, did you hear that? It sounds as if your marriage date has been moved up. You’ll have a new husband and Jerusalem a new high priest sooner than we had planned.”
Mattan jumped from his couch, sending it skidding across the tiled floor. “Sheba is to be initiated as Baal’s high priestess at the Awakening!”
Sheba held her breath. Evidently no one had informed her teacher of
that
detail in Jizebaal’s new plan.
The Gevirah’s sweet smile met Mattan’s angry outburst. “Would you like to join our Judean friend here, Priest? The guards are about to escort him downstairs.”
“Downstairs?” The messenger’s voice quaked at the word.
Mattan’s fury drained as he watched King Ram lead the messenger toward the door. Sheba closed her eyes, trying to imagine anything but the eunuchs’ empty mouths. Would Jizebaal take only his tongue, or had the Jezebel remark cost the messenger his life?
2 C
HRONICLES
21:17
They attacked Judah, invaded it and carried off all the goods found in the king’s palace, together with his sons and wives. Not a son was left to him except Ahaziah, the youngest.
T
he full Judean contingent left Jezreel just before dawn, forfeiting horses in favor of swift, one-humped dromedaries. They would stop only twice on the journey and arrive in Jerusalem by nightfall. King Ram apologized that he couldn’t send an Israelite escort, but tensions with Aram were too high. Though their longtime treaty called for reciprocal aid in times of war, Jerusalem sat like a chicken amid a circle of wolves, and Israel dared not risk dashing into the henhouse.
The Judean procession traveled without incident, stopping at Tirzah and Bethel to refresh their animals and riders. Sheba rode third in the caravan. Almost as proficient as Ima Thaliah, she glided in rhythm with the camel’s loping strides. Her back and shoulders testified to the long day’s ride, but she hadn’t spouted a single complaint. A satisfied grin creased her lips, the first on this somber day of travel, as they crested Jerusalem’s northern hill at sunset.
A scout returning from the city rode like a man chased by
underworld legions. “My lord Hazi, the city is secure.” Though it was a positive report, his furrowed brow and skittish eyes betrayed more news.
Hazi, on the lead camel, raised his fist, signaling the procession to a halt. Ima Thaliah guided her camel forward to hear the report, and Sheba braced herself for the worst. In the stillness, the eerie sound of a city in mourning rose to greet them. Keening echoed through the northern hills, sending a shiver through Sheba’s bones.
“Only a few royal advisors survived.” The scout offered a respectful bow to Ima Thaliah. “I’m sorry, my lady, but the guards confirmed the royal princes were killed. Some other wives and their children were taken captive. The palace treasury has been stripped of everything King Jehoshaphat stockpiled—spices, gold, silver, weaponry. They ransacked the individual chambers and vandalized the Throne Hall, slashing tapestries and smearing blood on the walls.”
Sheba saw Hazi glance in Ima’s direction, but her expression betrayed nothing. She’d been strangely silent after hearing the news of her sons’ deaths and Abba’s disappearance.
Hazi took charge. “Is there any word yet on King Jehoram’s location? Have they sent out search parties?”
“Yes, my lord. Ten pairs of guards left yesterday but haven’t returned.” His tone softened with his expression. “They’re still hopeful that your abba escaped to a fortified city and remains hidden.”
“Well, considering our neighbors are eager to pounce . . .” Ima Thaliah’s chin trembled as her words sliced the evening air. “Edom nearly killed Jehoram in the uprising last year, and Libnah aided them in the revolt. Moab rebelled against both Israel and Judah, and now the Philistines and Arabs have shown the world they can amble through our gates and steal whatever pleases them.” She swiped away uncharacteristic tears. “I’d say if Jehoram is alive, he
should
be hiding after such failures.”
Sheba bristled at Ima’s open disrespect—and not only because of her fierce love for Abba. Why would she criticize the king in the presence of a subordinate? There’d be no cutting out of
tongues in Judah, and soldiers reveled in royal gossip. If Abba was found and returned to the throne, royal discord could slow the nation’s recovery. For the first time in Sheba’s memory, Ima’s emotions had overshadowed her reason.
Hazi cleared his throat and redirected the soldier’s attention. “Join the procession at the rear, and alert the other Carites that we’ll wait until we’ve stabled the animals to assess how many of the king’s royal guard survived. I’ll settle my ima and sister in their chambers immediately and then convene the remaining advisors. Also, summon my royal cousins. They’ve just been appointed to the council. We’ll need every drop of royal blood to rebuild Jerusalem.”
To Sheba’s surprise, Ima didn’t insist on attending the council meeting. Her vacant eyes looked to the city atop Mount Zion. Jerusalem—King David’s crowning achievement and Judah’s heart and soul. Sheba dreaded what awaited them. The whole city would be in mourning, of course, but would her half brothers’ bodies still hang on the palace wall? Had they been burned already, or would the funeral pyres await Mattan’s return? Many of the Yahwists refused funerary burnings, carving out stone boxes—sarcophagi—for their dead. Would blood stain the streets, the palace, the royal bedchambers?
Sheba squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the gruesome images.
I must rely
on my training for strength.
She was a high priestess of Baal, a princess of Judah, favorite daughter of Jehoram.
Hazi gave the order to resume the march toward the city, now slowly, respectfully. For the first time, the staggering realization that they’d been spared this tragedy dawned fully. Why had they been saved? What cruel game were the gods playing?
As they approached the Sheep Gate, two men hurried round the northern wall—one stooped and slow moving, the other in a filthy Carite’s uniform, both waving at the procession.
“Surround the women and take your positions,” Hazi shouted, drawing his sword. He shielded his eyes from the setting sun and leaned forward. “It’s Zev!” Hazi sheathed his sword and tapped his camel’s shoulder, jumping clear of the
beast before it was on its knees. He nearly tackled his captain with an embrace.
Sheba watched their animated conversation but couldn’t hear the words. She recognized the stooped man as Obadiah, the nobleman Ima Thaliah had banished the night Elijah’s letter was read. Captain Zev invited the old man to whatever conversation he and Hazi were sharing.
Before Sheba could demand a servant’s help to dismount, she heard rocks crunching underfoot. Ima walked beside her, past her camel, toward the men. Surprised the queen had dismounted so quickly, Sheba looked back and saw that Ima’s camel was only now coming to its knees.
If Ima can jump, so can I!
“Wait!” she called out, leaping to the ground behind Ima Thaliah.
Her plea stole the attention of the three men and won a dazzling smile from Hazi. “Abba’s alive!” he said, opening his arms. Sheba rushed to him, and he swung her around in their traditional childlike twirl. “Abba’s alive, Sheba!”
“You forget yourself, both of you!” Ima Thaliah stood with arms folded, a disapproving frown on her face. Aiming her question at Zev, she asked, “Where have you been, and why didn’t anyone know the king was alive?”
Obadiah interjected before the guard could draw a breath. “We’re sorry to have frightened you, but King Jehoram felt his location must remain secret to ensure the unbroken lineage of King David on Judah’s throne. But I assure you he is most eager to see his family.”
A shadow of grief nearly doused Ima Thaliah’s fury—nearly. “You may tell King Jehoram—wherever he is—that he no longer has a family.” She turned abruptly and marched back to her camel, shocking Sheba and the men, who stood with their mouths gaping.
Hazi was the first to gather his wits. “Is Abba nearby? Can you take me to him?”
“I’m going with you.” Sheba folded her arms and planted herself beside her brother.
Zev looked at Obadiah, deferring to the old nobleman, who
bowed humbly. “Our first glimpse of safety has been your return. Your abba has been stricken with a sickness that’s left him weak and somewhat . . . disheveled. Please, let us bring King Jehoram into the palace after sunset so that we might wash him before he’s seen.”
Hazi’s brow furrowed. “Captain Zev is my superior in the royal guard, but as a prince of Judah, I could order you to take me to Abba immediately.”
“Indeed you could, my lord.” Obadiah’s tone remained kind and humble. “And I would obey if that is your command. However, I would hope that you’d consider your abba’s condition and the ordeal he’s survived the past three days.” Meeting Hazi’s gaze, he added, “I believe King Jehoram would be relieved if he could greet his family and advisors with his dignity intact.”
Zev stepped forward and placed a hand on Hazi’s shoulder. “Your abba would not want you to see him like this.”
Sheba’s heart was in her throat. “What’s wrong with him? Was he injured in the raid?”
The approach of several camels interrupted their conversation. Ima Thaliah had regained her mount and commanded a small contingent to escort her. “I’m returning to the palace. Anyone coming with me?” she asked as she ambled by.
Hazi seemed torn, like a man tied between two horses pulling him in opposite directions. He turned to Sheba. “What do you think?”
“I want to see Abba now, and if Ima is as angry as she appears, he’ll need to know he has our unwavering support.”
Raking a hand through his desert-brown hair, he sighed. “Stay here,” he said to the other three. Marching back to the waiting guards and servants, he shouted, “Follow Queen Athaliah and her escort into the city. Princess Sheba and I must accompany Captain Zev and the king’s advisor on a short diplomatic journey.” He captured the attention of his second-in-command and added, “Tell Queen Athaliah that I’ll return Sheba safely to her chambers by nightfall. She can visit King Jehoram in the morning.” The soldier affirmed with a nod, and Hazi returned to those waiting by the road.
Obadiah glanced at Zev and then at the prince, his discomfort seeming to increase. “I’m sorry, my lord, but may I speak freely?” Hazi’s raised brow opened a floodgate for the nobleman’s words. “I cannot reveal the hiding place of the king without the approval of Yahweh’s high priest. Until this invasion, only Amariah and I—and one prophet in Judah—were aware of its existence, and—”
“Yahweh’s high priest is dead, Obadiah.”
Obadiah’s instant tears testified to his friendship with the old priest. Zev placed a comforting hand on his back. “I’m sorry, Obadiah. He seemed like a good man.”
“He was a good man.” Overcome by emotion, he asked Hazi in a whisper, “Do you know how Amariah died?”
Sheba’s heart broke. The two old men had probably been friends for years, worshiping the same archaic god. She thought of the pain Ima Thaliah suffered in hearing of her sons’ deaths, and wondered which hurt more—losing the young or the old. She’d barely known Hazi’s brothers, her half brothers. Abba Jehoram had over sixty children, and all of Ima Thaliah’s sons except Hazi had tormented her mercilessly, so though she mourned Ima’s losses, Sheba’s personal grief had been averted when she heard Abba was safe.
Hazi braced Obadiah’s shoulder. “We know very little, I’m afraid. I’ve heard only that the Philistines and Arabs invaded, killing all four of my brothers and—”
“Oh, son.” Obadiah reached for Hazi’s hand, patting it with sincere sympathy. “I’m so sorry, and your abba will be devastated.”
“I believe Ima blames him. Do you know why he summoned them to Jerusalem? It seems odd.”
As if measuring his answer, the old man pursed his lips. “Perhaps it’s best if he explains it to you personally. I’ll take you to him.” Then, studying Sheba, he asked, “Are you sure you want to see your abba in such a weakened state, my dear? This will not be easy.”
Sheba gathered her courage and straightened her spine. “I am a priestess of Baal Melkart and princess of Judah. I am not afraid.”
Obadiah offered a kind smile and then his hand to escort her. “I admire your courage, Princess. Perhaps I’ll lean on you if I grow weary.”
The four of them began their trek around the city, the sounds of the mourners persisting like the whine of a loose wheel on a long journey. When finally they arrived at a small clearing, wildflowers budded amid the spring grasses, and Sheba watched with wonder as Zev lifted away a circular wall of thorns, well hidden among a pile of rocks.
Obadiah pointed toward the dark hole and then offered Hazi two flint stones and an oil lamp. “Light this, and hand it to me after your sister and I step inside.”
Sheba thought it would have been wiser to light the lamp
before
they stepped into a yawning black cavern, but she followed the kindly nobleman into the hole.
High priestess of Melkart
. Princess of Judah
, she reminded herself while waiting on the others to light the low-ceilinged blackness.
Obadiah led them, Hazi next. Sheba followed. Zev trailed the group after replacing the thorn cover from within. Sheba’s heart quickened as they walked farther and farther into the depths of the earth, the sounds above them completely muted. Some parts of the tunnel were barely wide enough to squeeze through. How did the hulking Captain Zev fit?
After what seemed like ages, the sound of trickling water captured her attention, and Obadiah called out in a cheerful voice, “We’ve returned with visitors!”
Sheba heard no response, but the narrow tunnel soon opened into a large cavern, the stench so overpowering she nearly retched. Covering her nose and mouth with her wide sleeve, she followed Obadiah, letting her eyes adjust to the small circle of light near what appeared to be a pond. Two men looked back, stunned—one seated, one reclining.
The seated man leapt to his feet, and Sheba immediately recognized the linen robe of a Yahweh priest. He began railing at Obadiah. “How dare you bring them here! Amariah will be furious that you’ve disclosed—”
“Amariah is dead, Jehoiada.”
Sheba heard little of the irate priest’s response. Her whole being was focused on the form that lay beside the cavern’s pool. “Abba? Is that you?”
The man staring back was a mere shadow of the king she’d left a few days ago, his eyes dark-circled, cheeks sunken. Sheba approached slowly, but Hazi ran past her and fell to his knees beside Abba. “What’s happened to you?” Turning to the angry priest, he demanded, “What have you done to him?”
Obadiah spoke quietly with the priest now, probably explaining about Amariah and the city, while Captain Zev offered Hazi answers. “Your abba began showing symptoms the night of the attack. We’ve kept him as comfortable as possible in the quarry, but I’m sure the palace physicians will be able to help him.”
“I wish you hadn’t seen me like this.” Abba Jehoram hid his face from his children, but Sheba lifted his hand and kissed it.