In the Shadow of Jezebel (17 page)

Do
you trust the Word of Yahweh through the Urim and
Thummim?

Again Jehoiada glanced about, but slowly he realized the voice emanated from deep within. Understanding dawned.
Yahweh! Yes,
I trust You.

He returned his attention to his bride, who had gone pale waiting for his answer. “I am ready to proceed!” he nearly shouted, startling everyone.

Prince Ahaziah chuckled and winked at Jehosheba. “Then as the representative of the king of Judah, I now join Yahweh’s high priest to the house of David. Jehoiada ben Jonah, do you vow to provide for Jehosheba, daughter of King Jehoram . . .”

The words flowed through Jehoiada’s mind and over his heart. They were mere ceremony now. His vow had been made when he remembered the Thummim, the covenant made upon his promise to care for Jehosheba all his days.

D
EUTERONOMY
17:2–3, 5–6

If a man or woman living among you . . . has worshiped other gods . . . take the man or woman who has done this evil deed to your city gate and stone that person to death. On the testimony of two or three witnesses a person is to be put to death, but no one is to be put to death on the testimony of only one witness.

A
fter the ceremony Sheba and Jehoiada were escorted by a detachment of Carite guards to their feasting table in the grand courtyard—a low rectangular table perched on an elevated platform. Ima Thaliah sat at Sheba’s right hand, and Hazi, Mattan, and handsome Nathanael sat on Jehoiada’s left. Seating women
with
men publicly was quite unconventional, but as Ima promised, nothing about the wedding had been common.

Sheba peered down the long row of honored guests, furtively inspecting the second priest.
Why didn’t the Yahwists choose Nathanael as
high priest?

Jehoiada leaned forward, raised his eyebrow, and blocked her view.

Mortified, her cheeks burning, she needed a quick distraction. She wrapped her veils tighter, accentuating her curves, and
then began serving Jehoiada wine and tasty morsels with sultry glances and an occasional brush of skin. As the feast wore on, Yahweh’s high priest seemed more annoyed by her coy games than tempted, and Sheba’s confidence waned with each of his disapproving sighs.

Trumpets announced the last round of speeches and jokes just before twilight. Panic threatened to choke her. In moments, Sheba would walk away from the only life she’d known.

No longer a princess. Now, a priest’s wife.

Hazi stood, bowing grandly, and the courtyard erupted in applause. He’d already won many hearts in Jerusalem. “Have you heard about the high priest who wandered into the Temple of Astarte?” Men began jeering as Hazi continued the coarse joke.

Sheba glanced at her bridegroom, who appeared utterly miserable. Ima’s plan to win him with wealth and pleasure had gone awry. For the extravagant gifts of a golden waistband and an ivory-inlaid collar, he’d offered obligatory thanks before whispering to Nathanael that they’d sell the items to feed the poor in the City of David. He then dismissed the remaining Yahweh priests to make preparations for the evening Temple sacrifice. The man’s piety was infuriating.

Ima Thaliah gripped her arm, pulling her close. “Why are you just sitting there? Charm your high priest.”

Sheba donned her practiced smile and pressed against Jehoiada’s right arm while reaching for a pitcher. “How may I serve you, my husband?” she asked in a sultry voice, refilling his wine but refusing to meet his gaze.

He placed his hand on hers, steadying her hold on the pitcher, and leaned close, his whisper warm on her cheek. “You may continue this pretense a little longer, but when you walk out with me at twilight, you will never again live a lie.” He tightened his hand on hers. “Do you understand,
Wife
?”

She dropped the pitcher, shattering the Egyptian amphora and spilling wine on his priestly garments. Gasping, she leapt to her feet, covering her mouth with trembling hands and staring in horror at the crowd who stared back. Hundreds of eyes focused on her awkwardness.

What will Ima’s punishment be this time
?

A shadow hovered over her, and a hand brushed her face—light as a feather. “It seems I’m to be anointed twice in two days.” She felt Jehoiada’s breath against her cheek again, his nearness suddenly a relief, not a threat. “Today anointed with wine as your husband, and tomorrow with sacred oil as high priest. I consider both Yahweh’s calling.” He coaxed her hands away from her mouth, kissed her palms, and cradled them gently to his chest.

Hazi leapt to his feet and raised his goblet. “Lift your glasses to celebrate the union of Yahweh’s high priest with the house of David.”

Sheba pulled her hands from Jehoiada’s grasp, struggling to steady her ragged breaths. How dare he pretend kindness after his harshness had caused her blunder? He appeared confused—even hurt—that she pulled away.

Distracted, she noticed Mattan whisper something to Hazi, causing her brother to relinquish his role as host. Baal’s high priest motioned for the audience to be seated, and Jehoiada cast a questioning glance at Sheba. She answered with a shrug.

Mattan swept his hand over the crowd. “King Jehoram has asked that I not allow you, his honored guests, to leave this grand occasion without sharing his hope for the nation of Judah. Princess Sheba’s marriage celebrates the joining of Yahweh’s high priest to the house of David, but let it also mark the blending of old traditions and new expressions.” He paused, allowing approval to spread. “Let this marriage inaugurate a new day in Judah—a day in which the beloved King Jehoshaphat’s traditions are revered, and the auspicious Prince Ahaziah’s reforms are explored!” He seized Hazi’s hand, lifting his arm like a champion charioteer, and the room burst into applause.

Sheba stood with the rest, clapping wildly, but noticed her husband and his second priest sat awkwardly without so much as a smile. She felt her cheeks flame, embarrassed at the open disrespect Jehoiada showed. The applause died as others, too, noticed his rebuff and resumed their seats. Hazi sat beside his new brother-in-law and cast a questioning glance at Jehoiada,
who met Hazi’s gaze with a pitiable expression. Yahweh’s high priest placed a hand on Hazi’s shoulder as if comforting him. The crowd grew still, the moment tense.

Mattan shattered the silence. “Our good Prince Ahaziah plans to follow in his saba Jehoshaphat’s wise footsteps and tour the cities of Judah, assuring them of his commitment to their safety and exploring necessary national reforms. If we are to survive in this ever-changing world of trade, we must embrace the cultures around us and learn to respect all people and all gods.”

The crowd cheered once more, but Sheba kept a watchful eye on a dancing muscle in Jehoiada’s clenched jaw. Sheba still envisioned him toting the lamb up those altar stairs and slicing its neck. She scooted closer to Ima Thaliah, choosing a known threat to her unknown fear, while Mattan prattled on.

“Though we’ve decided to forgo Baal’s Festival of Awakening—out of respect for those killed by the Philistines and Arabs—the Yahwists have chosen to proceed with their annual festivals of Passover and Unleavened Bread. As a show of solidarity, Prince Ahaziah has agreed to participate in their festivals this year.” A flutter of approval worked through the crowd, and Hazi nodded, receiving the hushed praise.

Sheba saw Mattan glance at Jehoiada, a silent challenge of sorts. “In lieu of our festival, Queen Athaliah has asked that we enact Baal’s Awakening as the final event of our wedding feast. What could be more appropriate than a true royal wedding to celebrate the sacred marriage of Prince Baal and Lady Astarte? Let the new life of Jehoiada and Jehosheba produce fruit in keeping with the new life of our crops and livestock. My assistant priest, Gattam, will become Prince Baal in the sacred act, and our lovely bride, Sheba, will play the part of Astarte.”

Wild applause met Mattan’s introduction, but Sheba couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She kept her eyes downcast, humiliated. How could she enter a marriage tent with a priest during her wedding feast—before she lay with her husband? Ima and Mattan had placed her in an impossible situation. If she played the part, she betrayed her husband. If she didn’t play the part, she betrayed her nation.

Sheba felt Ima Thaliah’s hand nudge her leg. Cheeks aflame, Sheba turned to meet the queen’s cheerful applause and granite stare.
Today I die.
Sheba knew Jehoiada would kill her if she became Astarte, just as Ima would kill her if she didn’t. She stood, willing her legs to hold her.
Let death come swiftly.

A meaty hand clamped down on her forearm like a vice. “You will
never again
serve Baal.” Jehoiada rose with surprising agility, his face a terrifying mix of emotions. He faced the wedding guests, drew Sheba protectively under his arm, and lifted his hand to silence the applause. “How many of you are native Judeans, born of the tribe of Judah?”

Silence met his question, averted glances.

“Perhaps some of you recall your parents’ stories about Moses and the wandering Israelites in the wilderness. At that time, Yahweh made a covenant with Israel promising we could live in this land—on the very dirt upon which your homes are built. In order to maintain that covenant, his Law must be kept.”

A disgruntled rumble spread over the gathering, but Jehoiada seemed unaffected. “One of those laws is this: ‘If a man or woman living among you has worshiped other gods, take the man or woman who has done this evil deed to your city gate and stone that person to death. On the testimony of two or three witnesses a person is to be put to death, but no one is to be put to death on the testimony of only one witness.’” The crowd gasped, frantic jeers and dissents rising, but Jehoiada quieted them with an uplifted hand. “Now, if my second priest and I witnessed my new bride worshiping a pagan god, we would be bound by this law to stone her at the city gate.”

Sheba whimpered, knees buckling, but Jehoiada held her close, his strong arms both protecting and threatening.

Hazi leapt to his feet, trying to shove Jehoiada away, but the big priest held him at arm’s length and ground out between clenched teeth, “You heard Jehosheba’s vow in my chamber, Prince Ahaziah. She promised to never again worship a false god. Now she is my wife, and I will teach her the truth about Yahweh, about your saba Jehoshaphat, and about Judah. I hope you can learn the truth about them someday as well.”

Hazi stood, gaping, as Jehoiada swept Sheba into his arms and carried her down the center aisle of the courtyard, Nathanael trailing behind them. Guests on both sides sat in awkward silence. Sheba hid her face against Jehoiada’s shoulder, too humiliated to protest her inglorious palace departure.

Jehoiada kicked himself all the way out of the palace courtyard, past the Horse Gate, and through the Temple courts. Why had he allowed the farce to continue? Yahweh had approved the marriage with the Thummim, but He had never condoned a vulgar feast.

“Are you going to put me down, or am I doomed to be carried like a slaughtered lamb for the rest of my days?” Jehosheba lifted red-rimmed eyes and a defiant chin. She was still trembling violently, and he didn’t want to upset her further.

He stopped near his chamber—their chamber now—and planted her feet gently on the limestone courtyard. “I’ll only carry you when necessary.” He smiled, trying to soften their harsh beginning, and then leaned down to unbuckle her sandals. “You won’t need these anymore. Everyone who lives on Temple grounds is barefoot.”

When he handed them to her, their eyes met for a moment before she pointed at Nathanael. “Will
he
be joining us in the bridal chamber?”

“Oh no! I, uh—no!” Nathanael’s stammering wrenched a begrudging grin from both bride and groom.

Jehoiada rescued him. “No, Nathanael is my second priest. He lives in the chamber beside us and will arrive each morning before dawn to dress me in our outer chamber.”

“Aren’t you old enough to dress yourself?”

Lord God, give me
patience!
“If his presence in our chamber offends you, I can go to Nathanael’s room to don the golden garments.” Silence—finally. He reached for the latch, shoved open the door, and allowed her to enter first.

Nathanael waited respectfully outside, clearing his throat. “Shall I wake you at dawn?” He was crimson from the neck up.

Jehoiada chuckled. “I doubt I’ll oversleep on the day we begin ordinations, but yes, Nathanael. A knock at my chamber would be much appreciated.”

He closed the door and turned to find Jehosheba’s back pressed against the far wall, her eyes wide. Henna-stained toes peeked from beneath her gold-trimmed bridal gown, the wine she’d spilled still a damp streak down her left side. Trembling, she held her chin high. Defiant. Vulnerable. So beautiful that his heart ached within him.
How can she stir this feeling inside
me, Lord? She’s infuriating!
But somehow she was Yahweh’s gift to him.

“Will you sit with me at the table?” He reached for two wooden cups and the water skin. “We have a few things to discuss before the seven-day ordination begins tomorrow.” She approached tentatively while Jehoiada filled the cups.

After settling on a cushion beside the table, she reached for a cup, her hand still shaking. Deep brown eyes peered over the rim while she drank her fill and then set it down, silently demanding more. He hid a grin and indulged her. After she had drained that cup too, her trembling eased. “What do we have to discuss?”

Jehoiada felt a flush on his cheeks. “Tomorrow begins my ordination as high priest, and during the next seven days, I must not lie with—”

“I know!” she nearly shouted, startling Jehoiada. Noticing her cheeks shade crimson too, Jehoiada watched her knees bend to her chest, hands locked around them. “Ima told me there would be no yihud until after your Feasts of Passover and Unleavened Bread. I understand our marriage is an arrangement, Priest. You need not feel obligated to me.”