In the Shadow of Jezebel (19 page)

Hazi grew agitated. “I’m not sure Jehoiada should be involved in writing them. Ima must believe they remain a secret. If Sheba writes them in Hebrew—”

“What language would you prefer?” Jehoiada asked. “I’m fluent in Egyptian, Phoenician, and Assyrian.”

Sheba gasped. “Will you teach me Assyrian? I had no idea Yahweh priests were educated in—”

“Sheba!” Hazi gripped her shoulder, refocusing her attention. “Write the scrolls in Phoenician, and then you
must
prepare to meet with Ima. She won’t wait forever.”

Jehoiada shoved his arm away, standing over Sheba protectively. “The only thing my wife
must
do now, Prince Ahaziah, is remember she is loved. Jehosheba will meet with the queen when—and if—she’s ready.”

Hazi stood, meeting the challenge. “Being loved won’t save her from Jerusalem’s watchmen.”

“Enough!” Sheba said, scooting off the bed toward her brother. “Hazi, go on your tour tomorrow. Marry lots of beautiful women, make adorable babies, and learn how to be a king.” She shoved him into the outer chamber toward the door amid both men’s chuckles.

Before he reached for the latch, he turned and hugged her, resting his cheek atop her head. “I love you too, Sheba. Don’t ever forget that.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

“Good night, Jehoiada.” Releasing his sister, Hazi embraced the high priest, kissing first one cheek and then the other. “Take care of her.”

“I plan to.”

Jehoiada followed the young prince out the door and greeted the Carite captain, who stood with the chief gatekeeper. “I’d like to speak with Prince Ahaziah alone for a moment,” he said to both guards. He guided Hazi about five camel lengths away, lowering his voice to ensure their privacy. “I want to be sure you know certain things about your saba Jehoshaphat before you tour Judah’s cities.”

“To what
certain things
are you referring?” The prince offered a quizzical grin. “Did you know my saba?”

“I wouldn’t say I knew him well. He was quite close with my friend and high priest, Amariah, but King Jehoshaphat and I
spoke occasionally.” He paused, trying to think of a tactful way to broach the subject.

“Out with it, brother-in-law.” The prince’s charm was undeniable and would take him far.

“How much do you know about Jehoshaphat’s tours of Judah?”

He chuckled. “Obviously not as much as I’m about to learn. And I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Hazi. Only my abba calls me Prince Ahaziah, and then only when he’s angry.”

“Well, that breaks my heart.” Jehoiada’s remark sobered the prince. “I’ll call you Hazi if you can tell me the true meaning of your full name, Ahaziah.” He waited, noting grief shadow the young man’s face before he replaced his carefully sculpted mask.

“
Ahaziah
means ‘held by Yahweh.’” He swallowed hard. “And, as I said, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Hazi.”

Jehoiada nodded, realizing the topic was closed. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that your saba Jehoshaphat was the most successful king in Jerusalem since Solomon.” The compliment refreshed Hazi’s smile. “But do you know
why
your saba toured every city in Judah?”

“Yes. On his first tour, he built fortresses and trained a professional army in each city rather than relying on volunteer farmer corps. He also provided each city with storehouses to withstand independent sieges. And on his second tour, he instituted a judicial system in the cities, incorporating the central court here in Jerusalem . . .” He smiled through his final words. “And you know all that, but there’s something else you want to tell me.”

Jehoiada chuckled. “Indeed. In the third year of your saba’s reign, he visited every city in Judah, taking with him the Book of the Law of Moses, enlisting Levites and priests to help him teach its precepts to the people. The fear of the Lord fell on surrounding nations, and the same Philistines and Arabs who invaded Jerusalem a few weeks ago bowed at Jehoshaphat’s feet, bringing him gifts and tribute and flocks.”

Hazi stood expressionless. “I’ve never heard that part of the story.”

It was just as Jehoiada expected. The prince had been given
only the portions of truth that served Athaliah’s purposes. “You can build armies and storehouses—or loyalty through marriages—but only Yahweh protects Judah from its enemies,
Hazi
.” He paused, measuring Hazi’s reaction, but the prince was a blank slate. “Would you like to hear more about Jehoshaphat, or should we say good-bye for now?”

Hazi’s answer came with a practiced smile and a curt bow. “I leave at dawn, and my company breaks its fast in Bethlehem with the nobleman Ozem. If all goes as planned, I’ll have married his daughter by midday and move to the next town after I enjoy a week of yihud with my new bride.” Sadness shadowed his expression, erasing all folly. “Your week of yihud begins tonight, doesn’t it?” Jehoiada nodded, measuring the young man’s intent. “Treat her kindly, my friend. She deserves to be loved.”

The high priest drew him into a fierce hug. “Be well, Hazi. May you realize Yahweh holds you.” The prince hurried away and Captain Zev ran to catch up.

Jehoiada turned toward his chamber and nearly ran headlong into Zabad, who stood beaming on this moonlit night, silly grin fixed in place. “All preparations have been made for your week of yihud. Meals and fresh water will be delivered to your door three times a day, but I’ve left strict instructions that you’re not to be disturbed.” He lingered, brows forming twin peaks.

“Well?” Jehoiada asked.

“Well what?” The gatekeeper’s grin faded.

“Exactly.” Jehoiada took some delight in the deep crimson that flooded Zabad’s cheeks just before he scurried away.

Chuckling, Jehoiada opened his door and peered inside. The outer chamber was empty. His heart sank. Perhaps his wife had grown tired of waiting and had gone to bed alone. He knew how hard waiting could be.

During the two short weeks since their wedding, Jehosheba had been so fearful and fragile that Jehoiada avoided any physical temptation. He’d diligently resisted even the slightest show of affection, and with such a beautiful wife, it had been torture! He might be old, but he wasn’t dead.

“Jehoiada?” There, standing in the bedroom doorway, Je
hosheba wore a sheer tunic. “I wondered if you’d be willing to comb my hair. My maids always did it for me, and I’ve tried—but now it’s a tangled mess.” She held out an ivory comb, her breath coming in quick gasps.

Oh, Yahweh, can it be
?
Last night he’d tossed and turned, wondering how he could show a husband’s love without demanding the rights of yihud. On the other hand, she was so young and beautiful. How could he ever believe she came to his bed willingly—without hidden motives? They’d both entered this relationship out of obligation, but at some point it had become . . . more.
Yahweh, help me to love her
well—to show her true and lasting love.

“You don’t have to,” she said, her cheeks shading a lovely crimson. “I’m sure you’re tired.” She turned to close the door.

“Jehosheba, wait!”

She froze, her back still toward him. He covered the distance in three large steps and gently lifted the comb from her hand. His heart began to race at the sight of the ebony tresses cascading down her back. He grazed the bend of her neck as he lifted a section of curls. She gasped, shivering at his touch, and he paused, afraid he’d frightened her.
Yahweh, give her strength.
He continued working the comb, easing the tangles to the end. Noticing her breath had become ragged, he issued another silent prayer and kissed the alabaster neck that beckoned him. She groaned softly, leaning into his kiss.

And then he knew. Yahweh had answered his prayers—spoken and unspoken. Jehoiada had been given a wife with whom he could share the rest of his days.

N
UMBERS
28:26–27

On the day of firstfruits, when you present to the L
ORD
an offering of new grain during the Festival of Weeks, hold a sacred assembly and do no regular work. Present a burnt offering of two young bulls, one ram and seven male lambs a year old as an aroma pleasing to the L
ORD
.

S
heba broke Ima Thaliah’s seal on another scroll, hoping—even praying—this one included an update on Abba Jehoram’s condition. Ima’s scrolls arrived faithfully each week on the day before Jehoiada’s appearance in central court. Full of news on Hazi’s progress, Judah’s political woes, and Israel’s suffering at Aram’s hands, they never revealed Abba’s condition. Jehoiada helped craft Sheba’s carefully worded replies, making sure each message was true, always writing them in the Phoenician script to infer Jehoiada’s ignorance of their content. His counsel was consistent before they sealed each scroll:
Live
the
truth
;
be
wise
without
lies
.

Tomorrow would mark six weeks since their yihud had begun—the sweetest, most precious days of her life. On the last night of the Feast of Unleavened Bread, her mighty high priest held her tenderly and taught her of real love—and of Yahweh. To her husband, love and Yahweh were the same les
sons. When their weeklong isolation ended, a new education began—that of living as the high priest’s wife in a community with hundreds of men.

Only one other woman—a paid servant—visited Temple grounds daily, preparing the side dishes to accompany the priests’ offering portions. But the fussy maid banned Sheba from her kitchen. So Sheba attempted spinning and dyeing the special threads of wool and flax for the priestly robes. She’d worked with the Levites for only a day when Jehoiada explained that several of the men found it too tempting to work so close to her.

A tear splashed on Ima Thaliah’s scroll, bringing Sheba back to the moment. Why was she crying? Loneliness was nothing new, and at least here Jehoiada loved her. But she missed . . . people. She hadn’t been friendly with her maids, but their incessant chatter and activity was a melody of life she’d taken for granted. With a sigh, she wiped her eyes, unrolled the parchment, and began reading.

From Athaliah, Queen of Judah.

To Jehosheba, Daughter of Jehoram, King of Judah.

I send greetings with blessings from almighty Baal Melkart and Mattan, his high priest.

May the Rider of the Clouds make your womb as fertile as the pastures of Hebron. Nearly eight weeks have passed since your wedding, and we have not yet received word of a child. Is there yet hope, or does your husband’s age disqualify him for sons?

Your brother has returned his tenth bride to Jerusalem, having persuaded two noblemen each week to offer their daughters as royal wives. Mattan has divined signs of a child in the first four. We rejoice that the house of David may soon be replenished. Hazi returns next week to celebrate his tour of Judah.

I must speak with you on another matter too sensitive for written correspondence. Arrange for a guard to bring
you to my chamber when your husband reports to the Throne Hall for his central court duties tomorrow.

Written by my own hand.

Shaken, Sheba rolled up the scroll and set it aside. Hazi had warned her that Ima Thaliah would eventually demand a personal meeting. Fear clawed at her chest.
Maybe I could bribe one of the Carites
to sneak me into Abba’s chamber.
The thought comforted her a bit.

“Jehosheba?” Her husband’s deep voice startled her. He’d slipped into the chamber and stood over her like a mighty oak, his concern warming her to the depths.

Sheba rushed into his arms. “Ima still hasn’t revealed anything about Abba, and now she wants me to come to her chamber tomorrow—alone—while you serve your regular duty at central court—”

“No! You’re not going to the palace.” His arms tightened around her.

She grew quiet, trying to decide if she felt relieved or angry at his commanding tone. In the space of a few heartbeats, anger won out, and she shoved him away. “Did you rescue me from Ima and Hazi so you could become my new master?” He winced as if she’d slapped him. “We don’t even know
why
she wants me to meet her.”

“I don’t have to know why you’ve been summoned because I know
who
summoned you! She hates all that Yahweh holds sacred, and I won’t allow her to destroy anyone else I love!” His serene mask had slipped, and Sheba suddenly saw the roaring lion beneath. Had he been pretending kindness all these weeks?

“How dare you yell at me when I’m the one who’s upset!” Sheba glared at him, relying on anger to quell other emotions.

He stepped toward her, and she recoiled, the image of a slain lamb forming unbidden.

“How can you still be afraid of me?” The thunder drained from his voice, but she couldn’t let her guard down. He raked his
fingers through that handsome silver hair. “I’m sorry I shouted. I’m not angry with you. I simply don’t trust Athaliah.”

She lifted her chin. “You don’t trust Athaliah, or you don’t trust
me
?”

His penetrating gaze nearly dismantled her defenses. “I trust you, Jehosheba, but I’m not sure why you don’t trust me.”

His challenge unleashed the tears she’d so expertly denied. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me for eight weeks, but people I thought loved me all my life betrayed and threatened to kill me.” She released a frustrated sigh, wiping the despised tears from her cheeks. “Who am I
not
afraid of, Jehoiada?”

He offered both hands, approaching her slowly as if she were a skittish pony, then cradled her face. He leaned down, brushing her lips with a gentle kiss. She melted into his protective arms, lingering in the safety.

“You never have to fear me, my wife,” he whispered against her ear. “Why did Athaliah summon you? Maybe Zabad can escort you with a detachment of Temple guards.”

In the protection of his arms, she could nod her agreement, but when tomorrow came, could she really walk into Athaliah’s chamber?

“Sheba, my dear!” Ima Thaliah opened her arms but remained rooted to the floor near her couch. “I’ve missed you. Come, give your ima a hug.”

Zabad took one step through the door with Sheba, and two Carites caught his arms. He started to fight, but Sheba placed a calming hand on his forearm. “I’m fine,” she whispered, holding his gaze. “Wait for me outside.” She sounded more confident than she felt.

He wrested his arms from the gloating Carites. Sheba issued malevolent glares and they sobered. She’d almost forgotten the power of a princess.

The queen had dropped her welcoming arms and was now standing, hands balled on her hips. “Really, Sheba, must you cause a scene wherever you go?” With a huff, she resumed her
seat on the finely embroidered couch facing the balcony. An early summer breeze beckoned Sheba to join her.

The enormous chamber seemed even bigger after living in Jehoiada’s modest rooms. With every step across the lush red carpets, she silently repeated Jehoiada’s oft-spoken advice.
Live the truth; be wise without lies.
She sat on the couch beside Ima, clasping her hands in her lap to keep from fidgeting.

The queen began her perusal immediately, her kohl-sculpted eyebrows rising in disdain. “Why do you greet me without cosmetics or lotions? Honestly, Sheba, you smell like you sleep in a sheep pen.”

“On the contrary, Ima, I sleep with Yahweh’s high priest.” The comment earned a half grin from the queen. Though Ima’s criticism threatened a familiar stab of shame, Sheba remembered Jehoiada’s love and was strengthened. The taste of his kiss, his gentle touch—these convinced her she was desirable to the only one who mattered. “The wives of Yahweh’s priests are forbidden to wear lotions or perfumes.”

“By the gods, why? Do they like their women smelling like sheep?”

Sheba chuckled. “The priests keep only one type of scent on Temple grounds, the sacred incense burned before Yahweh. In order to avoid any temptation for priests’ wives to steal the precious scent, they’ve asked all wives on Temple grounds to forgo the luxury.” Ima didn’t need to know she was the only wife on-site at the moment.

“You seem quite knowledgeable about life on Temple grounds, my dear,” Mattan said, emerging from behind the heavy tapestry separating Ima’s sleeping chamber from her meeting area. “Your knowledge will help with our plan.” A sickening grin creased his lips when he saw Sheba measure the distance to the door. “Don’t worry,
Priestess
. I won’t ask you to do anything that might force your husband to stone you.” Mattan and Ima shared a laugh.

Sheba remained silent and straightened her spine, trying to stifle her fear and regain her dignity. “What is it you wish from me, Ima? I’d like to see Abba before I return to Yahweh’s
Temple.” Narrowing her eyes, she held Thaliah’s gaze, making her point clear. “I’m sure you’ll find a way for me to see Abba Jehoram, since you obviously need my help.”

“I’d like nothing more than to reunite you with your abba
after
our little chat.” She signaled Mattan to commence what Sheba assumed was the real reason for their meeting.

The priest tented his fingers, tapping them together while staring at her with his dead gray eyes. “We’d like to know all you can tell us about Yahweh’s Feast of Weeks.”

The request seemed utterly harmless, which frightened Sheba more than a blatant threat. “Why?” she asked Ima, refusing to converse with the weasel high priest.

Ima turned her attention to Mattan, deferring to his answer. “We plan to institute in Judah a long-standing Phoenician festival called Marzeh. And we will celebrate Marzeh on the same day as Yahweh’s Feast of Weeks.”

“Shavuot. Yahwists call it the Feast of Shavuot,” Sheba corrected him, feeling her defenses rise.

Mattan and Athaliah exchanged satisfied grins. “Excuse me.” Mattan bowed. “I can see you will be most helpful in our quest to understand
Yahwists
.”

Sheba stood abruptly, startling them both. “I really don’t see how I can be of any help. Why don’t you ask Jehoiada? He knows much more—”

Ima Thaliah grabbed her wrist and twisted. “Sit down, Sheba—or have you decided not to visit your abba?” Her voice was tender and sweet, her message so vicious and clear.

Sheba resumed her seat, focusing on a lamp in the wall niche across the room. “The Feast of Shavuot occurs fifty days after Passover, celebrating the first harvest of wheat. It is the second pilgrimage festival of three . . .” She offered a condescending waggle of her head at Mattan. “That means the second time all families of Judah are required to appear before the Lord at the Temple.”

He returned her favor with prayerful hands and an exaggerated bow.

She rolled her eyes and continued. “Between prescribed sacrifices by the high priest, each family brings a freewill offering according to the blessings they’ve received from Yahweh during
the past year. It’s a time of celebrating and sharing with orphans, widows, and foreigners—you know, those less fortunate—”

“And that, my dear, is why Baal grows in power and Yahweh’s power wanes.” Ima Thaliah placed her hand on Sheba’s knee, patting her gently as if explaining the stars to a grasshopper. “While Yahwists are celebrating their pathetic little kernels of wheat, servants of Baal will offer him gold and silver, fine jewelry, flocks and herds.”

“I don’t understand.” Sheba felt like a grasshopper learning about the stars.

“On the day Jehoiada coaxes poor farm families to share their meager produce with beggars, Hazi will return with his wives and their wealthy families. Mattan and I will invite all the wealthy noblemen from Judah to Baal’s temple, offering memorial gifts and sacrifices to the spirits that still hover near the tombs. Beloved King Jehoshaphat’s spirit will miraculously show his approval through sheep’s entrails—won’t he, Mattan?”

“I’m sure he will.” The feigned innocence on the priest’s face made Sheba nauseous.

Ima laughed, raising gooseflesh on Sheba’s arms. “And
every
nobleman will attend—a few more may even offer Hazi their daughters as wives.” She leveled her gaze, daring Sheba to disagree. “The nobles will attend because no one would risk the disfavor of Judah’s queen—and future king—by refusing an invitation to the first Marzeh.”

All the blood drained from Sheba’s face. She wished Jehoiada were here to defend her—to defend himself. Had she betrayed him by divulging too much? She’d spoken the truth as he’d told her to do, but in the process she may have harmed him and Yahweh severely.

“Come, Sheba. You look like you could use a visit with your abba to cheer you up.” Ima Thaliah’s eagerness seemed suspicious.

“Really? You’ll take me to him?”

“Of course. I’ve been trying to get him out of his chamber for weeks, but he’s become lazy, locked in his chamber with his concubines. Drinking too much wine, chewing qat from
Arabia. He’s not even in his right mind most of the time. I’ve sent messengers to Hazi for him to make the major decisions of the kingdom.”