by D. J. Niko
“You and I both know it is a matter of time before I will reign over the tribes of Israel.”
“The people of Israel are loyal to the house of David. They will never allow—”
“They already have. There is nothing you, or any of Solomon’s spawn, can do to stop it. The people of the northern tribes have separated themselves from the united kingdom. I am to lead them, as the prophecy foretold.”
Bile rose to Basemath’s throat, and she fought the urge to vomit. No longer able to look at him, she retreated into the tent.
Jeroboam followed her. “You will hear what I have to say. Face me.”
Basemath turned her head slowly. He had not changed in the years since she’d last seen him. His dark, angry eyes were set deep beneath substantial eyebrows, and a short black beard covered his jaw and throat. His skin was the color of fired clay, with creases marking his hollow cheeks. His shoulder-length hair, an unruly mass of ebony waves, was bound by a tight turban in hues of indigo and myrtle.
Her mind flashed back to the day she’d met him. She was Ana’s age when Jeroboam, some ten years her senior, was chosen by King Solomon to preside over the forced laborers in Jerusalem. Her father had singled him out from among thousands for his industry and honor and trusted him with his most important building projects. Jeroboam was to oversee the burnden for the building of the Millo, which encircled and fortified the king’s city, and of the royal palace for her mother outside the holy compound.
Basemath had met him at the Passover feast. He sat at the long table with the king, partaking little of the food and wine, rarely loosing his lips. When welcoming his court, Solomon called upon his most beloved servants to recognize them before all who had gathered. It was the first time the young Jeroboam had been bestowed this favor, and it instantly changed his posture. He stood among the king’s other lieutenants, head held high and chest inflated like a rooster’s, pride visibly seeping into his soul.
It was a story as old as time: once they had tasted power, men were easily corrupted.
The wound on her side stung anew. “You will be judged for this act of betrayal, Jeroboam.”
A burst of laughter laced with irony left his throat. “By whom? Your brother, the impotent king? I went to Rehoboam’s coronation to bargain on behalf of the people. He was so arrogant that our pleas to ease the burden of your father’s taxation evaporated like raindrops on hot stone. He insisted on raising taxes rather than reducing them. It was clear he has no idea what the people want, and for that the people are abandoning him. Surely you are aware the leaders of the ten tribes of Israel walked out of the coronation, humiliating Rehoboam on the day of his ascent to power.” His face twisted into a look of disgust. “It was no more than he deserved.”
She was all too aware of the incident and of the schism that followed it. Rehoboam had spent five years trying to alternately subdue the separatist tribes and make peace with them. It was no secret he was losing the battle, nor was it surprising that Jeroboam had arisen as the leader of the disgruntled north, for it was he who had given voice to the people and fanned the flames of revolt against the house of David.
“Why do you tell me this? Do you expect my sympathy? You shall not have it. The disrespect you have shown my father, and now my brother, is shameful.”
“Shameful is your kins’ disregard for the people. The unfairness with which they have treated us, all so they can line their coffers with gold.” He held up a clenched fist. “I am loyal to these people . . . and I shall see them vindicated.”
“Dare you use the word loyal, you who attempted to overthrow your king, the very man who trusted you and gave you everything?” A knot rose to her throat, strangling her words. She still winced at the recollection of Jeroboam’s attempt to take the government into his own hands during Solomon’s reign.
It was the most despicable of acts. Solomon had placed Jeroboam in charge of the levy from the house of Joseph, the most influential of the tribes. Jeroboam, an Ephraimite and thus a member of the tribe, was charismatic and had the respect of his people, so he was in the perfect position to exercise influence over them. Solomon had made him his personal representative to this all-important part of his constituency, entrusting him with imposing the will of the crown, even if it was unpopular.
But the king’s plan backfired. Instead of remaining faithful to the reigning house of David, Jeroboam took up the cause of the house of Joseph and bargained on the people’s behalf. Solomon viewed this as a betrayal and removed his once-favored officer from his post. Shortly after his dismissal, Jeroboam, who had retreated to his hometown of Zeredah, gathered three hundred horses and a rebel army to him and plotted a revolt against Jerusalem.
His paltry attempt to dethrone the mighty King Solomon was crushed by a unit of mercenaries led by her own Ahimaaz, but it sent a message: the kingdom was no longer secure or unchallenged. The bliss that ushered in Solomon’s rule had soured. After his act of treason, Jeroboam was forced into exile, but with or without him, anti-Solomonic sentiment simmered.
“Tell me this, Jeroboam,” she continued. “Where did you flee when my father drove you out of Israel?” She suspected she knew the answer but wanted to hear it from him.
A smile crept upon his pursed lips. “By sending me away, Solomon merely galvanized God’s plan. He forced me into Egypt, surely thinking the enemy would feast upon my flesh and crush my bones. But it was not so. The pharaoh Shoshenq embraced me like a brother and took me into his court. He offered me protection and a royal bride—Ano, the sister of his own wife. And he helped me come back to claim my destiny.
“You see, Princess, it was prophesied long ago that I would rise as king of Israel. The prophet Ahijah the Shilonite came to me in secret one day and tore his mantle into twelve pieces. He gave me the ten and said, ‘Behold the Lord’s will. He has chosen you to lead the ten tribes of Israel, leaving only the tribes of Judah and Benjamin under the rule of the house of his servant David. The united kingdom will be no more.’” He banged on his chest with a closed fist. “I am only claiming what is rightfully mine.”
News of the prophecy took her by surprise. So it had been done. The Lord had stripped the house of David of its glory, banishing the old decree that David’s seed would rule forever. Divine anger could no longer be appeased, for the sins that ignited it were too great. It was too late for the house of David, too late for Israel. The darkness was upon them, and Jeroboam shepherded it in with his flock of Egyptians. She was grateful her father did not see it in his lifetime.
Basemath scanned Jeroboam’s eyes for any trace of holiness that might cause the Lord to appoint him ruler of a new, divided kingdom. She saw nothing but death in his shallow gaze. Ambition and vanity he had plenty of, but righteousness he did not. Beneath the valiant front, fear stirred in his soul, and she predicted it would be his downfall.
She breathed in the cool night air perfumed with hawthorn embers from a distant campfire. “If what you say is true, what will become of King Rehoboam?”
“He will continue to reign as king of Judah. The two tribes of the south will be his to rule.” He sneered. “They’re nothing but chieftains and herders anyway. They are of no consequence to me.”
“And Jerusalem?”
“Pharaoh Shoshenq’s armies are marching toward Jerusalem this night. The pharaoh himself is leading the charge. He will sack the city and reclaim his property.”
“His property? There is nothing in Jerusalem that belongs to him.”
Jeroboam laughed. “There is so much you don’t know, Princess. But do not be troubled by things you have no power to change. All will be revealed in due time. And then . . .” His gaze traveled down her body, then back up to her eyes. “You can decide what you wish to do with the truth.”
How she despised him. The mere words the truth were blasphemy when uttered by his lips. She had no use for his enigmatic statements, his supercilious proclamations that he, a mere commoner and the son of a harlot, was privy to a secret.
He continued. “The glory of Jerusalem will be no more. Stripped of its dignity, Solomon’s holy city will be as it once was, a small stronghold in the rocky backcountry. Shechem will be the new seat of power. It is what the people want.”
“You are mistaken. The people will never stop journeying to the temple of the Lord. It is where Yahweh dwells and where his tablets of law are kept. The faith that draws the Hebrews to Jerusalem is far more potent than anything you or your pharaoh can muster.”
“You are the one who is mistaken. There will be no more need for the people to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. I will build temples in the great northern holy cities, Bethel and Dan, and the people will flock there to worship the Lord.”
Her eyes widened. “The Levites will never stand for this . . .”
“Then they shall be banished from my kingdom.”
“You cannot banish the priests. It is against the word of God.”
“Need I remind you, Princess, God has chosen me? Anyone who stands in my path will be struck down.”
“It is sacrilege—”
“Silence!”
Shaking her head, she took a step back. “This is madness. You are traveling down the path of destruction and taking an entire nation with you.” She pointed to the tent flap. “Leave my tent at once.”
He spoke through clenched teeth. “You can no longer order me. In a matter of days I will be crowned king. You will owe me your allegiance.”
“Until such a day, you will bow to the house of David.”
“You have one night to decide your own fate. You can be exiled to Egypt to serve the pharaoh, or you can be executed in your homeland. I will expect your decision by first light.” He smirked, then turned to leave the tent. “If you don’t choose,” he said over his shoulder, “the choice will be made for you.”
Basemath was thankful to be alone again. With an exhale she lowered her head into her palms. Jeroboam’s presence had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. She searched for the peaceful place inside her heart, but it eluded her. So many thoughts circled her mind, refusing to alight. Facing east, she kneeled down on the old carpet and folded her upper body forward. With the crown of her head touching the carpet, she inhaled the scent entwined in the fibers: a combination of dry earth, wood-fire smoke, and livestock.
It was the smell of her land—the territory promised by the Lord to the children of Israel, which they had reached after forty years of wandering plagued by trials and hardship. They had watered the earth with their blood, calcified the soil with the bones of their dead. However many struggles they faced, it was worth it to inhale the scent of their inherited land—the sweet perfume of deliverance and freedom.
The twelve tribes of Israel had earned their place there, yet they never had assured it. Their right had been challenged throughout their history, the gift of their God scorned by the heathen nations encircling their own. The campaign of Shoshenq was just another manifestation of the tribulations the Hebrews had faced since their seed was planted on the earth.
But to be betrayed by one of their own was unforgivable. Basemath shuddered at the thought of a high-ranking Israelite ensconced with the pharaoh, drinking his wine and tasting the flesh of his women. Surely Jeroboam had sold the Egyptians state secrets—how else could they have known about the water tunnel?—in exchange for their military support. He needed Shoshenq and his ten thousand warriors to charge into the fortified cities of Jerusalem and Megiddo and to strike terror into the hearts of the people—his people, whom he preferred to frighten into submission than inspire to greatness.
Regardless of how he posed, Jeroboam was not a man of God; of that she was certain. He was cunning and clever and golden of tongue, but divinely guided he was not. Why the Lord would choose him to lead the ten tribes of Israel was a mystery she did not comprehend, but neither did she question it. She had learned long ago the will of the Almighty would be done, and no human could cry injustice.
She sat with her head to the earth for a long time, offering her body and spirit but praying for nothing. With eyes closed, she let thoughts enter and leave unchecked, hoping for a vision of the future. Her mind drifted as if in slumber, yet she was awake. In that coveted realm of awareness without conscious thought, she saw the face of Ana, unblemished and beaming. She stood on a pile of rocks in a hostile wilderness, beneath a shaft of light. Though everything around her was still, her white flax halug and her unbound raven locks billowed in a rogue breeze. The light caught her eyes, making them shine with the intensity of polished agate.
Basemath thought she heard the girl say, I have come to help you. Do not be afraid, my love, my love.
She opened her eyes with a start. A profound chill settled upon her bones, making her shiver.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and froze.
She was not alone.
3
“Do not be afraid.”
Basemath knew that voice. She sighed and sat up to face her husband. Ahimaaz’s skin was blackened with dirt and soot, his graying beard unruly. His blue halug had been ripped at the shoulder, and the fabric hung over the bronze armor that covered his torso.
Ahimaaz took off his red woolen mantle and placed it over her shoulders.
She took his hands in hers. “You are safe. Praise the Lord.”
He blew out the oil lamp, plunging the tent into darkness. “There isn’t much time,” he whispered. “We must leave under cover of night. The moon shines full. It will light our path.”
“I will not go without our daughter. She is in one of the tents. I do not know which.”
“Verily, I know.”
She could not see his face but heard the confidence in his voice. “How . . . ? How is it you know?”
“When we got word the tunnel had been breached, three of the men and I followed the Egyptians to this camp. We hid in the copse beyond the vale and watched. It is how I knew you were here. Ana is across camp, in an officer’s tent.”
“Then you must know Jeroboam is here.”
“Yes.”
“He claims he will be crowned king, ruling over the ten tribes of the north.”
“It is true. God save us.” He paused. “Has he made mention of Jerusalem?”
“The pharaoh’s army marches to Jerusalem this very night. Jeroboam said Shoshenq wishes to reclaim his property. Know you what that means?”
Ahimaaz was silent for a long moment. “I do not.”
After thirteen years of marriage, Basemath knew when her husband hid something from her. Though she could not examine his gaze for sincerity, she knew that tone: a bit hesitant, weak. “I must know the truth, Ahimaaz.”
He exhaled. She felt the warm puff of air on her cheeks and smelled his slightly sour breath.
“I will tell you what I know. There are murmurs of the pharaoh wanting to take your mother back to Tanis. Back to her home.”
Basemath sat up straighter. “My mother may be Egyptian, but she’s nobody’s property.”
“She was a pharaoh’s daughter before marrying your father. Now that Solomon is dead, her kin may want her to live out the rest of her days in her homeland. They have a custom of burying royalty in family tombs, just as we do.”
Jeroboam’s words rang in her ears. There is so much you don’t know, Princess. She was certain Ahimaaz’s theory, though sound, was incomplete. But she had no answers.
“Someone must warn my mother . . . and the king.” She grasped his shoulders. “You must ride to Jerusalem, my husband.”
“I fear it is too late. If Shoshenq’s troops are on the move, we will not catch up to them in time. Jerusalem must make her own fate. My first responsibility is to my family . . . to you and Ana. We must escape this camp alive so we can fight the Egyptian enemy. That is our priority now.”
“How can you say that?” Though she whispered the words, her tone was resolute. “Our first and only responsibility is to the Lord our God. If we don’t endeavor to save Jerusalem, everything my grandfat
her fought for and all my father built in the name of the Lord will fall to ruin—and with it, a nation’s faith. I would sooner die than see that come to pass.”
“The road to Jerusalem is long and treacherous. Even if we do make it out of this camp alive, I fear for your safety during the journey. The enemy lurks at every bend. We may be called upon to fight. It is no place for women and girls.”
She squeezed his shoulders. “Listen to me, Ahimaaz. There is no time to mount a rescue scheme. You must ride to Jerusalem alone. It is our only hope.”
“I cannot leave you . . . leave my child.”
“Our plight is much bigger than we are. Everything we believe, everything our people have fought to build since the time of our forefathers, is at peril. My father built Jerusalem and the Lord’s magnificent temple by divine grace. The holy city and the temple therein symbolize God’s favor upon the Hebrews. We must never forsake this. We must not yield Jerusalem or allow the heathens to defile the temple . . . even if it means spilling our blood upon the earth.”
His calloused hand touched her face. “My wise and courageous wife. Even if I perish in battle, I die a happy man, for I have known the grace of Basemath.”
She leaned forward and rested her forehead on his. She remained in that position for a long while, listening to the sound of his breath. She was keenly aware this might be their last encounter.
She sat back. “I ask one last thing of you.”
“Anything.”
“Leave your khopesh with me.”
She heard the sickle-sword scrape against his woven metal waist sash. He placed the small khopesh on the ground next to her knees.
She squeezed his hands. “Now go.”
Without another word, Ahimaaz lifted a tent peg and slipped out the unguarded back.
Basemath raised a hand to her mouth. She felt a vague stabbing sensation in her chest. For all her valor and conviction, she was still a wife, a mother, a woman. She did not want to make the choices she did, but circumstances did not permit an alternative. She was sickened at the thought of Ahimaaz potentially riding to his death, of Ana alone in an Egyptian officer’s tent, of herself choosing between captivity and execution.