Elijah

by William H. Stephens

  Inside the palace proper the two men crossed a large entry hall. Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the cavernous room. They stopped at the double doors to the throne room, blocked by the guards’ crossed spears.

  “Obadiah,” one cautioned, “our regrets, sir, but your name is not on the roster to see the king today.”

  Obadiah spoke softly. “It is Elijah who would see Ahab.”

  Elijah loosened the rich robe to reveal his prophet’s garb underneath. The guards looked, glanced at each other, and hesitated, uncertain.

  “The Lord God Yahweh has given me a message to speak before Ahab. You would not strive against Yahweh.” Elijah spoke softly but with command, as though he, not Ahab, were regent.

  The senior guard regained his composure quickly. “We are servants of Yahweh, Elijah, and admirers of your courage, but we also are soldiers in the king’s command. You cannot enter unless summoned. Why do you not simply request an audience?”

  Elijah shrugged the robe from his shoulders. Standing silent only for a moment, his eyes searched theirs. “Yahweh has summoned me. That is enough.” With a hand on each spear he wrenched them from the doors, quickly threw the latch, and shoved the double doors aside. They crashed loudly against the wall as the burly prophet walked quickly toward the throne. Ahab looked up, puzzled. Elijah stopped a few paces away from the gold-inlaid throne.

  The court attendants looked at Ahab in anticipation. The guards quickly followed Elijah and grasped each arm. The king hesitated, surprised. Then he regained his demeanor.

  “The hairy one,” he said. “You must be Elijah.”

  “I am.”

  Ahab gestured to the guards to release him. “You are foolish to come into my presence unannounced.”

  “Kings rise and fall by the word of Yahweh. I am his prophet. It is you who should be afraid.”

  “I am being tolerant of you, Elijah. Speak what you will say and leave my presence.”

  Elijah pointed his finger at Ahab. “Ahab, what does my name mean?”

  The king spoke with amused condescension. “Elijah means ‘Yahweh is God,’ a fitting name for his prophet, I suppose.”

  “You will learn the truth of my name, Ahab.”

  Elijah turned and moved toward the door, then stopped midway between it and the throne. He turned and looked at Ahab. The king sat, now composed, looking at the prophet with a slight smile. Elijah turned to face the king directly. He raised his arm slowly and pointed a finger straight ahead. With all the fierce power he could force from his ample lungs, Elijah screamed, “Ahab, hear my words!” The attendants jumped with a start as the sound echoed through the hall. Ahab raised himself erect on the throne. The room was held in rapt surprise. Elijah’s eyes flashed at the king. His scream echoed again from the walls. “Ahab! as the Lord God of Israel lives, before whom I stand, there shall be neither dew nor rain these years, but according to my word!”

  Ahab hesitated a moment, stunned by the outburst. In that moment Elijah wheeled and strode from the throne room, past the startled guards, and toward the outer doors.

  “Take him! Guards! Seize him!” Ahab stood as he shouted the order. Guards mobilized and attempted to obey. Elijah broke into a run. The guards at the outer door turned toward the commotion.

  “It’s Elijah! Stop him!” a guard shouted toward them. The guards made a halfhearted attempt to appear loyal, but they allowed Elijah to slip by them. The prophet, his legs pounding furiously, leaped to a chariot that was passing through the gates. The driver turned, but Elijah’s powerful hand on his shoulder forced him to the floor of the chariot. “Stay there!” Elijah barked. Yelling and snapping the reins, he sent the horses careening through the streets toward the city gates.

  The street cleared at the sound of Elijah’s powerful screaming. Mothers huddled their children toward the shops; dogs scampered under carts; and men, out of the way, looked to see what the commotion was all about.

  The chariot charged through the gates, slowing only enough to turn to the right to circle the wall. Ahab would have archers on the city walls where the road circled around the city to the east. He shoved the reins into the hands of the crouching driver and leaped from the slowed chariot. He landed on his shoulders and rolled to his feet, stumbled, and began to roll down the hill that sloped steeply toward the south.

  The palace was in an uproar. The guards, usually efficient to a fault, fumbled, trying to look fierce and businesslike, but each one, loyal to Yahweh, was glad to see Elijah escape.

  Ahab was in a rage. He had sent archers to the city walls overlooking the road that passed along its base, but he knew Elijah was too shrewd to escape by such an obvious route. He returned to the throne room. As he mounted his throne, Jehu was announced.

  “Send him in immediately.”

  Jehu entered, dressed in conventional robe and waist-girdle rather than uniform. He was lean and wiry, taller than Ahab. His shoulders were broader but not so thick as the king’s, his muscles sinewy rather than bulging. Veins stood out prominently on his arms and hands. His hair reached only halfway down his neck and was held tightly in place with a headcloth; his beard was short and well trimmed. He did not like Ahab, but the thought of disloyalty never had occurred to him. He walked in long strides to the throne and knelt on one knee.

  “At your service, sir. The courier informed me of the event as I left my quarters.”

  “Then,” Ahab said grimly, “you know your task. Assign as many men as you think necessary to run Elijah down.”

  “He will be difficult to catch,” Jehu answered as he rose.

  Ahab searched him with his eyes, a look of stern understanding hardening the lines in his face. “Of that I am certain. It also occurs to me that no soldier who holds sympathy for him will do much of a tracking job. Had my palace guards been less dedicated to Yahweh he would be facing me now.”

  Jehu, surprised, stood silent.

  “Never mind. Only be careful that the patrol you assign to the task is made up on men who are more confident of Melkart than of Yahweh.”

  “As you say, my king.” Jehu bowed and departed.

  Ahab sat in silence. His eyes followed the line of the lotus leaf pattern inlaid along the ivory-covered walls. How much credence could he give to Elijah’s threat? The prophet had a strong reputation among the people, but what did that matter? Still, such a threat would be the most foolish of gestures were Elijah not certain that his message was authentic.

  Ahab shuddered. The storehouses were empty. In his effort to increase the wealth of Israel, all surplus food had been traded to Phoenicia. Should he stop the caravans now en route to Tyre? Should he take charge of the farmers’ silos? Such an act would be an admission that he took Elijah seriously.

  The door opened and a guard stepped aside quietly. “King Ahab, my Queen Jezebel awaits your pleasure, sir.”

  Ahab nodded his approval.

  Jezebel entered quickly, leaving her entourage of attendants outside.

  “You already have heard? Ahab asked.

  “With such commotion, one needs only one ear, my husband and king.”

  “I am glad you came. You understand these matters of religion better than I. Come sit beside me.”

  Jezebel’s feel fell quietly on the rich pastel-colored Persian rugs as she made her way to a smaller throne beside Ahab’s.

  “You really are worried then, Ahab?”

  “I am aware of Elijah’s reputation.”

  The color drained from Jezebel’s face. The playful smile disappeared. “It was the hairy one who spoke?” She used the epithet with a sense of awe.

  “It was Elijah.”

  “Then you can be sure, Ahab. He does not speak flippantly.”

  Ahab stared at his queen for a moment. He had not known whether to take the threat seriously or not, but with Jezebel’s alarm, all doubt was gone. He spoke slowly.

  “I know the ways of men, Jezebel. I can war with kings and armies, but I cannot do battle with gods.”
r />   “Then let a god fight a god.”

  Ahab’s brow wrinkled. Jezebel continued. “Evidently Yahweh is angry at what he considers Melkart’s invasion of his domain. All you need do is call the priests and prophets of Melkart and have them call on Baal to intervene.”

  “Since you take the threat so seriously, I truly am concerned. I shudder at the strength Yahweh has shown in the past. I should never have allowed you to build that temple.”

  “It was a mistake, Ahab, if Yahweh is stronger than Melkart. But if Melkart is stronger, then your decision was wise. Would you not rather serve the stronger of the gods?”

  Ahab was silent.

  “All right,” Jezebel continued, “what are your alternatives?”

  “Alternatives?”

  “As I see it, you can do one of three things. You can ignore the warning and take the chance of a drought, since Melkart will not help you without your seeking his help. Or you can heed Elijah’s threat and banish the prophets and priests of Baal, in which case you will rupture our relationship with Phoenicia and incur the wrath of Melkart.”

  Ahab frowned. He was not nearly so concerned, however, with incurring Melkart’s wrath as with rupturing the treaty with Phoenicia, a matter he could understand better.

  “Or you can give Melkart a chance to prove his strength against Yahweh, which will accomplish both our ends.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “The Israelites will embrace Melkart when Yahweh goes down in defeat. Then our two countries will move closer together.”

  “You have a way of wording the alternatives, don’t you?”

  Jezebel shrugged. “After all, my dear king, Asherah is the Goddess of Fertility. She assuredly has more power over the rains that fall on the fields than does Yahweh. Yahweh must be foolish indeed to challenge our Baal in such a way.”

  Ahab smiled, surprised. He had not thought of the contest in such clear-cut terms. He clapped sharply for the door guard. “Send a courier for the wise men of Melkart.”

  Elijah ran toward a grove of olive trees near the base of Samaria’s hill. He caught a gnarled branch to slow his speed, flung himself to the ground, and pressed his ear to the rocky earth. No sound of running horses. He cautiously rose to his knees, his chest heaving, and peered between the dense tangled limbs up toward the city. Sentries moved on the walkway atop the walls, searching in every direction. He could not underestimate Ahab.

  Bethel or Jericho would be natural places for him to seek help amid their congregations of prophets. His friends would hide him, but Ahab was certain to seek him there first.

  The grove offered only temporary security. He dared not wait even for nightfall. He must escape before Ahab could organize his search properly. The surrounding terrain was too open. He could not long escape a search. Bethshean, Elijah thought excitedly. Rejab will hide me there.

  The plan grew rapidly in Elijah’s mind. He would leave the olive grove in a dead run. The guards on the wall would see him head south toward Bethel. When Ahab received word, he would direct his search there, while Elijah circled back toward Bethshean. Obadiah—if he entered the search at all—would consider the prophet’s earlier reference to the Jordan as a ploy.

  Elijah moved to the edge of the grove, adjusted his mantle into his girdle so to leave his legs and arms as free as possible, and broke into a run across the rocky hillside. He heard a shout and knew he was seen. His powerful legs thrust him with surprising speed over the open space toward a dry wadi. His strides were short, but his legs pumped rapidly. He watched for loose rocks, and with an eye practiced from years of shepherding, his feet landed each step solidly.

  Once into the wadi he realized that it was too shallow for adequate protection. A glance toward the wall revealed the excited scurry of guards who obviously knew where he was. He decided to convince them further of his escape to Bethel. With heaving chest, careful to breathe through his nostrils so as not to sear his throat, he ran east, upstream, toward Samaria’s north-south road. Once there, he turned south, again knowing that he would be seen.

  Within a quarter mile the road turned sharply east around a hill abutment. Elijah rounded the hill, then, out of sight of Samaria, he left the road to climb up a small, upward-rising valley. The steep climb would tire him, but the hill was covered with vineyards and olive groves. He was safe so long as he did not slow his pace. Before the search could be organized effectively, the prophet had to cross the main north-south road that ran along the mountain ridge. It was there he must exercise the greatest care. Then he could make his way carefully down into the Jordan Valley.

  A wide, merciless ribbon of jungle grew along the riverbank. It was the Pride of the Jordan. The Jordan River coiled and twisted like a sluggish serpent through the center of the tangled mass of thickly-branched and almost leafless juniper trees, bushes, and wild growth. Elijah struggled through canebrakes and rushes along the edge of the Pride, then met the fury of the infinite thorn branches that grabbed at his clothes and scratched his skin. He dropped to his knees and crawled slowly to avoid the sharp thorns, now and then slithering on his belly under dense undergrowth. Even if Ahab’s searchers knew where he was, they could not reach him; but he knew the net would tighten quickly. Though Jehu was a Yahwist, he was a loyal soldier and methodically thorough.

  Elijah reached the muddy Jordan at last and dropped from a low ledge into the water. It barely covered his knees. His feet sank in the slime and, with each step deeper into the water, the mud sucked at his sandals. At waist depth, he leaned forward to swim at a slight angle upstream in order to offset the current’s flow. When his hands touched mud again, he regained his feet and waded toward the rank vegetation of the opposite bank.

  He massaged his temples to ease the ache already starting to grow from the fatigue and thirst. His throat felt raspy and harsh. He scooped water into his hands from the Jordan, muddy as it was, and drank slowly, fighting off the impulse to gulp the warm liquid.

  He forced himself into the twin jungle of the river’s east side. It was not as wide here as on the west side, but every bit as thick. He walked when he could and crawled when he had to, brushing away insects, watching for snakes, listening for larger animals. By the time the jungle abruptly gave way again to canebrake, darkness had come already to the west side of the valley. Elijah stood erect, his hands on the back of his hips, and leaned backward to stretch the ache from his spine. The act helped but little. He plunged haphazardly through the last reeds and onto the greasy bank.

  The east bank was a gray marl, covered with the debris of the spring flooding. Dead wood covered with sun-dried and whitened slime lay in a tangled pile against an uprooted tree. Elijah pulled himself onto the ridge road and, ignoring the limestone filth, sat down to watch the shadow of the western mountains climb higher up toward the crest of the eastern cliffs. He could rest for only a few moments, for the deep valley would be dark even with the moon full.

  The prophet continued his journey only long enough to find a gravel bar, which would be relatively free of sandfleas and other insects. It would be a miserable enough night at best.

  Just as the sun was early in its setting, so it was late in its rising in the Pride of Jordan. Elijah was awake before the sun found its way between the mountains. There was enough light, though, for him to search for figs, apricots, and berries.

  As he ate, a sense of uneasiness began to grow within him. More rested and thinking more clearly now, he recalled the excitement of Ahab’s court. Ahab knew that Yahweh would not send either rain or the dew that lay each morning like a heavy mist until the prophet of Israel’s God announced an end to the drought. The king had no choice but to find God’s prophet and force him to end the announced famine. The intensity of the search would grow in step with the drought.

  Elijah knelt by the river. He picked up small pebbles and tossed them absentmindedly into the water. He thought of Rejab. Their friendship was known to many people. Rejab’s house would be watched. Soldiers would search everywhe
re. Rewards would be offered, so that no matter where he tried to hide, sooner or later someone would report his presence.

  He placed his face on his knees and for a long time remained in the praying posture. Vultures circled overhead, their silence an ominous contrast to the loud call of ravens. The chattering of cranes and swallows, the loud chirp of locusts, and the occasional buzz of a bee went completely unregistered in Elijah’s solitude.

  Finally he rose. In his inner being the awareness of a message was so strong that the prophet was certain God had spoke out loud.

  The Brook Cherith would be his home for a time. The wadi was so insignificant that he himself never had explored its narrow recesses. The ravens would feed him. The implausibility of the promise did not occur to him.

  The Brook Cherith was not far away. His trip in the main had been correct, except that he should have turned south instead of north after he crossed the river. He retraced his steps along the gravel bank until he came to the ugly marl that marked his crossingpoint of the night before. The valley narrowed even more. Above him the western cliffs rose so close, separated from the riverbed by little more than the width of a road, that he could hear the rock pigeons fluttering nosily in and out of the caves that pitted the limestone. The vale was ugly, with mounds of gray sludgy clay and damp sand. Gnarled trees, limbs, and bushes that had been torn from their footings by the spring rains were tumbled together in wild heaps, now covered with white, dried mud. The cobra-like asp was a constant danger, and Elijah was careful to skirt the piles of rubbish and watch for holes in the sand. The dank, rotting vegetation and the oppressive heat of the narrow valley made the air heavy and unpleasant. At times, Elijah was forced into the water by tangled masses of thornbushes to struggle against the swift current.

  Finally the prophet arrived at his destination. The Brook Cherith cut a channel from the eastern cliffs and across the narrow plain into the Pride of Jordan. He looked in disbelief. The spring rains long since had dried up. The brook was no more than a dry wadi. He looked up the dry bed that cut such a narrow cleft between two mountain ridges. The ever-present oleanders caked with dried mud promised a hard fight to anyone who might attempt a journey up the bed.