In the Shadow of Jezebel

by Mesu Andrews

  Hallelu Yah.

  Hallelu Yah, O my soul.

  I will praise Yahweh all my life;

  I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.

  Do not put your trust in princes,

  in human beings, who cannot save.

  When their spirit departs, they return to the ground;

  on that very day their plans come to nothing.

  Blessed are those whose help is the God of Jacob,

  whose hope is in Yahweh their God.

  He is the Maker of heaven and earth,

  the sea, and everything in them—

  He remains faithful forever.

  He upholds the cause of the oppressed

  and gives food to the hungry.

  Yahweh sets prisoners free . . .

  Zibiah began humming the tune with her, peace seeping into their spirits. Repeating those opening lines, they sang together and watched the sun sink over the western ridge.

  Sheba helped Zibiah stand and guided her to the bed. Hazi’s wife was exhausted, but she clutched Sheba’s hand. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

  “Zibiah, you know I must return to the Temple, but I’m going to talk with Hazi about—”

  “Why don’t you talk to Hazi now, Sheba?” Hazi had slipped into the chamber and was closing the door.

  Zibiah’s grip tightened on Sheba’s hand, terror in her eyes. “Sheba, don’t.”

  “I’m going to ask why your wife is cooped up like a bird in a cage, Brother.” Sheba untangled herself from Zibiah’s clutches, leaving Hazi’s wife cowering on her bed.

  Hazi’s smug air crumbled. “Zibiah, my love! By the gods, what’s happened?” Dashing past Sheba, Hazi cradled his wife in a tender embrace, burying his face in her neck. His whispered words were undecipherable, the tender moment too intimate for anyone to observe. Was she telling him of the cruelty she’d suffered, or did he know Ima Thaliah well enough to assume the worst?

  One glimpse, and Sheba knew—Hazi had no idea Zibiah had suffered so. Only two people were capable of this brutality—both were queens of destiny.

  Fire in her veins propelled her out the door, down the women’s hall, and straight to Ima Thaliah’s chamber. Six Carites stood guard, but only one blocked her entry. “I’m sorry, Princess Jehosheba. The Gevirah of Judah has asked not to be disturbed.”

  The Gevirah. No longer the queen, she officially became mother of the reigning king today. She’d been well trained for the role.

  “You will disturb her, and I will see her now.”

  The Carite paused only a heartbeat before tapping his spearhead on the door and disappearing behind it. Moments later, the door opened from within. No invitation. No welcome. It was enough.

  Steadying her breathing, Sheba straightened her spine and rolled back her shoulders. She hadn’t seen Ima Thaliah since she’d humiliated and crushed Hazi over a year ago. If Sheba was to match wits with Ima, she’d need to employ every strategy of the queens of destiny—beginning now. She lifted a condescending brow, waiting for a guard to announce her presence.

  Two guards fumbled their spears in a hurried bow, and finally, the highest-ranking officer opened the door wide. “Princess Sheba to see Gevirah Athaliah.” He bowed, let Sheba pass, and closed the doors behind her.

  Sheba’s knees shook beneath her simple blue robe. Ima would undoubtedly be offended. I should have worn my festival robe. But would it have mattered? Ima Thaliah always found something to criticize. In every written message, she included some reproach that Jehoiada encouraged his wife to ignore.

  “Sheba?”

  The chamber was dark except for a few lamps in the wall niches. The Gevirah’s couch was empty. She must be in her bedchamber. Walking toward the dividing curtain, Sheba had a harrowing thought. What if Ima had been sleeping? But it was too early for bed . . .

  “I’m in here. What are you doing?” The impatience in Thaliah’s voice was too fresh for recent slumber.

  Suddenly rethinking her rash visit, Sheba felt the familiar panic begin to rise. What had she hoped to accomplish by subjecting herself to another round of Ima’s face-to-face abuse?

  Silently, Sheba maintained her steady pace, making the new Gevirah wait. When she arrived at the curtain, she yanked it back decisively, causing Ima to jump like a desert hare.

  “Sheba! By the gods, girl. I forbid you to skulk like a bandit.” Speechless, Sheba stared into the haunted, sunken eyes of a woman who looked ten years older than she remembered. Squirming under the scrutiny, Thaliah looked out her balcony. “So, Jehoiada plans to entomb Jehoram in the lower city?”

  “Yes, no thanks to you and Hazi.”

  Her head snapped back, a wicked smile creasing her lips. “Has our queen of destiny found her spine?”

  Sheba raised a single eyebrow, remaining silent. Neither of them flinched, but Sheba was determined that Ima blink first. She did. Sheba grinned and spotted a stool not far from the bed. She placed it at her ima’s right hand. “I haven’t come to discuss Abba Jehoram. I’m here about Hazi.”

  “Ah, I assume it’s really about your poor, sweet Zibiah.”

  Sheba dropped her genial tone. “You assume nothing. You know I’ve just come from her chamber. I’m sure the Carite told you when he announced me, and you’ve probably heard that I ordered your eunuchs out of Zibiah’s chamber earlier this evening.”

  Delighted laughter preceded the Gevirah’s applause. “Excellent, my dear. I feared my training had been wasted, but you do have a sharp mind, don’t you?” Ima Thaliah’s smile dimmed, and her facade fell away. Cold, black eyes nearly stole Sheba’s courage.

  Yahweh, please help me. The psalm she and Zibiah sang replayed in her mind, and the words soothed her as she listened to Ima Thaliah’s plans.

  “Hazi can’t be distracted by Zibiah’s Yahweh fascination. I’ve lost you to Jehoiada and his Temple—you never visit me. By the gods, I’m not going to lose Hazi to Zibiah.” The tremor in her voice revealed uncharacteristic emotion.

  “I didn’t know you wanted me to visit you, Ima.” Sheba’s softly spoken words splashed like cold water in her ima’s face.

  Awkward and silent, Thaliah turned her head, examining everything in her chamber but Sheba’s face. “I’m not Leviathan, you know.”

  Realizing Athaliah’s emotional plea could be just a convincing ploy, Sheba answered with her only certainty. “My childhood is filled with wonderful memories, Ima.”

  Sheba watched the Gevirah’s eyes grow distant, the door of her emotions slam shut. “I received word yesterday from Jizebaal that Elisha is using the wealth he’s compiled from favorable Aramean prophecies to mount an army of Israelite prophets.”

  Sheba shook her head, knowing even as she heard the report that it was false. “We’ve heard nothing from the northern prophet for months. Elisha’s wealth came before Hazael usurped the throne, and he used it to build the prophets’ schools, not an army.”

  “Jizebaal says the three schools are where the army trains.”

  Sheba laughed. “Jizebaal knew a year ago that the schools had formed in Jericho, Bethel, and Gilgal, but I’m telling you—they’re not forming an army. Elisha would have sent word if that were the case, because such a move would affect Yahweh worshipers in Judah.”

  “You seem quite knowledgeable, my girl.” Respect shone from her eyes. “Did you know that General Jehu now sides with Gevirah Jizebaal, urging King Ram to seize the border town of Ramoth Gilead before Aram marches across Israel?”

  “No, Ima. I only know the political news from Israel that you share in your scrolls.”

  “My ima Jizebaal has summoned Hazi and his loyal Carites to Ramoth Gilead to join Israel’s troops in fighting the Arameans. Ramoth Gilead!” she screamed. “The place where my abba Ahab died!”

  Sheba sat stone silent, back straight, gaze unflinching, the psalm of the Levites resounding in her mind.

  Athaliah straightened her already perfect blanket. “You came in here to chastise me about pretty
little pregnant Zibiah, but I’m worried about the lives of my brother, my son, and two nations.” She leaned forward, daring Sheba to speak. “What was it you wanted to say?”

  Without hesitating, Sheba matched her posture. “If Hazi is going to war in Israel, he cannot be distracted with worry about how you’re treating Zibiah in Jerusalem.” She stood, replaced the stool where she found it, and returned to issue her own stare. “Hazi loves Zibiah. I want to believe you once knew that feeling.”

  Sheba turned to go, but stopped when Athaliah grabbed her arm. Tears glistened on the Gevirah’s bottom lashes. “I want you to visit me.”

  The request sent a wave of pity through Sheba. “All right, Ima. I’ll come each week when Jehoiada judges at central court.” Seeing her opportunity for bargaining, she pressed, “And I’ll visit Zibiah after I see you.” She raised an eyebrow, standing her ground.

  “Agreed.” Ima released her, and Sheba felt as if a camel load had been lifted from her shoulders. “One more thing, Daughter.”

  Sheba stopped at the curtain, turned, waited.

  Athaliah’s tears had disappeared, her kindness gone. “If your child is a girl, she’s mine.”

  38

  PSALM 31:14–15

  But I trust in you, LORD; I say, “You are my God.” My times are in your hands; deliver me from the hands of my enemies, and from those who pursue me.

  Jehoiada lumbered down the altar steps, accepted a linen cloth from Nathanael, and wiped away the blood from the evening worship. He started toward the basins as they walked. “Let’s wash our hands and feet on the north side tonight. I want to be sure Micaiah feels comfortable assuming my duties when Jehosheba begins her travail.”

  Three new moons had passed since they’d peacefully entombed King Jehoram on Obadiah’s estate—and then buried Obadiah a few days later. The old nobleman, true to his character, left all his holdings to his stableman and the young steward who had so impressed Jehoiada and Zabad.

  Since so many priests had come into contact with the two dead bodies, Jehoiada waited until after the mandatory days of uncleanness to publicly reveal Eliab’s treachery. Jehoiada announced Eliab’s betrayal during the weekly change of duty and became so enraged Zabad had to restrain him. Obadiah’s warning about his temper blared in his spirit, and the cleansing of the Day of Atonement was too quickly marred. Athaliah had breached their walls—not with guards and swords, but with the dark stain of sin and treachery that stripped human nature to its ugliest essence. Only time and Yahweh’s healing could rebuild what had been lost among His servants.

  Climbing the three stairs to the separate place, Jehoiada surveyed the priests gathered around the five basins. No Micaiah. Nathanael dipped his hands into the fourth basin, but Jehoiada moved to the last. He’d try to find Micaiah tomorrow morning and use tonight for friendly banter with others—as was often his practice to keep morale high. Worshipers were few and offerings continued to dwindle, which meant offerings for priests were low and spirits sagged.

  “How’s Lady Jehosheba feeling, my lord? My wife is due to deliver any day as well.” A young priest beside him splashed his hands, initiating conversation. A welcome change.

  Jehoiada’s heart warmed to a man faithful to his duty even with a wife so close to term. “My Jehosheba is tired of this heat. How about your wife?”

  “My Sarah must have her nap during midday, or she’s more dangerous than a she-bear with cubs.”

  Jehoiada laughed, clapping a wet hand on his shoulder. “How long will it take you to get home when your Sarah begins her travail?”

  “Not long. She’s in Bethlehem with her parents while I serve at the Temple.” He covered Jehoiada’s hand on his shoulder, kindness radiating from his smile. “We’re all in Yahweh’s hands, are we not?”

  Jehoiada nodded, barely able to speak past his emotion. “What is your name?”

  “I am Zechariah.”

  “Thank you for reminding me of that, Zechariah.” The young priest bowed, and Jehoiada cleared his throat, hurrying down the steps before he blubbered like a maiden.

  How tender and sweet was a willing heart. Zechariah—remembered by the Lord. He had an uncle by that name. Perhaps Jehosheba would be agreeable to naming their son Zechariah.

  Nathanael fell in step beside him, and they dragged their weary bones into the holy chamber now used to robe and disrobe Jehoiada’s golden garments. The two top priests could live in the outer court chambers, but the sacred garments could not.

  “Close the door behind us, will you, Nathanael?”

  “But we’ll roast!”

  Jehoiada slowly turned to face his second priest, having almost mastered his temper—on most days. Nathanael closed the door.

  Jehoiada motioned Nathanael forward two steps to whisper, “I believe it’s time we tell Keilah about the quarry entrance.” Nathanael remained silent, eyes narrowed, waiting. He wasn’t making this easy. The high priest pushed up one corner of a smile, trying to appear pleasant. “Perhaps then Keilah could convince Jehosheba to deliver our child in the quarry.”

  “Absolutely not!” Nathanael recoiled as if he’d stumbled on a serpent.

  “What do you mean, ‘absolutely not’? Why do you care where my wife gives birth? If Jehosheba has a daughter, Athaliah will send an army through our gates to steal my child!”

  “Jehoiada, you’re missing the point. We must trust our safety to Yah—”

  “My family’s safety is the point! Yahweh gave us wisdom and strength to build the tunnel under our living quarters. Why does Jehosheba refuse to use Yahweh’s provision to deliver our child?”

  Nathanael waited in silence, unmasking Jehoiada’s soul. Since Obadiah’s death, his second priest had become the friend who reflected truth like freshly polished brass.

  Regaining control, Jehoiada squeezed the back of his neck. “Nathanael, I’m frightened. When Jehosheba told me three months ago that she’d confronted Athaliah, I wanted to strangle her—and then applaud her. Her courage is astounding.”

  “Yes, it is.” Nathanael barely blinked. “But . . .”

  “But she’s come so far, and I don’t want anything—or anyone—to hurt her again.”

  “Yahweh is her protector—not you. Yahweh protects His Temple, His people, His nation.”

  “I know all that! But why doesn’t He do something?” In a surge of anger, Jehoiada picked up a clay lamp and threw it against the wall. Forgive me, Yahweh, but hear my complaint! The prayer felt compulsory. At the moment, he wanted to be heard more than forgiven.

  Nathanael kept his head bowed, focusing on the broken pieces of clay on the floor.

  Jehoiada still panted with pent-up fury while the oil trickled down the wall—like teardrops raining down. Was Yahweh grieved by his sin? Obadiah had been grieved by King Jehoram’s sin. Jehosheba was grieved for Hazi. Why was Jehoiada’s first response always anger?

  “We cannot win this battle in our own strength, Jehoiada.” Nathanael’s eyes glistened, his tone steady, firm. “The tunnels, the Temple guards, Jehosheba’s relationship with Athaliah—none of it will save your child or the Temple. Only Yahweh can protect us.”

  Jehoiada set his jaw, working to walk the fine line of passion without crossing over to anger. “Worshipers flock to Mattan’s temple, showering the Baal stone with silver and gold while performing all manner of indecent acts. And somehow Mattan convinced the people he prayed down a miraculous rain over that cursed stone—nowhere else, only on the stone in the courtyard.”

  Concern softened Nathanael’s stare. “I hadn’t heard about the latest ‘miracle.’”

  “Impressive in the middle of a drought, hmm? And how will Athaliah use Mattan’s power and the people’s support? I’ll tell you!” he said when Nathanael drew a breath to answer. “If the queen comes for my daughter, we do not have the strength—in the Temple or through the people’s support—to stop her. Athaliah and Mattan will take my daughter and put her to work scouring waste pots with parchment pieces of Moses
’s Law.”

  “Don’t give up, Jehoiada.”

  “I’ll never give up!” Rage burned in his belly, and he considered throwing another clay lamp. Yahweh, forgive me, but . . . His prayer echoed as if spoken in a cavern of his mind, mocking. Forgive me, but . . . ? When had qualifiers to forgiveness become acceptable practice? Anything after “Forgive me” nullified his confession—like bringing a crippled lamb to the altar. Nothing but perfect repentance would suffice.

  “Jehoiada?” Nathanael placed a hand on his shoulder, concern etched on his features. “Are you all right? You’re perspiring terribly. May I open the door?”

  Jehoiada patted his friend’s hand and then directed his gaze to the oil-stained wall. “My tantrum left oil streaks, much like my anger leaves tear streaks on the cheeks of those I love. I’ve harmed many with my sin—perhaps as many as Athaliah.” He saw sympathy on the second priest’s face and felt his anger ebbing as the truth soaked into his soul. “You were right when you said only Yahweh can protect us, Nathanael. And only Yahweh can help Jehosheba decide where she will deliver our child.” He shook his head, emotion nearly closing his throat. “Why is it so difficult to trust our God when He’s proven Himself faithful again and again?” He asked the question but expected no answer. Rather, he submitted himself to Nathanael’s ministrations.

  After removing Jehoiada’s golden garments, the second priest anointed his burdened friend with a little mischief. “You should try the waste pot argument with Jehosheba. That one might get her to deliver in the quarry.”

  Jehosheba ladled a spoonful of lamb’s broth into her mouth, checking the temperature. Still warm. But Jehoiada needed to arrive soon or their evening meal would grow cold. She’d wanted to share the meal alone in their chamber rather than with the community of priests as usual. Their small table was decorated with a flowering desert cactus placed in the center of the tiny blanket she’d made for their babe. Tonight, she would refuse—for the final time—Jehoiada’s ridiculous request to make the quarry her birthing chamber.

  How could she make him understand? When Gadara came for her weekly visits, she and Keilah talked about which of their chambers should be designated for birthing. Sheba, of course, would never disclose the existence of the quarry or the tunnel to the two women, but when describing the perfect setting, both Keilah and the midwife said the room should be relaxing, a place where she could focus on the loving friends around her.