Reign (29 page)

She nursed him. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to.

“For strength,” Lilith suggested.

Jezebel glanced up. She hadn’t realized she had spoken out loud. She was nursing Joram as she reclined in her bedchamber of the queen’s residence in Samaria. She appreciated being back in the Samarian capital, with more space and amenities. Especially since she had no husband. He walked lightly, casting glances behind him wherever he went. He refused to sleep in their bed any longer.

“What shall I prepare for the ceremony?” Lilith asked, rising from her stool. She had been practicing her letters at the queen’s desk. It was good to see her find use for her time, for these wasted hours in Israel, their wasted lives.

“The pink, with the red sash. Bright colors,” Jezebel said, stroking Joram’s hair.

Joram stopped nursing and drifted to sleep. He was warm, nestled against her, but this animal warmth was all the two shared. He was nothing more than a reminder that she had strengthened Ahab’s claim to the throne, and Ahab was not strong enough to hold onto it. She wished she hadn’t had him, but perhaps she also wished for some of her spirit to flow into his. If he was fierce, if he conversed with darkness and was not afraid, he might survive. She wanted something of her life to survive and tell her tale. If she couldn’t defeat this god, if she couldn’t have a real man for a husband, at least someone could warn others. Someone could tell her story.

A shadow passed over the window as a storm cloud rolled past, obscuring the light. Another storm was coming. A strong wind blew through the room, and the statue of Asherah tilted, its stone face unchanging. It toppled and fell to the floor, and Jezebel lifted her face to the moon and wept without tears.

Three full years of peace and prosperity ensued. Israel renewed its covenant with Tyre, and Ahab promised Athaliah to Jehoram, son of the king in Judah. Israel would be united by marriage with the southern tribes. Israel prospered, and the children grew.

Her dreams grew bleak and strange. No longer did they frighten her with visions, but drained her in their abject silence. She dreamed of darkness without sound, without color. She was grateful to wake, chilled and her bedclothes wet with sweat, and she gasped in relief to see the sun breaking into her room.

Ahab, once so eager to love her, avoided her now. He could have been a great king with her at his side, but he lacked her strength. She had children now, though. There was still a way to make her name great, if she used them well.

She sat on the edge of her window one dawn, when the full moon was still high above. Far away, the queen of heaven was calling the tides, the waters rising and revealing the treasures they had concealed in the deep, on a shore Jezebel would never see again. Insects buzzed about, and she heard the low scrape of an olive press in the distance. One of the elders who lived nearby must have had servants up late tonight, pressing the olives, preparing for the coming winter. The drought still haunted the wealthy. Not one of them left the future to chance. Every olive was plucked and pressed, every vegetable uprooted and stored.

Steady, soft hoofbeats approached and went past. Jezebel leaned forward from between the pillars to see who went to the palace at this hour. It was a single rider bearing the colors of Tyre. He did not drive his camel hard, so she knew his business was not urgent. Standing here, in the darkness before the small statue of Asherah, she suddenly knew why he had come. A white cloud rolled in front of the moon, a shroud hung over her brightness.

Her father was dead.

She searched her heart but felt nothing like grief. He had wasted his reign.

She would not waste her own. She would not waste her children.

Obadiah

Palace business was a comfort to Obadiah, as he tended the records and oversaw the daily operations of the summer. The papyrus from Egypt was improving in quality, but he was grateful for the Phoenicians, who supplied him with better materials. Papyrus stank as it aged, even if he loved the way it soaked up his ink, compliant and thirsty, so eager for the words.

The previous evening he had finished recording the gifts sent to Tyre. Jezebel’s father, now dead, had had a son by one of his concubines, and this son, Baal-azzor, took the throne in Tyre. Obadiah sent gifts of grain and gold and spices. Obadiah was slow to rise the next morning, weary from long hours bent over his desk. His shoulders hurt, and yet he pushed himself to stand and move about. He had much work to do.

Jehoshaphat, the king of Judah, was to come for an official visit. By order of King Ahab, who had specified only that he had urgent business to discuss. Jehoshaphat agreed to come, and the date was set. It had taken three messengers and fourteen pieces of papyrus to get this done.

As the hours wore on, Jehoshaphat proved his word, to the day. His entourage filled the palace to overflowing. Israel’s elders gave lodging to his elders. The inns hosted his lesser attendants and servants. Once again Obadiah ordered huge quantities at the market, and the streets burst with people and animals and goods delivered to the palace. Time passed quickly, making him remember the years of turmoil, before the years of peace had lulled all to sleep.

Late in the evening, after all were settled and sleeping from the long journey, Obadiah was summoned to Ahab’s chamber. The bed was tidy and the table next to it was laid with wine and fruits. Ahab had scrolls open upon his desk, with a carpet under it.

Ahab looked at Obadiah with a brief and formal nod, but his eyes did not meet Obadiah’s. Ahab had trouble meeting anyone’s eyes. Three years of peace, and he had felt none of it. He had grown more despondent every year, plagued by the omen hanging over his head.

“Ramoth-Gilead belongs to the northern tribes but is still in Ben-hadad’s control,” Ahab said.

Obadiah nodded. It was true. Ben-hadad had been spared and allowed Israel access to more markets, but he had done no more than that. He had never become a true ally—just a sleeping enemy.

“That is why I’ve called Jehoshaphat to us,” Ahab continued. “I want him to go to war with me. Take back Ramoth-Gilead.”

“Jehoshaphat does not have a powerful army,” Obadiah said.

“They have the Lord,” Ahab said quietly. “When I faced Ben-hadad in the past, God was with me.”

Ahab sat at his desk and rested his head in his hands. Then he drew a deep breath, like a man who had thought many times of what he should say. He looked up at Obadiah with a solemn face. His eyes, though, were empty. Obadiah saw the defeat in his slumped shoulders, in the years scratching their marks into his forehead and around his eyes, how he moved as if weighed down by shackles.

“You want to be a great king,” Obadiah said.

“No,” he said quietly. “It is too late for that.”

“Then why take Ramoth-Gilead?”

“God has waited to take my life. There is a chance I can change His mind. I can do something.”

A heaviness weighted the air, making it hard to breathe. Obadiah’s chest began to throb, bursting with words that demanded to be heard. It was not his place to say them.

He could not say them.

And then he did.

“It is not about you, Ahab. It is about Him. The Lord hates Jezebel because children are sacrificed to her gods. Infants, some given willingly by poor young mothers who could not feed them, some given because they are born with defects, some stolen. She calls her gods Baal and Asherah. Some call them pleasure and freedom, but they are neither. They are demons. The Lord is angry because you allowed His people to worship demons and kill the youngest children.” The roof of his mouth burned as the words rushed past, saving Obadiah from the hungry dead that clung invisibly to Ahab. Obadiah had read the truth, he had known the truth, but to speak it was a frightening new power. It was a clumsy, blunt power, but the most he had ever had. His head buzzed inside, the force of true words spoken at last making him dizzy.

Ahab’s expression did not change. As if he had heard nothing, he talked of rights and cities. “Ramoth-Gilead is rightfully ours. Obadiah, you can confirm that in the records of our history. If I go out against Ben-hadad, if I can strike him down in battle, as the Lord desired, I can make it right with the Lord. Perhaps I can revoke His curse on my sons. I can face death if I know I have saved my sons.”

“How many sons must die for you, Ahab, before you do what is right?” Obadiah said.

The king did not hear him.

22

Jezebel

At last, after so many years of pain, Ahab had decided to act like a king. He was going to make himself worthy of the crown he had been given. She had hated him for that more and more as the years had passed, that he had been given what she had fought for and lost, then earned on her back. She understood Omri’s disdain for his son.

Tears ran down her cheeks and landed on her lap. The stain spread, its darkness growing, and she saw it widen its path, moving fast, shooting to her knees as it grew and covered her robes, the darkness reaching up over her belly, spreading up toward her neck. She watched it, transfixed. She had not seen her own tears for years.

The two kings were announced, and Jezebel stood, her knees shaking from the discovery of tears. She pressed her hand to her face, to feel them before they disappeared. They would never return. With a true king for a husband, she would never cry again.

Jehoshaphat and Ahab walked into the throne room and sat with Jezebel at the table that had been set for the first meal of the day. Each was dressed in his kingly robes, a long multicolored tunic and a shorter tunic of white linen over it, with embroidered sashes that caught the morning light. Jehoshaphat wore a purple outer robe and a sash with red workings. Ahab had his red outer robe on, and a gold sash with gold beads.

“You approve of my beloved daughter? You are pleased with the match?” Jezebel asked Jehoshaphat, handing him a bowl of grapes.

He took them from her but passed them on. “She is beautiful, like her mother.”

Jezebel attempted a smile as she reached for the bowl of dates stuffed with almonds and fried in honey.

“Athaliah will be an exceptional queen someday,” Jezebel said. “A strong queen in Judah, a strong queen in Israel.”

Jehoshaphat choked on the milk he drank and cleared his throat, holding up one hand to keep the servants from attending him. He glanced at Ahab, and then at her, as tears from the mishap welled in his eyes. “My apologies,” he said.

“Having a daughter first has always been seen as a slight from the gods, but that is wrong,” she said, hearing her high, sharp voice as if someone spoke for her. “Although our work is different, we aren’t afraid of a little blood. We are born rulers.”

Ahab stood.

“Jehoshaphat and I have work to do,” he said. With that, the men left.

Jezebel had the throne room to herself. She liked that. She stood, breathing deeply, whispering the name of the goddess. What a long road it had been, but at last the end was in sight.

Jehoshaphat’s royal court entered the following night, and Ahab’s followed, including Amon and her two sons. Athaliah was not present. Had she gone to Judah already? There had been more Jezebel wanted to teach her. But the boys looked well and strong, though she could not get the older one to converse with her. Little Joram was pudgy and never smiled. She thought he would make a good king.

They had been seated for an hour, waiting for the king to arrive, when Jezebel called for Obadiah.

“Have the kings not returned from the city gates?” she asked.

“They did,” he responded. “They went directly to the administration rooms to prepare for battle.”

“Without dinner?” It was a breach in protocol, an indignity for those who had gathered. Israel was under no threat.

Jezebel stood and lifted her goblet. “As you may know, the great kings Jehoshaphat and Ahab have assembled to discuss a plan that would benefit both empires. Though the tribes are no longer united by one king, or one god, they can be united through prosperity. Forgive my husband, your host, for not joining you tonight, as you celebrate the future.”

At this, Jezebel left the banquet, leading the guards who trotted behind. Security was tighter when they had so many foreigners in the palace, but she did not wait for the guards to lead. She knew where she was going. She knew what she would find.