Jezebel
Late in the night Jezebel heard the alarm sounding from the walls of Samaria and froze in bed, stiff with dread. A ram’s horn had pierced the dark silence of the late spring night in three long blasts, the signal of danger. Ahab was already throwing on his robe and running from the room.
She lurched up, fully awake. There were more sounds in the distance, real sounds, the noise of hoofbeats. An army had surrounded the city.
Quickly she rose and threw on a robe over her linen shift. A guard already had a torch down from its bracket, and Jezebel saw the terror in his eyes as he led her to the throne room in the palace. Lilith and Mirra stumbled out of the servants’ room, looking about wildly, disoriented. Mirra seemed ready to collapse. She cried that she did not want to be given to a soldier as nothing but war spoils.
Messengers and guards sprinted past as Jezebel entered the corridor leading to the throne room. No one spoke as they passed. She heard the fast slapping of sandals against the mosaic floors. Whatever was happening at the outskirts of the city, she guessed, was urgent, but no one had died yet. Everyone rushed toward the throne room to be advised or to deliver news. She passed a young boy of about thirteen posted outside the door leading from this interior corridor into the throne room. He had wet himself, but he had not abandoned his post. Tight, nervous energy pulsed in the air. Voices were soft and urgent, and everyone moved with speed. On the throne was Omri, looking disheveled and tired. She had not seen him in four months, at least. He looked much older.
Ahab was consulting with three or four soldiers. Each had dirt clinging to his robe, and none had hair or beards that had been groomed in preparation for admittance to this room. Whatever was out there was coming fast. Obadiah stood to Ahab’s left, nodding as he listened to the soldiers’ reports, whispering sideways to Ahab, perhaps filling in details.
When she stepped closer in, the voices stopped. The nervous energy turned on her like a needle-sharp arrow pulled tight across the string in its aim. Ahab looked past his men, his eyes meeting hers for the first time since they had returned from Jezreel.
“Jezebel,” King Omri said, loud enough that all stopped and watched, “Ben-hadad entered our gates tonight.”
“I tried to warn the court,” she replied.
“Ben-hadad was going to come for Israel someday,” Ahab said. “We both knew that, Father.”
“Are you questioning my loyalty? Or admitting your incompetence?” she mocked.
Omri stood, his old face red with fury. Unable to speak, he pointed at her, and guards moved to escort her away. She held up a hand as the other cradled her womb.
“Be careful how you handle me. I carry Ahab’s child.”
Whatever happened, Jezebel knew Ahab would either realize she had been right all along, that Elijah had weakened the kingdom and therefore should be exterminated on sight, or Ahab would be carried off into exile, and she would belong to a new king. The child within wouldn’t survive, but she would, and those who survived could start over. None of it mattered. Everyone would have to honor her no matter who won.
Omri commanded the guards to assemble along each side of the room, to defend the king if needed. No one trusted Ben-hadad, even if he offered good terms to stand against Shalmaneser. Jezebel stood behind guards posted along the left side of the room, close to the door she had entered through.
Ben-hadad was announced as if he were a royal visitor, not a king ready for war. He entered wearing a solid blue tunic down to his ankles with embroidery at the edges and a fringed shawl draped over that. He wore a collar of metal circles chained together, stretched tight over his neck.
He bowed before Omri, and formal courtesies were given.
“Why have you come?” Omri said, lifting one hand to gesture toward the city.
“I did not come alone,” Ben-hadad replied. “With me, I have brought thirty-two kings from all the empires. Each wants defeat for Israel. Each one could join Shalmaneser. But they listen to me.”
Jezebel fought the urge to laugh. She doubted there were thirty-two empires in all the known world. Ben-hadad had a gift for skewering the truth. He always had; when Ben-hadad took the throne from his father, Eth-baal had ordered every one of his trade payments to Tyre inspected twice. It was not unusual to hear of a layer of gold coins covering what was only, really, a sack of flaxseed.
Omri’s face lost a shade of color as he listened. He tilted his head, waiting, revealing nothing.
“Your silver and gold are mine,” Ben-hadad said. “As are the best of your wives and children.”
Ahab moved one hand slowly toward his sword. She doubted he was even aware of it. Ben-hadad noticed it, however, and only smiled.
“I am sorry; were you in the room a moment ago? I brought kings from thirty-two kingdoms. Every one of them would seek your destruction. But I can negotiate on your behalf.”
“It’s not negotiation,” Omri interrupted. “You want blood money.”
Ben-hadad just shrugged, uninterested in the distinction, his eyes wandering around the room, noting the decorations and display of wealth.
“Call on Egypt, if you must. Hire an army, if you like. I will give you time to weigh your choices, and then when you realize my terms are generous, and convenient, please prepare the goods. I’d like a list of the women and children, their names and ages. It does displease a woman to be called by the wrong name.”
Ben-hadad looked at Jezebel then. She saw the smirk he made so little effort to constrain. He thought he knew women, and he believed they found him charming. She looked away, before he told himself she desired him too.
With that, he left the court, the clanking of his guards’ armor the only sound anyone else could have heard.
But all Jezebel heard was the scratching sound in her throat as she silenced a laugh. The Lord had tried to drive Ahab away from her, but Ben-hadad would drive Ahab right back. He didn’t like being bullied any more than she did.
“You won’t obey me, will you?” Ahab asked Jezebel the next day. He had summoned Jezebel to the administration quarters after she had refused to leave the city for refuge.
“No,” she answered him. Her stomach was sour. She did not know exactly how far along she was, having no priest to divine it for her, nor to tell her the child’s sex. The asu and ashipu had fled as well, fearing the god of the Hebrews. Lilith had no idea how to judge such matters, and Jezebel had grown so tired of Mirra’s whimpering that she had sent her back to her father’s house.
“I won’t let Ben-hadad take you, nor any of my wives. But neither will I march out against him,” Ahab said, gesturing to the scrolls laid open on the table. She went to the table and looked at the writings. He had maps of the surrounding lands, plus working sums of soldiers and weaponry.
“It seems you are always running,” she said, her fingers tracing the border of the kingdom. “Running behind some other great man. Never leading. I would like to bed a real leader for once.”
“You are still grieving the death of your priests, so I forgive you,” he replied in the calm manner of someone unwilling to fight. “I know my soldiers, Jezebel. I have served with them. I know their wives; I’ve held their children. It is easy for you to send me to war, because you risk nothing.”
“My reputation is threatened, here and back in my real home. Where did you go, Ahab? You were a fighter once. I thought you might even fight for me.”
Ahab stared at her as if summoning the courage to hate her. But he was bound to her, his own life sheltered in hers, his great name growing in the darkness of her womb. She placed a hand on it, a smile catching and lifting one corner of her mouth. If Ben-hadad won her, they would kill the child at once. If Ahab held on to her and his money, she could give him another child. She could not lose either way.
A nervous-looking young messenger took one step into the room.
“Ben-hadad has sent another message. He says, ‘I sent to demand your wives and children, your gold and silver. You have not complied. By tomorrow I will send my officials to search your palace and the houses of your elders. They have orders to seize everything you value and carry it away.’”
The boy stood there on trembling legs, waiting for the reply.
Ahab sat on a stool near a table. “Go back to your residence,” he said to the boy. “I must consult with my father.”
The boy cleared his throat. “Do not be angry with me, my king!”
Ahab frowned, looking up at him. “Go on.”
The boy glanced at Jezebel and then spoke again to Ahab. “There is one more thing. A prophet of the Lord is here. It is not Elijah, my king. He says he has received a word from the Lord for you.”
Jezebel had followed Ahab to the throne room. The prophet was a short man, with a big bald head and one good squinty eye, and failed at simple courtesies. He lacked the power of Elijah, but she had chased Elijah off. He had not been seen or heard from in months. This man was a sorry replacement.
He delivered his message as Omri sat upon the throne. Ahab stood on the step below, wearing his royal robe. An official from Ben-hadad’s court stood below the throne, alongside the most prominent of Israel’s court.
When the prophet spoke, his voice was too loud, like a man who thinks he will only be heard if he shouts. Clearly he had no confidence in the message, she thought.
“Hear the word of the Lord! The God of Israel says, ‘Look upon the vast army. I will give it into your hand, and then you will know that I am the Lord.’”
Jezebel pressed her lips together. Yahweh was going to fight for Ahab? Ahab would not even have to suffer or fight for the victory himself? What kind of god wants a half man? She groaned. She hated Yahweh.
Ahab turned to consult with Omri, quiet words no one else could hear. The guards in the room, and the other elders who had gotten here in time, all shifted from foot to foot, waiting to hear what would be said next.
Ben-hadad’s official looked amused.
The prophet raised an eyebrow at the man’s confident sneer. “Ben-hadad will return, of course,” the prophet added. “He will need to be defeated more than once before he understands the power of the Lord.”
Ahab looked up as he listened, then returned to his position and addressed those present. “We refuse Ben-hadad and his demands.”
Ben-hadad’s official, an elegant man who looked no more than forty, with dark features and piercing green eyes, stepped forward in alarm. “Your army is small, weakened by drought! This city cannot be defended. Ben-hadad seeks money and a woman, not your death.”
Ahab stepped down from the throne pedestal and shoved this man in the shoulder with one hand. Murmurs shot through the room. Jezebel felt a twinge of pride. It would be good if Ahab killed him, and the prophet, too. Ahab needed to get back in the business of killing people. He would remember what power was for, and he would be a better ruler. She would love a man who killed his enemies.
“Tell Ben-hadad we are not afraid of him. We are the people of the Lord.” Ahab glanced at the prophet, looking as if he expected a nod of approval. He got one.
“But there is no time,” the official pleaded. “You cannot even call for reinforcements.”
“We need none. We will march out tomorrow. Tell Ben-hadad he will regret ever setting foot near Israel.”
Guards began stamping their feet, the sound ricocheting in the room, thunder growing in power. The official shook his head, marveling, and left.
Something stirred in her blood. Ahab’s eyes searched the crowd until he found her. Prince and princess looked at each other. His expression was unreadable. But something stirred in her heart and his. She could not deny that.