There was a saying in the north that Obadiah had heard often as a child; mighty cedars splinter loudly long before they fall. It seemed clear to Obadiah that the mighty cedar that once was Israel had fractured loudly, long ago. It simply had not fallen yet.
After Ahab died in battle at Ramoth-gilead, his son, Ahaziah, succeeded him as king. Ahaziah summoned Obadiah to the palace shortly after Ahab’s death and asked, “Will you serve me as you served my father?”
Obadiah coughed for a spell to buy time. Unlike Ahab, who throbbed with guilt and indecision regarding Israel’s drift toward the Baalim, Ahaziah had no such misgivings. He was Jezebel’s son, raised by her in darkness, schooled by her tattooed priests to swim in incense, bow to trinkets and run wild every spring.
“You are aware, O king,” Obadiah said, “that, unlike your mother, I honor God.”
“The old god,” Ahaziah nodded, “yes.”
“Rather the living God of Israel, sir,” Obadiah came back, meeting the new king’s eye. “The god who called Israel to repent with an unerring prophet brought a killing drought when we failed to listen; the same who, in his great mercy, ended that drought and later warned your father…”
Ahaziah raised his hand.
“I will not stop, sir,” Obadiah said. “He is the same god who warned your father, by the prophet, Micaiah, who remains in prison though proven correct, saying that Ahab would not return from Ramoth-gilead alive.”
“Do you really believe, Obadiah,” Ahaziah asked, “that I did not know, almost ten years ago, that you fed and sheltered scores of your prophets, my mother’s enemies, in caves?”
Obadiah stood speechless.
“Did you also think, sir, that I am unaware that you stole my mother’s ivories to raise funds to feed them?” Ahaziah laughed. “If I had told Jezebel then, steward, do you think you would be standing here now?”
Obadiah tried once more to speak, but could not.
“Look at you,” Ahaziah said, “so shocked you cannot manage to stutter. You supposed yourself clever, Obadiah, but I tell you that half of Samaria knew your game.”
“Do you claim your silence was a kindness?” Obadiah asked.
“Not at all,” Ahaziah answered, grinning. “I simply hoped that your clumsy charity might lead me to Elijah.”
“So you could betray him and be a hero to your mother, the queen?”
“In the end,” Ahaziah said, “my mother and my motives are no concern of yours. The truth is that you may be of use to me. There remain, today in Israel, many men and women who follow your old god. They will be reassured with you at court.”
“Too few of those, I fear,” Obadiah said.
“You’ve proven to be honest when not scheming for your god,” Ahaziah said. “Serve me as you served Ahab and I’ll be pleased.” He pointed toward the door. “Go now. If you are still in your quarters at sunset I’ll assume that you have agreed.”
“And if not?”
“Then you are my enemy and had best run.”
Obadiah made a quick decision. “I will serve you,” he said, “as I did the king.”
“I am the king,” Ahaziah said.
Obadiah bowed and said, “Of course.”