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  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.

  16

  Obadiah

  Two of Ben-hadad’s scouts circled Samaria to the north and east three days after their arrival. Obadiah knew what they were doing; they were to make sure Israel had no forces hiding in the hills. And none were, so the men turned their horses to return to Ben-hadad.

  Obadiah saw it at the same moment they must have—tracks leading into a cave. They rode to investigate. Obadiah dismounted his donkey, leaving her behind a tall cluster of rocks. He crept on behind the men, slower but quiet. He had been sent out this morning to negotiate the month’s rations and secure whatever foodstuffs the army would need. But a sense of dread had led him here, and he did not know why. He had no business with Ben-hadad’s men.

  The horses pawed at the earth outside the cave, made nervous by something Obadiah couldn’t see. One of the men dismounted and silently urged his companions to follow him into the cave.

  Obadiah crept nearer still, and what he saw inside made him want to vomit. They had found Mirra sleeping, her long black hair spread beneath her, her smooth arms tucked under her head as a pillow. Obadiah had heard she had been sent home, a disgrace. But he was so relieved that she could not be claimed as part of Ahab’s household that he did not think clearly. She had been too proud to return home.

  She was partially covered with a blanket, which one man used the tip of his sword to lift, neither man talking. They saw her form, the steady rise and fall of her breath, and dismounted, circling her. Obadiah’s blood stopped in his veins, a terrible frozen despair. He could not take two of Ben-hadad’s men by himself.

  The taller man took a length of rope from his waist, letting it fall free and straight at his feet. The other man unsheathed a dagger and bent, watching his partner for the signal. The tall man nodded and his partner grabbed her hair, yanking her head up and back as he thrust the knife against her neck. Her limbs jerked in a frenzy as she awoke and tried to move, but the knife bit into her neck and she froze, seeing the man standing over her, feeling the other who held her too firmly against himself.

  The tall man laughed.

  “We will not return without a prize, after all. And what man in our company has seen a woman such as this, for months?”

  The man holding her shifted her against him so that he could smell her neck and look at her profile.

  “Let’s have her for ourselves.”

  The tall man considered it. Obadiah reached for the dagger at his waist. He would die, but he would give her time to run.

  “No,” the man said, “let’s take her back to camp.”

  Obadiah hid behind the opening of the cave as he pulled his dagger out from his belt, careful to use his robes to keep it shielded from the sun. As he did, he saw a flicking movement out of the corner of his right eye. No, he thought, turning his head just slightly to be sure. A snake had coiled near his feet, its wide triangular-shaped head pointing at his right calf. It had deadly green eyes with a vertical slit, and those eyes did not change as its tongue shot out, tasting the air, tasting his fear. It slid its head further out, gliding across the air toward him. Obadiah swung his dagger in a fast movement, severing its head as the riders burst from the cave, whooping in delight. Mirra was held tight by one rider, her hands tied in front of her.

  Obadiah ran after them. Tears ran down his face as he whispered her name, putting one wobbling leg in front of the other.

  He did not make it to the tents until nightfall. The moon illuminated the encampment so that he had to find shadows and stay in them. His cheeks were raw now from the hours of slow tears. He knew what soldiers did to unprotected women.

  Ben-hadad was eating in his tent with the other kings, who were grumbling about the delay in Ahab’s promise of fighting. A servant played the lyre. Most of the soldiers were sleeping, but throughout the darkness he saw several fires burning well, certain signs that someone was still awake and feeding them. He saw men huddled around some fires, talking; and some playing dice and growling over lost wages. But at the far end of the camp, he saw one fire burning high, attended by two men who blocked an entrance to their tent. The tent was set away from the others.

  Obadiah moved further away into the night and circled around to the back of the tent. He stood outside and listened.

  Inside the tent, a man was negotiating.

  “I will pledge my support for you both as commander,” he offered.

  “The last man offered that and a thousand pieces of silver besides,” they replied.

  “No man serving Ben-hadad has that kind of money!” the first man shouted. “If you accept lies as wagers, then please, take my support and two thousand pieces of silver!”

  “Excellent. You are pledged for two thousand pieces of silver and your support. Move back to your post, and we will call the lucky ones within the hour.”

  A woman screamed, and Obadiah knew her voice. With a swift movement, he plunged his dagger through the linen of the tent and ripped upward, pushing through the hole as the men inside scrambled for their swords. The tent flaps fluttered as the guards posted outside entered too.

  Obadiah saw her, bound at ankles and wrists, her mouth bruised and bloodied, one eye swollen and purple.

  He did not know where his strength came from—he had never fought for a woman, or for anything—but he drove his dagger into each man in a blinding, soundless fury. He wanted them to die, and he wanted them to hurt badly as they did. When the men lay on the ground, he drove his dagger into each of them again.

  The sound of Mirra’s weeping brought him out of the silent trance of his power. He knelt before her, cutting the cords that bound her hands and feet. She tried to speak, but she could only shudder and close her mouth again. He lifted her into his arms and carried her from the tent. He moved to the shadows and worked his way out of the camp. Passing the tent of Ben-hadad, Obadiah nearly stumbled as he bumped into the king. Ben-hadad was relieving himself away from his men.

  The king stared at the woman in Obadiah’s arms. Obadiah was grateful for once that he had been born with a face that no one ever noticed or remembered.

  “A few of your men had a little accident back there,” Obadiah said, walking past, keeping calm. “See to it your men are better behaved. We are particular hosts.”

  Taking Mirra back into Samaria, Obadiah entered a modest inn built for military men without families. He paid for the room, and once inside, he laid her on the bed and covered her with his cloak. He called the innkeeper up to the room and asked for warm milk. This he fed to her in small spoonfuls, careful to avoid the raw edges where the gag had burned across her skin. When she did not speak, he brushed her hair away from her face with his hand, seeing the thin wound from the knife on her neck. Tears came and she did not wipe them away. He did that for her, the tips of his fingers gently taking each one before it marked the length of her cheek, and he shook each one away into the dust on the floor.

  When she stopped crying, he wrapped his arms around her, and she slept. He breathed in the scent of her skin, the scent of perfume and salt and the resin of the wood in the room around them. She pushed her face nearer to him, inhaling deeply too. He held her through the night, feeling the rise and fall of her chest and whispering words of comfort
when the bad dreams came.

  Ahab

  Ahab rose as the spring sun crept across the ledge of the window. He would deal with Ben-hadad today. The night air warmed and grew still, all the noisy bellies filled and returning to hidden dens to sleep before they fed again. Only Jezebel did not stir, her skin growing paler in the morning light, as if something essential fled when the sun rose to greet her. He studied her, ashamed. Her frame was so small and thin from the drought that had stolen their bread. It was not hard to confirm a pregnancy, especially one already past its halfway mark.

  He ran his hand along the covering draped over her prize, her claim upon him, upon the throne.

  Why would Yahweh pursue Ahab when his fate was already determined within her womb? He could never abandon his Phoenician bride if she carried an heir. It had been too late, then, when Yahweh had pushed His own claim on Ahab.

  It was too late.

  Jezebel smiled, her eyes still closed, and reached for his hand as it caressed her shoulder. She had won long before Ahab had understood what was at stake.

  He got dressed, then went to face Ben-hadad, wondering if God would indeed save him now. Ahab had just over two hundred officers ready, about fifty commanders, plus any strong man or boy who possessed a sword to fight. About seven thousand were ready to march.

  Ahab wore his royal robes and lifted the sword of Moses as he prepared to address the men from the palace steps. First light shone around the edges of the men, illuminating their armor. Beyond them, fog rolled toward Samaria from the surrounding hills, creating an eerie ring around the city, the smoke from Ben-hadad’s fires making the fog thick blue. Samaria rose above it all, as if watching to see what the hills concealed.

  Ahab descended the palace steps as the men parted, dividing into two rows for inspection. There were soldiers as far as his eyes could see, leading down the main road, he was sure, to the city’s edges. Ahab had built the wall up, and it had gates, but it had no real splendor or power to protect. No one had wanted to build during the drought. None had had the strength. The city wall would give no protection.