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  Obadiah wondered if there was any mercy now to save them.

  7

  Jezebel

  Jezebel thought about all the little birds she had caught and fed to her snake back in Sidon. Had they felt this way? Swallowed, dissolved, taken up forever into some enemy’s territory. That’s what it was like to lie with a man every night and grow his child in her womb. All her life, her enemies had been visible, external, people she could run from. Now her own flesh had become the detestable thing. Ahab’s body had consumed hers, and this thing grew inside her, feeding off her, the lump in her belly just like the snake’s.

  She hated Jezreel, too, where they had relocated two weeks ago.

  Its location made sense, however. Two main trade routes crossed through Jezreel. One connected the upper and lower nations, one connected the eastern and western nations. Jezreel stood at the heart of it all and had to be defended. If a nation attacked Jezreel, it would send the entire region into uproar. They’d be swarming with everyone from the beautiful Egyptians to the rowdy Arameans brandishing swords and getting drunk under the trees.

  The palace was a disappointment, even more than Obadiah had prepared her for. The builders had given no thought to its appearance, or construction, or even layout. It was a military palace, built by a military man for his men. Much smaller than the one in Samaria, it was surrounded by a thick wall that had towers on each of the four corners. Like Samaria, it was built on an elevation. Anyone sitting by a window had a view of a garden and vineyard below and of the valley. That would be pleasant enough, she thought, though Omri only wanted a clear view of approaching enemies. He had not meant to give anyone happiness.

  The wall around the palace had a massive gate, which she was pleased to see was finished, and in front of the wall was a deep, dry moat. A man could die from the fall into such a moat, cut from rock as it was. No army could dig through the walls around the palace without getting past the moat.

  She hesitated to even call Jezreel a city. It was a palace flanked by a few buildings and residences, and outside this wall were tents for the soldiers in the valley below.

  Ahab had gone out to survey the trade routes and talk to the soldiers. She was disgusted by the catch in her heart when he left her. He was familiar, and this was an unfamiliar place. That’s all she felt, she told herself. She could not trust him, not if he lacked the strength to do what was right by his own gods. Her god had tested her, and she had proven herself worthy. Ahab was being tested by his god too. Any hope she had once had that he would banish her or kill her in obedience to his god was gone. This pain was hers forever.

  The ashipu entered her chamber and began setting out his materials.

  “Get out,” she said, and both Lilith and Mirra looked up from their dice game, startled. The ashipu kept working. None of them was sure who she was talking to, so she yelled. “All of you!”

  Mirra and Lilith left at once, but the ashipu did nothing.

  “You cannot put this off any longer,” he said.

  She gave in, spitting in a clay pot, and her healer assessed the color and texture. She urinated in another pot, and he murmured over that as well. He added the blessed thistle and stirred, whispering incantations. Jezebel stared as the watery contents turned red. Next he passed a fresh liver from a recent sacrifice over Jezebel’s midsection. He laid it on the table next to a clay model of a liver, drilled with holes all over. As he surveyed the sacrifice, he noted the pattern of fat and nodules and placed a corresponding peg in each hole on the model until his diagnosis was complete.

  “It is a girl,” the healer said. He cleared his throat.

  Jezebel shook her head from side to side.

  “You did it wrong,” she said. “The gods are testing your skill.”

  The healer cleaned the table and placed the model back in his stained bag.

  “I am never wrong.” He smiled. “Besides, the answer is from the gods. Perhaps they test you.”

  Jezebel glared at him. His skirt wrapped tightly around a thin, sunken waist, and he was shaved clean, as all ashipu were, but the gray hairs grew back quickly, giving his head a dull glow when the light hit at an angle. She guessed him to be seventy, considered the most excellent age for healers, who worshipped numbers and their combinations.

  She rose and went to a window and watched a stray brown dog scavenge beneath her window for bits of food the guards were tossing to it.

  Jezebel turned back and faced the healer. “I’ll drink the copper and abort it. I haven’t told Ahab that I’m pregnant yet.”

  The healer shook his head. “First, the copper can only seal the womb before life begins. Once life claims the womb, it is a fierce adversary. And second, Ahab is not a stupid man. He is waiting for you to tell him, perhaps, but he already knows.”

  She chewed her lip, watching the ashipu. He had no solutions or perhaps refused to offer them.

  “I don’t want a daughter!” It was the first time she had used that word, daughter, and the sound of it in the room made her weak. She sank to the floor, and he rushed to help her, grabbing her under her arms, trying to lift her up, but she collapsed into him and screamed.

  “Not a girl! Please! Get rid of it.”

  He stroked her hair and rocked her as she sucked in air between dry groans that shook her body. She didn’t know how to cry without tears. And she would not let tears come.

  “My princess,” he said, “I will lift your name to the gods. I will order another sacrifice for you, would you like that? Perhaps the gods will have mercy.”

  “You are so kind,” Jezebel said, hating him for it. Kindness was nothing but salt in her wounds.

  She reached up and wrapped her hands around his neck, gently at first so he wouldn’t realize what she was doing until her grip was perfect. Then she squeezed with all the rage flooding her veins for that baby he would not kill and the rains that would not fall. Little blood vessels burst in the whites of his eyes as he writhed in horror. When he collapsed within seconds, her grip grew stronger. He was not putting up a good fight, and she wanted someone else to hurt like she did. She wanted him to fight, but no matter how hard she squeezed, he just sank at her feet until he lay on the floor, twitching, his eyes closed. She stood and kicked him. He did not move. She stomped on his belly, hoping it would swell and hurt him. But he was dead. She bent down and laid her face against his, moaning in agony. He was so fortunate.

  The guard outside her door looked when she made those noises, shocked to see the ashipu lying on the floor.

  Jezebel sat up, feigning shock and grief. She had seen enough mothers at the sacrifices in Phoenicia to know how to do it. “I tried to save him!”

  “I’ll call for help,” he said.

  It’s too late now, she thought.

  Ahab

  Disturbing news from Samaria reached Ahab a month after they’d arrived in Jezreel. Samaria was more than six weeks past the supposed start of the winter rains, but not a drop had fallen. The mood in the city had changed, his messenger said. Workers did not sing as they worked. The sounds of labor were late in starting and ended well before sunset every day. Ahab had to authorize an increase in wages to get even half the labor done. Since the rain stopped, no one wanted to work on finishing Baal’s temple. He wrote to Jezebel’s father, asking for additional laborers to come. Their energy and artistry would revive the work.

  He was returning to their palace after a ride with Obadiah. They had been talking to the troops, checking the roads that led in and out of Jezreel. There had been no sign of Ben-hadad’s scouts, but neither had there been rain.

  Ahab and Obadiah rode on to the palace before dawn as Jezebel’s priests began to line the roads, burning thick pots of incense between them on the ground. The air was thick with smoke. Servants held clay rattles shaped in the figures of their god and goddess, shaking them as Ahab approached. Every other priest hel
d a torch in his hand, so that the line of torches became a flickering spitting serpent winding up the hill to the palace of Jezreel.

  Jezebel stood in the path, no jewels adorning her soft, long neck. She held her hands low across her belly, and he knew she was ready to tell him.

  Obadiah stopped his horse short, his face changing as he saw her swollen belly. She faced Ahab, who dismounted, kissing her hands and pressing them to his face before kneeling to kiss her womb. She did not move when he touched her. It was like caressing a statue.

  The priests began a low song, a prayer for the future springing to life in her womb. The servants sang too, shaking their rattles back and forth as they chanted. The music rose as the sun did, sounding like the heartbeat of the world, and the priests danced as they received visions.

  “Blessing on the house of Ahab!” they cried. “Ahab’s name will be great! He does not cast off the many gods who watch, and so they will watch over him!”

  Soldiers poured out from their tents. They were used to the prophets of Israel, who talked in plain terms and preferred the company of simple people and children.

  Ahab let go of Jezebel and faced his people. “Everywhere in this country I find a city in ruins. Israel has faced many battles. Like you, I was once willing to die for this nation. But the time to die for her is done. It is time to build, my friends. It is time for new life!”

  The priests let out a shout of victory and filled in the path behind the king, cutting him off from the soldiers. Ahab took hold of Jezebel’s hand and led her back up the plain dirt path to the palace.

  “Are you pleased?” he asked her, his voice soft enough so that no one else heard.

  “Are you?” she asked. “That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

  It was a sweet sentiment that sounded sour from her lips. She was a strange bride, he knew, but she carried his child.

  Bearing children changed a woman, people always said. It gave women new purpose in life. It changed their heart, enlarged it somehow. For any other woman, Ahab thought that would be a natural progression, an easy growth. But Jezebel’s heart was so guarded, so carefully constricted, he knew the growth might be slow. He had spent a full month in the beginning teaching her how to rest in his arms, how to bear his touch. He had spent months after that coaxing her to not just receive his touch but return it.

  He wondered, with a sigh to himself, how much more he would have to teach her.

  Obadiah

  “The news from Samaria is not good,” Obadiah said the following morning. “You need to act. If it rains soon we might be able to save the last half of the growing season.”

  Ahab drank his wine as they strolled in the vineyard below the palace and surveyed the blossoms growing heavy with fruit.

  “We have nothing to worry about,” Ahab said. “I have eight trackers looking for Elijah.”

  “What good will it do to find Elijah? It is the Lord who cursed Samaria.” Obadiah could not bring himself to say that the Lord had cursed Ahab—although that was the truth—just as he had not found the courage to tell Ahab that he suspected an infant had been offered on Asherah’s altar. No one could make such an outrageous charge without proof. Obadiah had gone to the altar that night when the priests were gone, and it had been swept clean. If there was no shame in what they did, why did they leave no trace? That they had hidden their actions was enough proof for Obadiah, but no one else.

  “One of Jezebel’s priests spoke to me,” Ahab said. “He said the curse will end with Elijah’s death.”

  Obadiah grasped Ahab by the arm. “Do you not hear a word I say? I am telling you, the Lord is doing this. He is angered by the worship of Baal and Asherah. He is angered by your marriage to Jezebel. If you kill Elijah, that will provoke Him again!”

  Ahab took a long draught of wine, then deliberately shook his arm to break Obadiah’s grasp.

  Obadiah’s voice rose as he tried to explain one more time. “Israel is not like other nations. You cannot replace her religion, because she doesn’t have one. She has the Lord. Do you understand the difference? There is a living presence in Israel.”

  “All those hours you spent in study, I spent on the battlefield,” Ahab said. “Do you think that makes you smarter?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t tell me how to run my kingdom.”

  “There are things you don’t know,” Obadiah began.

  Ahab punched him in the stomach. Obadiah fell and laid on the ground, trying to suck air back into his lungs. Ahab didn’t wait for him to recover, and Obadiah closed his eyes as Ahab’s steps away stirred the dust, sweeping it into Obadiah’s face.

  The earth was so dry, and it was going to get worse.

  “What are you doing?”

  Mirra was approaching with a basket of figs.

  “Greetings,” he said, standing up too quickly, pressing a hand to his stomach to keep from crying out. He had never been punched in the stomach, not even as a boy.

  She handed him her basket, oblivious, and unwrapped her veil from around her shoulders. He could see beads of sweat on her face; the afternoon sun was strong. She shook her hair and dropped the veil into the basket. Her shoulders were beautiful. Obadiah averted his eyes to avoid shaming her.

  “Can I have my basket back?” she asked.

  Obadiah could think of no reply, so he held it out to her. She looked at him with a puzzled expression, then turned to leave.

  Obadiah was watching her, the way her soft robes moved and swayed with every step, her loose dark hair shaking, when she turned suddenly and caught him staring. Laughing, she tossed him a fig and then went on.

  Obadiah checked the sun’s position. Not even noon, and he had been humiliated twice today.

  8

  881 B.C.

  Jezebel

  Jezebel sat in her bed, propped up by pillows, reading a letter from her father. He had heard of the curse and of the rain that had not fallen. He wanted to know if he should send a man to help her. Perhaps the son of an elder? The letter had come with a gift from the elders, who hoped she prospered in Israel and gave them good trading terms. They had sent a bed made of ivory with red and purple linens tied with chains of gold across the spindles that rose high from all four corners. Fine linen hung from each spindle; she could close it when the evening bugs grew heavy or she wanted to be free from the eyes of the servants. She despised the gift even as she knew she had to accept it. It was like swallowing bad milk. And yet the palace buzzed with excitement at possessing such a beautiful item.

  The servants watched all and always had. They watched as she ate. They surveyed what was left in her pot when she awoke and made water. She remembered how her own had watched her drink the copper before worshipping with a man, and watched her without moving when she was sick and retched again and again. She hated anyone who pretended to want to help her. They only wanted to watch.

  She looked around the room for a way to destroy the letter, but it was vellum. Burning it would stink up the room, and she had never learned to enjoy the smell of burning flesh.

  Ahab staggered into the room, reeking of beer, and she balled the letter as best she could and left it. A servant was unwinding the belt around Ahab’s waist, a huge linen cloth wrapped several times around, and he rocked unsteadily on his feet as it was loosened.

  In only his tunic, he stretched and reached for his lower back with a groan. She dismissed the servant. She hated a witness when he touched her, even casually.

  “Are you too drunk to listen?” she asked.

  “Just don’t lecture me,” he said, collapsing onto the bed.

  “Your father is so concerned with Ben-hadad that he may be neglecting a greater threat. Have you heard of Shalmaneser’s raids in the north?” she asked.

  “How do you know of those?” he replied, exhaustion making his voice hollow. “You don’t talk
to anyone but your priests. And that ashipu.”

  “He died.”

  Ahab looked at her, perhaps expecting an emotion.

  “He was old and not very good at his job. But you are not listening. I was supposed to be a queen. I know how to keep my eye on my enemies.”

  “You are still going to be queen,” he replied, touching her stomach lightly.

  “Don’t. I earned the crown in Phoenicia. It’s not the same here.”

  He sat up. “You are not going to let me sleep, are you?”

  She grabbed his right hand, forcing it open with his palm down, and pointed to his thumb. “Egypt.” Then to his index finger. “Phoenicia.” Then she squeezed the tender flesh in between, hard, to be sure he paid attention. “You. Israel.” She pointed to his second finger. “The top? This is Assyria. Shalmaneser. Below him, in between the knuckles, that is Syria. Ben-hadad. Judah and Israel are tempting conquests. Control the middle ground between the two wealthiest nations, Phoenicia and Egypt, control those trade routes, and you can control the nations themselves.”

  “But Ben-hadad won’t attack us. You already told us that.”

  “Not unless Shalmaneser joins him. Shalmaneser raids the northern territories every spring, just as his father did. Every year the same cities are attacked, in the same month, often on the same day. They agree to pay tribute, and he leaves until the next year.”

  “Even I knew that,” Ahab replied. “And I had no hopes of being queen.”

  She ignored his joke. “The cities of the north are forming an alliance against him. Shalmaneser will defeat them, of course, using the gold they paid him to finance his campaign. With those cities crushed, unable to pay tribute for years, the Assyrians will have to find a new country to steal from. For years your only defense has been the Assyrian preference for victims who already play dead. Shalmaneser will become dangerous once he has won a real war. I have heard tales of his atrocities that would make the hair rise along your neck. He is growing in aggression.”