Jezebel: Queen of Armageddon
A story of intrigue, war, passion, and betrayal in the days of ancient Israel
I am Jezebel. I was born in 885 BC in the land of Phoenicia, on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. My people were a brave and powerful sea-faring dynasty of merchants, traders, and inventors. Our capital city of Tyre was the most beautiful city in the world.
I was once the high priestess of the goddess Ashtarte. They called me a whore, but I was faithful to my goddess, to my father, and to my people. It was because I loved my father that I did not disobey his order for me to marry King Ahab of the impoverished desert nation of Israel. I was faithful to him, and I loved him. I lived many years happily with Ahab. Until the malice of Jehu disrupted our lives.
Jehu, the brave charioteer and warrior in Ahab’s army. By rumor, the illegitimate son of King Omri, and Ahab’s half-brother. Jehu’s love for me was so strong, that he could not hide it long. In time, I came to love him in return. And that was the beginning of renewed trouble in our land. For Jehu was devoted to the God Jahweh and desirous of power. And I was loyal to my goddess, Ashtarte. He betrayed me, declaring me an evil idolatress, and left to forge an army against Israel. Lies and scandal were spread about me, but for the love I bore him and my husband Ahab, I said nothing. And so it was that after the death of Ahab, the prophet Elijah came to seek my destruction.
In death, my name has been maligned by those who conspired to condemn me. Their records live on. But if I could, I would set the record straight, to those who would know the true story of the woman known as Jezebel.
Jezebel… the foreign woman, the painted Queen, the Tyrian whore, the seductress whose name echoes throughout history, lived around 885-842BC, a hundred years after King Solomon. The Bible says that Jezebel, wife of Ahab, eighth King of Israel, murdered God’s prophets and did evil in the eyes of the Lord. And so, as the prophet Elijah predicted, Jezebel was to be punished for her crimes. She was thrown from a palace window high above the rocks down into the valley of Jezreel and on the field of Armageddon, so that scavenging dogs could come and consume her flesh until nothing but a few bones remained. There, in the streets of the city of Jezreel she had once ruled, her bones were left to bleach in the sun, unburied, so that no one who found her tomb could ever say, “Behold, this was Jezebel”.
Jezebel met a horrific end. Yet, as famous as her ghastly death is, Queen Jezebel remains a mystery. Just who was this foreign queen, and where did she come from?
The Bible says that Jezebel was a princess of Sidon and Tyre, a rich city of Phoenicia, the land northwest of Israel. She was the daughter of Ithobaal, a Phoenician priest-king of the ancient Caananite religion. Yet who were these mysterious Phoenicians? Who was this race that disappeared before the modern era, leaving behind nothing but the silence of ruined coastal cities slowly crumbling to dust aeon by aeon under the harsh Near Eastern sun? Today, Phoenicia is called Lebanon.
The people of this land were called Kinnahu in ancient times, a name with two possible meanings: lowlanders, or the purple or red people, named for the color of the purple dye they were famous for inventing. In Greek they were called “Phoinikes”, the people from the purple land, and so they have come to be called the Phoenicians. The Bible called them Tyrians or Sidonians, after their great cities Tyre and Sidon. The people known to us as Phoenicians called themselves
simply “Canaanites”, people of the red land, Canaan. Little was known of the vanished Phoenicians until the archaeological discoveries of recent decades because the Phoenicians left few writings for posterity. But the Phoenicians were the greatest sailors of the ancient world and once carved out a sea-faring mercantile empire that lasted a thousand years. Their legendary trading empire thrived until the fall of Tyre to Alexander the Great of Macedonia, whose conquering armies swept over the known world around 334BC.
Even as the ancient island city of Tyre lay in ruins, the Phoenicians were not entirely defeated. On the coast of northern Africa, the niece of Jezebel, Elisha, or Dido, a name that means “the wanderer”, had built a colonial “new city”—Carthage.
Carthage was to gain fame with its military leader Hannibal the Great, the “beloved of Baal”, who almost sacked Rome in 215 BC, centuries before the Roman Empire grew. However, during the last Punic War, mighty Carthage was utterly destroyed by Rome in 146 BC. The mercantile empire of the Phoenicians was no more, and its history was thought forever lost. However, historians have now pieced together the clues revealing whom the mysterious Phoenicians and their ancestors the Canaanites were.
Long ago, a group of Semitic nomads had come and settled in Canaan, where Israel and Lebanon now lie. Likely that they arrived from Mount Sinai. The Caananites were not quite the artful sailors they were to become. Then suddenly, around 1200 BC, they became the masters of the seas. How? Perhaps the answer to this mystery also resolves another ancient mystery, for in 1200 BC, a group of mysterious “sea peoples” arrived in Canaan for the first time.
Around 1200 BC, the Mediterranean world had become entrenched in chaos with unexpected wars, sudden invasions, and fires in several great ancient cities, and great masses of peoples migrated from the north to the southern lands of Syria and Palestine, and even Egypt. The Sea Peoples fled the island of Crete, Greece, and Asia Minor, where modern Turkey lies.
This was the time when the great city of Troy, in the vast Hittite Empire that spanned all of Asia Minor south to Syria, was sacked by the Greeks. And this was the time that the Indo-European speaking Hittite Empire mysteriously collapsed fewer than thirty years after the fall of Troy, causing thousands and thousands to migrate south to Canaan. The Hittite Empire, too, would vanish from the historical record, with but a whisper now and again of its legendary city of Troy in the years to come.
After the fall of Troy and the Hittite Empire, which had once been as powerful as Egypt, the Greeks found themselves as homeless as the Trojans. Returning Greek heroes such as Menelaus, Achilles, and Odysseus soon fled Greece on their swift ships, for the civilized cities and palaces of Heroic Age Greece were being invaded and sacked by barbaric mountain highlanders from northern Greece and beyond.
With no homes to return to after the Trojan War, the Indo-Aryan Greek seafaring Kings traveled with the defeated Hittite Trojans to the East—to Palestine, named from the Greek word “Philistaia” which became “peleshti”. So it would seem that there were Europeans among the peoples of Canaan. And that it was possibly a European Greek Achaian named Goliath, whom David defeated.
Around 1200 BC, the wandering Greek masters of the sea plundered, then settled in Canaan and became the Philistines and Cherethites of the Bible. Goliath is, as he is described in the Bible, dressed as an Aegean warrior. And many historians believe that a few of the Greek “sea peoples” joined the people of the Lebanon, the Caananites—together, the two peoples: native Caananites and a handful of Greek refugees, likely merged and formed the Phoenician sea-faring dynasty that would last more than a thousand years.
A remnant of the Trojan Hittites who fled Asia Minor also took to the seas in this time of chaos and war; according to many sources, these “Troies” were later called Etrusci—the Etruscans. It was these Etruscans who settled in Tuscany, Italy and also founded Rome. In this story, they are called “Etrurians”.
Meanwhile, as one nation, the Phoenicians became the secretive, stealthy masters of the sea. They lived on stronghold island cities across the world. They could build cities anywhere: on craggs and cliffs, peninsulas, and rocky coves, cities created by extraordinary feats of architecture and engineering, using some techniques not re-discovered in the modern age until the twentieth century. The Phoenicians built world-renowned palaces and acquired great riches. They created the Tyrian purple dye from the Purpuridae snail, a dark, expensive dye so precious that 60,000 snails only make a pound of the dye. This rare dye called Tyrian purple would one day be used in robes to adorn the great Roman senators and Caesars. This is also the Imperial Purple color used by European monarchs in more recent history.
The Phoenicians created and alphabetized the modern alphabet; “aleph” means “ox’s head” in Phoenician and “beth” means “the house”. Their writing system is ours today. Without this alphabet, which Phoenician traders brought to Greece, the latest race of Greeks would have likely remained illiterate—as they had been during the previous six centuries in which they had occupied Greece. There would have been no great Greek civilization. Instead, the Greek civilization flourished within a century of learning this alphabet, and as a result, gave the world great writers and philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle. Without the simple Phoenician alphabet, we might never have learned of Homer’s Iliad. And the words you are reading on this page would be very different. Though the Phoenicians all but vanished after the fall of Tyre and Carthage, there are other traces of this mysterious people alive today.
In fact, the very name for Europe derives from the name of the Phoenician woman Europa, who was kidnapped by the Greek god Zeus while he was in the form of a Baal-like bull.
However, the Greeks of Aristotle’s time, descendants of the Greek Doric Highlanders who had swarmed into ancient Greece, never knew that the Phoenicians they regarded as enemies might be the descendants of their own people. Perhaps in part the descendants of the legendary heroes of the Iliad.
Despite this, the “new” Greeks did trade with Phoenicia, and even adopted Phoenician gods. El, chief god of the Phoenician pantheon of gods became Kronos in Greece. The Baal-like bull monster was rendered as the Minotaur. Phoenicia’s Melqart became Hercules. The goddess Asthoreth or Astarte, El’s consort, was re-named Aphrodite and later became Venus. Astarte’s suffering son Adoni or “Baal” meaning “lord” became the god renowned for his beauty, Adonis.
But what was this second Babylon, the city of Tyre, the first home of the Phoenician princess Jezebel? Tyre, the “Manhattan” of its day, was founded before 1100 BC, but a hundred years later, King Hiram of Tyre moved the city from the coast and expanded it towards the sea. He created a formidable, artificial island stronghold set way out in the sea, linked to old Tyre by a long, impressive causeway, a land bridge, nearly a mile long.
Gone and forgotten, Tyre and its beauty are still remembered in the words of the prophets of the Bible:
“This is what the sovereign Lord says:
‘You say, O Tyre
I am perfect in beauty.
Your domain was on the high seas;
Your builders brought
your beauty to perfection...
You were the model of perfection,
Full of wisdom and perfect in beauty.
You were in Eden, the garden of God.’”
(Ezekiel: 23-24)
In the early years of the new Phoenician empire, led by powerful city of Tyre, the countrymen of Jezebel traveled and as far as Spain, near Gibraltar (the pillars of Melqart/Hercules). Later they journeyed to the southwest coast of Britain and to Ireland in search of tin. They also produced the first transparent glass in the history of mankind. Some settled in Greece and later in Sicily, in West Africa and in North Africa, and in Sardinia. And some historians have suggested that, two and a half thousand years before Columbus, Phoenician sailors landed on the coast of America.
According to Herodotus, Phoenician sailors sent by the Egyptian Pharoah Necho also rounded Africa and the Cape of Good Hope, which Vasco de Gama did not do until fifteen centuries later. There is evidence that the Phoenicians tried to create and may have created a Suez Canal long before the Romans tried it. This was not successfully done again until 1869 AD.
Though a series of later circumstances caused the elusive Phoenicians to all but vanish from history, Jezebel’s people were truly renowned among the civilizations of the ancient world. Yet, as a young bride, she turned her back on the cosmopolitan, coastal kingdom of her birth to journey to the comparatively rural, impoverished, and more arid hills of ancient Israel.
In about 875 BC came the marriage between Ahab, prince of Israel and son of Omri, to a princess of Phoenicia who lived in the Palace of Hiram of Tyre. She was the daughter of a high priest and a devout follower of Baal and Astarte, and her people formed arguably the wealthiest, most powerful commercial nation in the world at the time.
Her name was Jezebel.
Principal Cast
Part One Phoenicia:
The house of Omri:
Omri—the seventh King of Israel and a former army commander
Ahab—the spoiled eldest son of Omri and the future king of Israel; later the husband of Jezebel
Jehu—the ambitious young son of Nimshi, a chariot commander in the Israel army
Kaniel—a chariot commander and Omri’s loyal steward
The house of Ithobaal:
Ithobaal—a high priest of Baal-Melqart who became king of the powerful Phoenician cities of Tyre and Sidon
Jezebel—the third daughter of Ithobaal
Elisha—the second daughter of Ithobaal
Badezor—Ithobaal’s oldest living son
Baaldad—“beloved of Baal”, a good-humored Phoenician merchant and friend of Ithobaal
The Assyrians:
Ashurnasirpal II—the wily king of Assyria
Shalaneser III—(The Butcher) the aggressive king of Assyria; the son and successor of Ashurnasirpal II
*** Israel:
Yahweh—the one living god of Israel, also called Elohim or Jehovah
The prophets:
Elijah the Tishbite—a man from the eastern desert called the prophet of Yahweh, the God of Israel
Obidiah—the chief minister of Ahab’s palace and a follower of Yahweh
Elisha the Bald—the son of Shaphat, a farmer in the Jordan valley; Elijah’s subordinate prophet
Gehazi—the servant of Elisha
Micaiah the Seer—a prophet of Yahweh and the son of Imlah
Attendants to the House of Ahab:
Amon—the governor of Jezreel
Vardis, Livanah—young servant women to Jezebel
Zadok—a priest of Israel
Ilanah—daughter of Zadok
Naboth—a wealthy landowner
Bidkar—Jehu’s aide in the army of Israel
The foreign courts:
Jehoshaphat the Wise—the eldest son of Asa and later the king of Judah; a great-grandson of David and a follower of Yahweh
Ben-hadad—the quick-tempered king of Damascus and at one point, all of Syria
Naaman—captain of the Syrian army The league of Syrian and Hebrew kings
Part Two
Israel:
Ahaziah of Israel—(Ahaziah the Elder)—the eldest, foolhardy son of Ahab and Jezebel; later the ninth king of Israel
Jehoram the Younger—(Joram)—the second son of Ahab and Jezebel and later the tenth king of Israel
Athaliyah—Ahab’s rebellious daughter by a previous marriage to Alizah; married to Jehoram of Judah
Jehoahaz—the son of Jehu; later the twelfth king of Israel
Hazael—the new, self-made king of Aram, part of Syria
***
Judah:
Jehoram of Judah—the eldest son of Jehoshaphat the Wise and later the king of Judah; husband of Athaliyah of Israel
Ahaziah of Judah—(Little Ahaziah) son of Jehoram of Judah and Athaliyah; Ahab’s young grandson and also a descendent of David and Solomon
Chapter One We must reforge the old alliance. A new destiny begins now.
There was a moment when King Omri, the seventh king of Israel, almost thought of turning back. The line of ambling donkeys had just reached the middle of the narrow causeway between the mainland and the fortified island-city of Tyre, and the prevailing winds shifted suddenly to the east. The salty wind lashed into Omri’s face, squeezing moisture from his eyes. He stared squinting ahead at the majestic citadels rising above the beautiful, high-walled stone city. He looked upon the city with the grimace of a man who, poised upon a high precipace, had just looked down for the first time.
The sea, bright as a polished sapphire in the sun, stretched far and wide all round him. Omri had the strangest sensation that it was closing in on him. He didn’t care much for this sensation. The waves, excited by the comings and goings of a fleet of a hundred merchant ships, were noisy, noisier even than the distant cries of the traders ahead within the island city of Tyre. The sounds now swept towards the mainland and the men on the causeway on a fresh, strong, coastal wind. It was mid-afternoon and nearing mid-summer, hot, and humid. The clouds had made off for lands unknown. The azure blue sky was clear as Phoenician glass.
It had been a long trip to Tyre, with days spent riding over rocky, uneven ground. But, though Omri was every bit as tired and aching as his men flanking him, he kept his head high and the rein leading his donkey tight in his tough, sun-browned hand.
King Omri carried himself with great diginity, both at home and abroad; if he felt nervous about his upcoming meeting with King Ithobaal of Tyre, he didn’t show it. Omri was every inch the monarch, the absolute ruler, though his kingdom had not even a tenth of the wealth of the Phoenician Federation of cities which included Tyre. The King of Israel understood the art of diplomacy and was quite skilled at it, though he had not been born to his throne.
He was nothing like the imperious, ambitious Assyrian monarchs, who considered themselves to be the divine earthly representatives of the mysterious gods. The present king of Israel had been appointed by his army. No King of Israel could long rule without the approval of the prophets of Israel, the holy men whose mouths were the instrument of the living Hebrew god, Yahweh.
Omri had, however, the natural integrity of a man born to fulfill a greater destiny than birth had first allowed him, and this burning integrity shone through his ash-colored eyes. Omri was an honest man, fair-minded, brave, and highly intelligent, with a good sense of humor that he had rarely exposed since becoming king. He had been born open-minded and learned to be wise and courteous. He became sharp and decisive at need. Omri was considered by many to be a rousing, good speaker and to be a likeable man, who instilled great loyalty and devotion in his armies. The kind of man whose force of will and natural nobility inspired others to great action under his confident leadership.
Judging by his face, with its full marks of crows-feet and deep cheek lines, Omri was a man of fifty-odd years. Like the men in his company: Ahab, Kaniel, Jehu, and a dozen others, he wore a saffron-colored cloth over his head, held in place with a cord that swept over the brow lightly and away behind the ears. Underneath his head covering, the once thick, curly dark hair had thinned and turned gray just at the temples, though his bushy eyebrows and long, full beard were entirely gray. The beard covered a long scar that ran from his left ear to his upper lip, the remnant of an old, light war wound that had left a slight but noticeable cleft just to the right of the corner of his mouth.
If the king had not been in favor of physical activity and exertions in the field, he might not have made the journey to Tyre; as it was, anyone could see that the king was in good physical condition for his age.
Omri the King was and remained a soldier: honed, self-disciplined, and well-trained, in prime fighting condition. Omri stood tall among his people, though half a head shorter than any fair-haired Philistine; he was broad-shouldered, with hairy arms sinewed through long years of bearing arms, wrestling, and marching while practicising the art of war.
Omri had always led an active life, campaigning against the kingdoms of Judah and Aram, punishing bands of thieves, and crushing rebellions at home. He had once commanded the army of King Elah, the former king of Israel. As a result of the long years of frequent marches, variety of activity, lack of rich food, and daily military training, only the barest trace of a belly had accrued over Omri’s toughened waist.
Though Omri had wandered from land to land in the course of fighting battles for Israel, this was the first time he had ever been to Tyre. For years, he had heard tales of the grand Phoenician city while living at the palace of King Elah. But since becoming king nearly twelve years before, Omri had never had either the occasion or the desire to come to Tyre. All that had changed seven days ago.
Perhaps Omri had begun to sense that his own time was passing, and that the peace gathering between nations for so long like unnoticed cobwebs couldn’t possibly endure much longer. Perhaps Omri knew that his eldest son Ahab, who would no doubt succeed him to the throne, had inherited the strength and courage but not the diplomatic gifts of his father.
Whatever the reason, Omri had resolved to strengthen the old military and trading alliance between Israel and Phoenicia. And he was prepared to travel to Tyre to speak with King Ithobaal about strengthening that alliance, to achieve it by any means readily available to him.
The alliance was old, from the days of King David and Solomon, who had the Phoenician King Hiram build him a great temple. Omri hoped the old alliance was strong enough yet to serve him as well. Was he mistaken in his plans and hopes? He needed the Phoenicians if he was going to defend his nation against attack from Assyria. He kept asking himself.
On the one hand, he had solid enough ground to stand on: King David of Israel and Hiram of Tyre had formed the alliance more than a hundred years before, and since then there had been peace between Tyre and Israel. However, even Omri had to acknowledge that after the time of David’s son Solomon and Hiram, the alliance had been ill-tended. Was there time to strengthen it now?
Unfortunately, a lot had happened since the days of wise Solomon. After King Solomon’s reign, the kingdom of Israel had divided after a period of civil unrest into the two kingdoms of Israel in the north and Judah in the south. Only Israel had kept its age-old alliance with Phoenician Tyre. For a while, Judah had even allied itself with Syria against the other two kingdoms.
And, after a succession of forgettable and weak kings on the throne of Israel, the Tyre-Israel alliance had dwindled. Now only a few mercantile trading treaties between the two nations remained in effect, and a few enterprising Phoenician architects, stonemasons, woodworkers, and artisans came to Israel now and again to profit from building new Tyrian palaces for their neighbors.
All seemed well, but war was coming. Omri knew it, could smell it in the air like an approaching storm, and knew he had to prepare for it. And as a former charioteer and commander of the army of Israel, King Omri could not be blind to the value and necessity of the military alliance that had once been made between Israel and Phoenicia. Now more than ever before, reforging the old alliance was crucial to the survival of Israel as an independent state. The Assyrians to the East under their king Ashurnasirpal II were ammassing giant armies for no clear reason, but what army had ever been amassed without the intention of practicing that most ancient art of war?
And Israel, the kingdom of Aram to the northeast of Israel, Judah in the south, and Phoenicia in the northwest watched and waited, knowing that the Assyrian kings once again cast their greedy eyes westward, with ideas of carving out a new empire as great as the Akkadian and Babylonian empires had been, more than a thousand years ago. The Assyrians, an ancient, highly civilized people led by increasingly aggressive kings, looked upon their ancestors’ splendid past with regret, regret that they could not match it in feats of glory.
Of course, the Assyrians had not quite lived up to their heritage in the last several hundred years. And what a heritage it was. Under the supreme military leadership of Sargon and his grandson Naram-sin, the Akkadian ancestors of the Assyrians had conquered the known world. They had carved an empire from the most remote of the Iranian mountains through Elam and Mari west to Palestine. The Akkadians had then been the first to defeat the Hittites of the north and to sweep south to threaten the mighty Egypt of the pharoahs.
It was true that fifteen hundred years had come and gone since then, but ancient grudges could never be counted out as solid grounds for a new war campaign. However, Assyria was not the only threat facing Israel. Aramaen Damascus, a rich city belonging to the kingdom of Aram, part of Syria, had begun to invade Israel’s northern borders. A few years back, Damascus had attacked Israel while Israel and Judah warred with each other like siblings squabbling over trifles. As a result, the foolish kings of Israel had lost great tracts of the territory of Galillee to Aram.
Omri, however, was no fool. Israel would not lose a scrap of ground while he was King, he had vowed. So, if war was to come to Israel, and to come soon, he saw no other choice than to strengthen his borders with his neighbors. He knew he must have allies. The only thing was, he wasn’t sure he had very much time left to find them.
Would Ithobaal deal with a low-born Hebrew king? Omri wondered. And he knew he must never betray any sign of weakness or self-doubt once he stepped past the causeway of Tyre.
***
Omri had not been born to take the throne of Israel, but he had not taken it by force, either. He was not a descendant of David or Solomon, or from any particularly noble house. He was a quarter Arabic and a quarter Canaanite, and the grandson of a minor military noble with a few religious affiliations to the Levites, the priestly descendants of Aaron.
Yet, despite his relatively humble origins, in his youth Omri had attached himself to the house of Baasha which had reigned over Israel for several generations. In time, Omri had worked his way up the army ladder, showing exceptional diplomacy, judgment, tactical ability, and loyalty to King Baasha, and later to his son, King Elah. Before he was thirty years old, Omri of Samaria had become a commander of the army of Israel directly under the command of King Elah.
It was in those early days that Omri had met Zimri, one of Elah’s most trusted men. Zimri, the chariot commander, controlled half of the army of Israel at the time when Omri was given command of the second half. Zimri the Giant had been an able commander, shrewd and fearless. He was a clever man, fine enough in feature and well-spoken, tall and imposing in his physical presence. Yet Zimri wore the face of a man who was always openly loyal but privately discontent and more ambitious than wise.
Omri had fought alongside Zimri in battle against King Asa of Judah when Asa had allied himself and kis kingdom with Syria. But while serving in war together, Omri and Zimri had been rivals and friends alike, though for many years there had been peace and comaraderie between them. King Baasha of Israel, too, had loved and trusted Zimri as a son, and Baasha’s son Prince Elah had loved Zimri as a brother. But if anything, time would prove that while Zimri had been the more charismatic and shamelessly attentive of the pair, it had been Omri who was loyal.
Two years after the death of King Baasha, the army of Israel was encamped around Gibbethon, a Phillistine city that Elah’s armies had besieged for many months. Though they had long ago lost control of Israel, Philistines continued to hold several cities in Israel and Syria and remained a persistent threat within Israel’s very boundaries.
After a long day in the hot sun, Omri and the other army commanders were resting in the camp when grave and unexpected news—unbelievable news!—arrived.
Zimri, who had remained behind in Tirzah, had conspired against King Elah and murdered him in cold blood in nearby Arza, the house of Elah’s steward. Alone, unaided, and unarmed, Elah had been assasinated, and his killer, Zimri, had duly proclaimed himself the new King of Israel! And after he heard the news, Omri, unable at first to tell whether his anger or agony was the greater, had sat there in the camp around Gibbethon for a long moment of silence. In that moment, Omri saw all that he had known and cherished disappearing rapidly into a strange, uncertain, and unwelcome future.
But Omri had not been alone in having loved and respected his king. As the army heard the news from Tirzah, the supporters of Elah cried out against Zimri’s wicked deed and clamored around Omri, declaring him the king’s successor because Elah had no living sons. The noble supporters of Elah, members of the oldest, most respected priestly and military houses of Israel, then charged Omri to prove his loyalty to Elah by avenging the slain king and restoring the throne of Israel to the righteous.
So Omri and his new army returned to Tirzah and laid siege to the city, and Omri was forced to turn his heart against his former friend. Hardening his raw and aching heart was not easy, not for a man of such an open and forgiving nature; the necessity of this action deadened a part of his heart in his breast.
Omri was never quite the same man again.
In the end, Tirzah held out several days before the outer city wall was breached. When the army flooded into the city, Zimri knew that he was defeated and fled into the citadel. There he did the unexpected once more, and set the palace on fire. Before the fire was put out, Zimri died in the innermost part of the palace, and his body was dragged out from the burned palace grounds and into the city. Over Zimri’s fallen body Omri shed no visible tear, and it was there that he took upon himself the seal of the kings of Israel.
King Zimri had reigned only seven short days. On the day after his death, Omri was anointed with holy oil by the prophet Micaiah. He had become the seventh King of Israel. And from that time on, Omri had trusted no man, not even his own sons.
For a time, the supporters of Tibni, the son of Gilnath, had challenged Omri’s right to rule. However, in the end, Tibni hesitated too long in organizing resistance to Omri’s supporters; he died soon after under mysterious circumstances. At the time, Omri suspected one of his zealously loyal charioteers had arranged for Tibni’s murder. And yet, Omri knew in his heart that he felt no regret that Tibni had been killed, regret he knew he would have keenly felt but one month ago. In private contemplation years later, Omri would often wonder why no man could survive the transition to kingship without sacrificing a great deal of himself first.
Nevertheless, the death of Tibni pleased Omri, for it meant that he, the low-born son of a soldier, had become the undisputed king of Israel.
The new king spent the next six years at the small palace in the city of Tirzah, but perhaps Omri had become far too ambitious to be content with Tirzah, for by the sixth year of his reign, he had already begun to envision a nobler, venerated future Israel, and its crowning glory had to be a palace to rival that of Solomon’s famous ivory palace in Judah. Or perhaps Omri remembered all too well the days when he had been only the charioteer and army commander at Tirzah to feel content there.
Perhaps Omri had ideas of making his own contribution to glorify Israel, a contribution which must surpass in splendor all that had been achieved by the former kings who had not come to the throne by chance. Omri would do all for Israel and more than any king before him, so that he might earn a place of respect in the records of the kings and be remembered among them.
Omri’s first deed for Israel was to expand his kingdom. He bought the neighboring land of Samaria to the east from the Canaanites and moved his capital ten miles to the west to the beautiful but small city of Samaria. And there, high above the valley, on a hill which afforded a spectacular view of the coastal road called “the way of the sea”, he built his new palace, overlooking the field where more battles had been fought than anywhere else throughout history. And what a grand palace it was!
Omri had also in effect moved his capital further west of the rugged, arid hills of Israel and towards the beautiful coastal kingdom of Phoenicia; intentional or otherwise, his actions presented an indisputable political statement to the prophets of Israel and to the kings of Phoenicia: King Omri had aspirations of greatness. It seemed clear that the military king wanted his people to take their place in the world as one of the great nations, and that meant opening Israel’s borders to Phoenicia and involving Israel in international affairs. With his new capital closer to the international highway of the Mediterranean Sea, Omri had taken his first step in that direction. As if to prove that raising Israel’s international status was indeed his agenda, Omri began to send friendly messages invoking ties of brotherhood to Ithobaal, King of Tyre and Sidon.
Obviously, Omri wanted to restore his portion of Israel to what it had been in the glory days of Solomon. Omri knew this to be true in his heart, and so did the kings of Judah and Aram, now friendly with Israel, who stopped to visit Omri’s new capital. And they joked with Omri that everyone knew he wanted to be another Solomon to his people. In their eyes at least, Omri was no Solomon. Omri remembered well the ribald wit of the young but undisputedly royal upstart Ben-hadad of Syria, the third to bear that name, and the mild humor of the cool-tempered, strong-willed Jehoshaphat of Judah, the great-grandson of David. Omri himself kept his temper and bore the brunt of their humor, while allowing his natural dignity to make its quiet effect felt by degrees.
It took several more years for Omri’s name to generate respect and admiration in the highest political circles from Assyria to Egypt. Then at last, after almost six years living at the palace in Samaria, Omri felt secure enough in his political position to send messengers to Tyre inviting a new treaty of alliance. Ithobaal of Tyre quickly agreed to discuss re-establishing the treaty. And he agreed far sooner than Omri had ever anticipated.
But why? The king of Israel kept wondering. Perhaps it was known to Ithobaal, the high priest of the Canaanite religion, that Omri was a fair-minded man and tolerant to the religion of the Canaanites who lived in his lands. Perhaps Ithobaal had even heard the rumors that Omri, part Canaanite himself, sometimes worshipped the Canaanite gods Ashtoreth and Baal, like Solomon before him, and like so many of the people of Israel. Or perhaps Ithobaal thought to find new markets for his Phoenician luxury items among the poor, backward farming and sheep-herding communities of Israel. In any event, Ithobaal sent back messengers inviting the king of Israel to visit him in Tyre. Yes, he would hear what the King of Israel had to say.
The simple fact was that Ithobaal and Omri were both newcomers to the order of kings. And though they had never met before, they both had reason to adhere to one another and to unite against the ancient houses of the East.
***
Ithobaal had not been born heir to the throne either, but he had been born to a role that was almost more important in Phoenicia, that of serving the gods. From the moment of his birth to Ahiram, the priest-king of Byblos, and the beautiful young high priestess Elisha, Ithobaal had belonged to the order of high priests who ranked above lesser priests and diviners. By the tender age of thirty, Ithobaal had become the high priest of both Tyre and Sidon.
However, Ithobaal’s climb to power had never been certain; in fact, from his youth, Ithobaal had been considered the least likely of all his family to one day amount to anything. But not because he lacked either ambition or ability.
Ithobaal simply had far too many other older legitimate brothers in line for the throne for him to ever become the king of Byblos. And while Ithobaal’s father Ahiram belonged to one of the oldest, most aristocratic Phoenician families, with ties back to Egypt and the Hittite Empire at its height, Ithobaal’s mother Elisha came from a younger, but extremely wealthy, class of merchants. Newly and not quite noble, uneducated, brash. Elisha’s family had little appreciation of Egyptian culture and didn’t even speak Akkadian. But one thing they had in abundance was beauty and money, enough to have Elisha trained by Ahiram as the high priestess of Byblos.
Ahiram was the sixty-year old first cousin of Hiram and had reigned for many years over Byblos, the ancient southern seat of the Egyptianized Phoenician kings, by the time that Ithobaal was born. The throne of Byblos had then passed to Ithobaal’s elder brother, Yehimilk, while Ithobaal was still an infant. Ithobaal, the youngest son of Ahiram, was the accidental son of Ahiram’s old age, but by far the most splendid-looking of Ahiram’s sons, being as he was also the son of the famous Phoenician beauty, Elisha.
By the time Ithobaal was thirty, the throne of Byblos had already passed again to his forty-year old nephew Abibaal, the son of Yehimilk, and then to Ithobaal’s twenty-year old grand-nephew, Shipitbaal. Closed out of the succession to the throne of Byblos, Ithobaal decided to quit Byblos altogether and went to Tyre, never guessing that in his turn, he would soon take the throne of Tyre from the murderous house of Adrubaal, an upstart family of former stewards who had conspired to murder the descendants of Hiram and had succeeded in seizing control over Tyre.
Specifically, Ithobaal had taken the throne from one Phella, whose family had overthrown Abdastartus, great-grandson of Hiram. Poor Abdasartus had never known what was coming. Years ago, Abdastartus’s elder, possibly more capable brother had been sacrificed in Molchor, the Melqart-derived name given to the offering of human “first fruits” to the gods. Usually lambs or other animals would suffice for the ritual and human beings were only ever sacrificed in moments of dire calamity, or when such moments were thought to be imminent. But Abdastartus’ father Beleazarus had been a stickler for tradition and had made it a point of showing his moral fiber to his citizens. He set a perfectly stoical example of kingly duty to the gods in letting his firstborn be sacrificed.
Abdastartus, though, shared neither his father’s tenacity nor his moral resolve, and had from his youth to the age of twenty never set a foot outside the palace of Tyre. And the governor and state officials had known the reason for this all along, as well as he knew that the boy was utterly unworthy to rule the richest, most powerful city in the world.
Abdastartus had been stricken by a sickness early in his childhood that withered his limbs, left him unable to walk, and disinclined to do anything but sit and eat sweetmeats of dates, preserved figs, and pounds of sweet cakes, almonds, and walnuts. It was lucky for him that his elder brother had already died, or Abdastartus may have been the one given to Baal so dutifully by his overzealous father. As it was, Abdastartus had been left the closest direct male descendant of Hiram, so the well-paid, respected advisors of Hiram’s house had shielded the rotund youth from harm as long as it was expedient and profitable for them to do so.
At twenty, Abdastartus was taken to the temple of Melqart and annointed king of Tyre after the death of King Beleazarus. A palace conspiracy broke out a few years later, wherein the four sons of Abdastratar’s favorite nursing attendant, Adrubaal, each conspired to seize the throne.
Thankfully, the palace administrator and governor, officers of the law courts, and advisors to the king stepped in to protect Abdastartus. Thinking that the threat of a palace coup was over, the grateful Abdastartus sighed in relief and in no short order went back to his rich diet of spelt, date, and walnut cakes, after his most recent brief, but fretful, fast.
However, all was not well. Some time later, Abdastartus died of food poisoning, no doubt arranged by the four sons of Abdastartus’ beloved nurse, Adrubaal, though of course such a thing could never be proved. Thus Abdastartus, the last descendant of Hiram, was dead at twenty-eight, after a brief reign of nine years.
Soon afterward, the conspirator Astharymal, son of Adrubaal, became king and ruled for twelve years. After him the throne passed to Astartus, son of the former conspirator Deleastartus and a nephew of King Astharymal. Delestartus’ son Astartus reigned twelve years, and after him his brother Aserymus ruled for nine more years, until murdered by his other, younger brother, Phella.
Perhaps Phella would have ruled an even nine or twelve years, as seemed usual in that family, if Ithobaal had not already become the powerful and respected high priest of the goddess Astarte in Tyre. Powerful enough to put an end to the ruthless royal family. Which is what he did.
In Ithobaal, the discontented of Tyre had at last found their figurehead. If anyone in Tyre supported Phella, it was out of fear. After three generations of imbecilic tyrant kings, the mercantile nobility of Tyre had begun to foresee the inevitable decline of Tyre if its rulers were left to follow the example of Egyptian fratricide. Even the gaggle of sacriligious but politically savvy, entrepeneurial money-lenders called the Council of Ancients, who had already condoned the rise of one family of conspirators, could see that their own livelihoods were suffering under inept, murderous leadership. Sacrilgious the advisors might be, but stupid they were not.
After a few years at his new post as high priest of Astarte in Tyre, Ithobaal had come to the Council of Ancient’s attention as a member of the old nobility.
Better yet, Ithobaal came from a branch of the family of wise old Hiram. So it happened that eight months after the assassination of the former king by his greedy brother Phella, the fearful, anti-Phella governor of Tyre stood prepared to offer Ithobaal the title of priest-king in exchange for a guarantee that he could keep his high office in the palace. Ithobaal was a good candidate for King of Tyre, since after all his own great-nephew was ruling Byblos, an ancient Phoenician city that had strong affiliations with Tyre.
But Ithobaal, who had political aspirations of his own, acted before the Council of Ancients did, and he acted swiftly. Phella had already planned to dispose of Ithobaal, whom he had at last perceived as a powerful rival. Ithobaal was not so easily disposed of. If one of them had to die, Ithobaal vowed, it would be Phella. And once Ithobaal decided that he had to depose the king, it was a very easy next step to imagine himself as the king’s successor. After that, there was no turning back.
Of course the coup could be arranged—whom among Phella’s supporters had the king not recently alienated in some way? There were none who would support Phella now, despite their pretentions to the contrary. Nevertheless, Ithobaal thought long and hard about what action to take. Then at last, he came upon the answer. The surest way to succeed in a coup was to make it profitable for the royal advisory staff to declare a new king. And this they did almost as soon as the last transaction of goods arrived at each of their private domiciles from Ithobaal’s private store. Without batting an eyelid, the Council of Ancients summarily pronounced the thirty-six year old Ithobaal of Byblos the priest-king of Tyre.
The greater misfortune for Phella while this was going on was the extreme disadvantage of having a dull-witted, albeit vicious mind. Phella, as untrustworthy as ever, was simply unable to counter the offer Ithobaal made his advisers if they would oust the new King in favor of the lordly and universally respected and rich high priest of Astarte, who already owned half of Tyre and Sidon.
In the end, Phella’s fate was not reported to Ithobaal until several days after he was annointed King of Tyre; and by then, Ithobaal had been too preoccupied with throwing a banquet to ally himself with the noblest houses and richest patrician merchants of the city to bother about Phella’s deliberately arranged death from exposure. Phella’s reign had lasted only eight short months.
Since that time, Ithobaal had ruled many long years directly over Tyre, Sidon, and a few other Phoenician colonies, while putting his influence to work in the other cities: once great Byblos, now in decline under Shipitbaal, lovely Joppa, Aradus, Haifa, Akko, Oea, Gadir near the pillars of Melqart, Berytus, Kittim, and others too numerous to remember until it was time to collect taxes. Ithobaal’s saving grace was that he was not only fit to rule, but he became a strong military and political leader, and during his reign, Tyre sent expeditions to places as far off as Libya and to Tarshish, and the city grew richer beyond even its citizen’s broad imaginations.
But Ithobaal knew that a sea-faring empire revolving around the doings of merchants and sailors and craftsmen, no matter how ingenious and well-fortified its floating island fortress-cities might be, had one major weakness. It didn’t matter how well-equipped the island of Tyre was to withstand a long siege with its ample foodstores and its ingenuious way of gathering water: with lead water-funnels, made to prepare for a possible drought by catching and directing freshwater springs from the sea bed up to the surface, where the freshwater was collected by a system of leather pipes emptied into boats.
Ithobaal’s purple empire still had one glaring Achilles heel: Phoenicia had but an impromptu conscripted land militia with which to actively defend itself, and it had no permanent land army, not counting of course the considerably large palace guard.
Whereas Israel had a good army, and a former army commander now functioned as its king. What better alliance could there be but that between a poor but fierce, fighting country and a rich nation of non-militant overachievers, reluctant to fight their own battles and risk losing mercantile profits?
So Ithobaal agreed that it was time to solidify the old political alliance between the two new royal houses of Israel and Tyre; most particularly, he was tired of paying large tributes to the Assyrian king Ashurnasirpal II just to keep the Assyrians from invading his rich, coastal country.
Omri, however, was unaware of all of Ithobaal’s motives and all too engrossed with his own. Once he had decided to go to Tyre, Omri had assembled a company of soliders to escort him, including his eldest son and heir, Ahab, ten to twenty men in the army, and his young charioteer Jehu, son of Nimshi, Omri’s first chariot-driver and oldest friend. Then the king of Israel had set out for Tyre.
***
There had never been any question that the company of King Omri would travel to Phoenicia by land. His company of men had taken the more difficult land route rather than going by sea for the simple fact that King Omri would not set foot on a ship under any circumstances. Never in his life had the king of the rugged country of Israel braved the torturous seas. Brave he was, but since he could not swim, he was also quite reasonably afraid of drowning.
Certainly the men in the donkey caravan, including Ahab his son, Jehu, and Kaniel, were weary after many days traveling on the backs of bony pack donkeys; for days after they left fertile, green Samaria, there had been nothing to see but peasant after peasant leading carts and herds of wandering goats picking their way over the rocky landscape, and fleets of colored Yarkona birds seeking shade from the sun in scraggly, thorny trees. Omri’s men had stopped rarely by the water-holes they found to refresh the donkeys, and at the same time, economized on additional resting periods by taking out water and nourishment for themselves.
For six nights, the King and his men had stopped to sleep in the small cities and communities along the main north-south road through Israel. These roadside establishments consisted of traditional, flat-roofed stone houses and fenced enclosures and were interspersed along the major land route to the north. Each community shared its well with travelers, according to ancient custom. As the sacred center of the desert communities, the well was open for all to come to fetch water for parched man and beast alike.
Around the wells inns, markets, farms, cities and forts had sprung, where travelers might find food for themselves, hay for the donkeys, and a place to rest. As the party of men traveling with King Omri headed north, the mulberry bushes, thornbushes, bright kalanit flowers, and branching olive trees of Israel gradually gave way to lofty and majestic, arching cedars of Lebanon, increasing numbers of palm trees and basalm shrubs. The road had begun to turn west, and in doing so gradually passed entirely under shaded cedar groves. By and by, the air turned cooler, and sweet coastal breezes flew from the west. Different beautiful plants and flowers sprang along the roadside: hyacinth, jasmine, honeysuckle, and mandrakes. Among the cedar forests, patches of ferns had grown up.
Then at last mainland Tyre, called Uzu to distinguish it from the island fortress, lay before the king and his men; they passed into its rural outskirts and beheld a city of wonders.
***
Tyre’s mainland suburb of Uzu entirely faced the sea. Its only landlocked highway seemed to have been an afterthought in the minds of the city architects, and in fact the road ended with Tyre, for there was no land route linking the Phoenician cities. A hundred years earlier, Tyre had spread from the mainland to an artificial stronghold built by filling in and abridging two islands far out in the sea, resulting in one rather large island. The island city had two harbors: one in the north and one on the south shore, and both were filled with an incredible fleet of sailing ships and merchant ships of every type and class in the world. Extremely high walls had been erected around the island fortress, with a slanted sloping wall that was higher on the landward side. The Palace of the first great king Hiram had been built overlooking the sea on the higher side of island. From afar it sat perched on a rock in disinterested but awe-inspiring majesty.
Mainland Tyre, the suburb of Uzu, was now behind them. It had been a fair and windy city, a rare and veritable metropolis of high rises, with many houses made of stone and six stories high, some with great cedar pillars or Egyptian pylons before the doors, some decorated with carved ivory and gold. A rare few of the merchant houses of Tyre resembled palaces as fine as the palace of Solomon in Israel, but most of the citizens lived cramped in ordinary tenemants.
The fresh smell of the sea swept over the mainland city, mingled with the scent of jasmine growing in every patch of outdoor garden. The beauty-loving Tyrians seemed in fact as fond of gardens as they were of gold. However, the main gardens of the city could be found in the fields surrounding it, where grapes, cereals, figs, dates, olives and grains grew in aromatic abundance.
And it was easy to cultivate gardens in Tyre, because the clay soil was rich, and the city was naturally irrigated. The people of Tyre also kept underwater cisterns made of limestone full of rainwater throughout the year. Fresh water streams flowed down into the city from a mountain chain which stretched along the coast a few miles from the sea. The cities of Phoenicia were staggered along the coastline, all of them bordering the sea, and all of them rich in beauty and gold.
But Tyre stood above its fellows in the Phoenician Federation of city-states in political power, naval forces, population, wealth, and above all in ambition: after Tyre came Sidon, Byblos, and Joppa, and Akko. All told, there were more than twenty-five cities. Some cities lay half a world away, as far from Phoenicia as Kittim in Cyprus and Libya, and other Phoenician lands lay so far away that they were considered legendary by non-Phoenicians. Lands such as the tin-rich “islands of the dead” to the far, far northwest. And the lands of the dark people of Punt past the pillars of Melqart and around the other side of Libya.
The Phoenicians were to a man, almost entirely a people of merchant sailors and craftsmen, and those who did not traverse the seas certainly made their livelihood from them, directly or indirectly. Local family-owned establishments and merchants from many other lands set up shop in the narrow streets, selling exotic wares from around the world: rare Egyptian parchment of several quality grades, Assyrian writing tablets, embroidered linens, bright blue faience glass beads, jeweled pins, belts, and daggers, delicate glazed earthenware showing a multitude of designs and colors, lovely marble and alabaster vases, spices from the East, scented woods, and exquisite ebony furniture inlaid with precious stones and gold.
In addition to the delicate, hand-blown glass vessels, goblets, flasks, tiles, and beads made by the Phoencians themselves, the merchants sold fine Greek pottery of both old grey Minyan type as well as the common pale brown variety with its black and red painted birds, bronze and gold statues, figurines, talismans, scarabs, and housewares fashioned of gold, silver, tin, lead, bronze, copper, cypress and citrus wood lumber, kitchen utensils, grinding mallets, chisels, tools, and rare and expensive iron, electrum, and bronze weapons.
All manner of precious stones and jewels came to Tyre: red carnelian, rubies, ostrich shells, ivory and blue pearls, hematite, Melos obsidian, ivory tusks, amber from the frozen Hyperborean north, emeralds, priceless sea blue lapis lazuli from beyond the far eastern desert. The rarest and costliest of things could be found in Tyre. Whatever a person might desire could be aquired there for a price. You name it, and Tyre had it: it was simply the place to be at. Adventurous and exotic. A gleaming paragon of spectacular superlatives. And there seemed to be nearly three foreigners for any Tyrian in the city at a time. Tyre was the world’s reigning port of call, and as cosmopolitan as majestic Memphis and magnificent Ugarit had been in their heyday.
The cobbled streets of mainland Uzu, where most Tyrians lived, had been veritably jammed with people. Slaves and servants stank from sweat and the sailors stank of fish, but all in all, the people were well-groomed and often bathed, and they scented their skin with perfumed oils, myrrh, frankincense, and anything else the world had to offer by way of novelty scents.
The wealthier people of Tyre were richly attired in the finest, darkest Tyrian purple, blue, and red linens embroidered with gold, but some of the ladies wore the ever-fashionable, sheer Egyptian linens that showed every telling curve of the body. Real Egyptians could be identified by their copious gold and silver rings, which they used as currency to barter goods. For unlike Tyre, with its gold and silver coins, Egypt had no real system of currency. It was also easy to pick out rich Assyrian dignitaries and merchants in their fine muslin and fleecy wool garments dyed in brilliant colors, while the Greeks from Miletus and Ephesus and Rhodians preferred draping garments and shawls of a drab, off-white hue. The Syrians were indistinguishable among the many peoples, but the poorer caste of Tyrian society were clad in plain, dark-dyed homespun, not unlike the traveling clothes of Omri and his men.
The women throughout Tyre arranged their long hair in every outlandish style sported from Thebes to Babylonia. And the jewelery of the women, from necklaces to rings to bracelets, was every bit as motley an assembly as the gathering of the people within the city. Several different languages could easily be heard in passing down every street.
Unfortunately, Omri and his men knew little of the international language, Akkadian, but luckily the Phoenicians spoke Canaanite, which was similar to Hebrew and commonly spoken even in Israel.
There had been a great market going on down the main thoroughfares of the city, and vendors and buyers alike jostled the Hebrew king and his men in their heated haggling over purchases. Meat, fish, wine, fruit, grain, and vegetable merchants cried prices and beckoned to buyers with sweeping gestures above their displays. Of meat there was veal, antelope, goat, and mutton, plus exotic rareties. Oils, honey, balm, wheat, wine, and wool of the highest quality numbered the greatest among the domestic wares.
And there were all manner of cool, sun-ripened vegetables and fruits to be had, though the party of King Omri could identify but a few of them: lettuces, onions, beans, barley grains, peas, radishes, cucumbers, wheat grains, kamut, spelt flour for making cakes, luscious pomegranites, melons, apricots, figs, oranges, lemons, plums, peaches, cherries, bananas, grapes, sesame, and even almonds and walnuts.
Overflowing baskets of fruits and nuts appeared at random among the stalls along the main avenue of the city to tempt browsers.
Among the busiest thoroughfares were more quiet pockets and street corners, particularly near the open-air temples dedicated to the worship of Astarte and Melqart-Baal, temples surrounded by sacred groves and fountains. Tyre alone among the Phoenician cities preferred enclosed temples to the high mountain sacred places where Baal, god of the land, of storms, energy, action, and virility was worshipped outside Byblos and Sidon. In Tyre, Baal was also more generally known by his other name, Melqart. But the famous Great Temple of Melqart, with its giant pillars erected over the ancient holy stones of Melqart, was inexplicably closed to worship for the day when Omri and his men passed it.
The boy Jehu had stared in shameless awe at the mighty pillars of the temple. One of the pillars had been embossed with gold. The other was like nothing the Hebrews had ever seen, for the pillar had been fashioned entirely out of a clear, emerald-tinted glass, with an opening at the back. Through this opening, the priests of Baal-Melqart were able to set a large torch within the stele, so that the torchlight illuminated the emerald pillar like a brilliant green fire, a fire that was rumored to burn even more brightly throughout the night.
At the edge of mainland Tyre, a solider of Tyre’s palace guard had met the party of Omri and arranged for the causeway, which was nearly three quarters of a mile long, to be closed to all other traffic while the King of Israel and his party traveled to the island.
With the result that Omri and the others, used to the activity of mainland Tyre after two hours negotiating their donkeys on foot within the pedestrian city, now felt strangely vulnerable, flanked closely by only the noisy sea and human silence.
As they neared the end of the long causeway, Omri turned aside a moment and caught the expression on young Jehu’s face at his left; Jehu appeared as far out of his element in Tyre as a fish in the Arabian desert. The many wonders of Tyre had begun to overwhelm the boy, who was used to the relative solitude of the rural Samarian countryside. One day there had already seemed nearer to ten.
“Ah, Jehu, lad, why so ill at ease? Don’t hold your reins so tightly, or your donkey might pitch you into the water,” Omri warned, half-serious, half in jest.
The boy Jehu looked at Omri with piercing black eyes that grew round as orbs. He glanced over at the steep drop into the waters below and gulped. Then, he summoned his courage and shook his head.
“I hope it is not God’s will that I should drown,” Jehu said, casting a quick glance over at the sea beyond the low edge of the causeway. He bit his lip.
“’If it is God’s will’, you’ll holler until we pull you out,” Ahab laughed, away on Omri’s right flank; the prince of Israel was of average height but broad-shouldered and muscular, with an air of military proficiency about him.
“I would rather drown than beg you for assistance,” Jehu retorted hotly, before he could check himself.
“Enough!” Shouted Omri. “I have no time for foolish displays of stubborn pride, Jehu.” Jehu listened in remorse, then bowed his head dutifully. Omri grunted. “And you know better than to goad him.” He directed this comment at Ahab, running a sharp eye over his son to reinforce the point that he had meant the criticism. Omri didn’t really mind Jehu’s flash of temper, though. In fact, he thought it rather good for his son to have someone show him what it felt to be disobeyed. It would teach him to consider what his enemies were thinking of him.
Sensing this, Ahab shrugged amiably, and all was forgotten, except by Jehu, who never forgot a single grievance or injury he had incurred in all his life. Though one would never have suspected it to look at him.
Jehu was a handsome youth of no more than thirteen years, and already good with a sword, bow, and arrow, and at wrestling and running distances. Jehu had that kind of reserved, resentful nature that usually passes for habitual reticence. The boy was quite clearly very intelligent, but he was also wilfull and close-minded. He was a man of secret passions. Jehu would never be anywhere near as diplomatic or as shrewd as Omri, but Omri had already observed that when the youth put his intellgence to one purpose, he usually achieved all he set out to. More than that, Jehu was inordinately perceptive, and waited to act on well-informed knowledge detailing any given situation he had been thrown into.
For so many reasons, Omri loved the boy second only to Ahab, his eldest son. For Jehu was the kind of boy who could attach himself to a hero, as he had attached himself to Omri. Though if Jehu did not change at all after his first years of manhood, Omri had lately begun to worry that the boy—now officially a man—was not likely to ever find domestic love.
Omri didn’t know why he sensed this exactly, that Jehu would not find love or happiness at home. Perhaps because the boy loved few things, and had a wildness of nature that tempted him to roam abroad. Jehu’s nature was not of the kind that gave way to frivolous whims, and so far, the boy considered most women, in all capacities apart from bearing children, to fall strictly within this category. He did not yet understand why he might desire them.
Jehu’s own mother Hannah had wasted little enough attention and few enough words on him, and had through neglect confirmed Jehu’s opinion that women in general had little to say. Moreover, Jehu was convinced that women were universally meek and passionless, and until the age of twelve, they had not interested him in the least.
If the truth were to be told, Jehu was dissatisfied with much that he saw in the world, and discontented with his life and his subordinate position in it. Too much did the boy crave to change the world around him, and to bend it to his will. Jehu wished to be a leader, or at least free to do as he pleased. In his heart the boy genuinely loved and admired Omri, so deeply that to the end of his days, unbidden recollections of the kind, veteran warrior-king would bring tears of anguish to his tormented soul.
The train of donkeys continued on in silence. The men were hot and sweaty, and looking forward to reaching Tyre. The wind was warm, and the sun in their faces was blinding-hot.
“Pass me that water, Jehu,” said Omri. Jehu was careful to attend to Omri, and encouraged his donkey forward, passing Ahab with a suppressed scowl. As he drew alongside, he quickly pulled some water out for his king, passing it to him carefully.
“Here, sire.” He said, waiting and holding himself as rigid as possible so he wouldn’t fall while Omri drank.
“Have some yourself,” Omri instructed. “You look as though you need a bit of cooling off.”
“Yes, sire,” said Jehu, and drank. Jehu continued to relish a private disapproval of Prince Ahab, mingled with a heady dose of resentment harbored towards the son who took for granted such a remarkable father as Omri. And if Omri loved Jehu, son of Nimshi, as Saul had once loved the young David, it was already clear that Jehu would never treasure Ahab as a Jonathan.
At the same time, it would have been accurate to say that Ahab himself entertained few thoughts of Jehu at all. He considered Jehu to be a patient, but quiet (and therefore a prime recipient of Ahab’s humorous jibes) but also avowed that the boy could handle a weapon tolerably well. Beyond that, Ahab thought that Jehu might one day make a good chariot driver for his own personal war chariot when he succeeded his father Omri as King of Israel.
In fact, Ahab saw it as a matter of honor that he should make Jehu his charioteer as Nimishi had been Omri’s; but then Ahab was nothing if not generous. All the world knew that Prince Ahab was admirably cunning and brave. But though Ahab was adequately intelligent, he was not a man of great imagination, and he lacked common sense. Certainly, Ahab had been a bit indulged as King Omri’s oldest son, and he had developed more pride than his conduct, character, and achievements yet warranted.
Nevertheless, the prince was a good soldier and had proven himself well-qualified in battle against Judaean rebels and bands of thieves in Samaria. What remained to be seen was if Ahab had the makings of an exceptional leader or tactician; all the signs thus far indicated he was potentially outclassed in this regard by the younger boy, Jehu.
And unlike his father, Ahab would never be political. Possessed of an indomitable spirit and courage, Ahab seldom saw the meanness of others and was slow to discern simple malice in those around him. Ahab’s infrequent choleric bouts of temper were well known, and he exposed his moments of happiness just as frequently.
Ahab’s eyes were never guarded. His eyes had been conditioned to search out disloyalties and conspiracies among those around him, but Ahab was a man easily dissuaded by the logic of others, especially when his opponents combined logic with the daunting power of zealous passion. Ahab did not understand zealous passion and was afraid of it. Miracles and omens chilled him to the bone. Ahab was not merely religious, he was also a deeply superstitous man.
However, none of this constituted the main reason for Jehu’s dislike of him.
It was not even the fact that Jehu, like his father Nimshi, was a devout follower of the one living god Yahweh, while Omri and Ahab worshipped both Yahweh and the Canaanite gods Ashtoreth and Baal, as Solomon had. Disgraceful! Jehu thought, while heaping the father’share of guilt upon the son, who had been taught better than to cling to idolatry. Secretly, Jehu thought that his King was misguided, while Ahab he considered to be morally reprobate. He could not speak this aloud, but it was not an uncommon view among the religious leaders of the nation.
It was Ahab’s character and his beliefs which Jehu disliked, and the fact that he kept the largest harem of foreign concubines of any king since Solomon, though he was still only a prince. Jehu positively despised Ahab’s lusty, indiscriminate tastes. The prince literally showed no reserve, no restraint with women.
Jehu did not yet fully understand the passions of the flesh. He considered Ahab’s whoring to be a part of the influence of the fertility-worshipping Baal cult. Jehu could not overlook or excuse the behavior. He said nothing about it, however.
Why, Ahab was even known to paint pictures of dancing harlots on his chariot! And Jehu was going to be expected to stand at the reins of the disgusting thing! He cringed at the thought, but he would do it if need be.
Jehu thought the prince’s lusty behavior was the reason he wasn’t a good leader. Jehu saw Ahab’s lack of sexual restraint as the halmark of a weak will, and thus, the sure sign of a weak man. Jehu was just becoming a man himself and beginning to feel all of the physical urges Ahab frequently succumbed to. But he had yet to admit this to himself, and he fought the beginnings of the feelings that made him look twice at women. For so long he had judged the prince, he could not yet come to terms with his own sexuality. He didn’t think Ahab was as religious as a leader should be. He thought Ahab used his father’s religiously tolerant attitude as an excuse to indulge in whatever vice suited him.
Ahab was not a bad man. He was quite openly a man who loved, and loved frequently, but he was also given to distractions. Some distractions lured his attentions away from those people and things which he claimed to love, but he was able to perform his duties when called upon to perform them.
Birth had alotted him a better memory than the memory he now possessed, for it had fallen into disuse and had turned selective, especially on those occasions when a convenient memory lapse might prove in the prince’s best interests. He was well aware that being a prince meant he could enjoy privileges denied other men. And why not enjoy them? He did what was asked of him, and what was expected. Beyond that, a man was free to enjoy his life. A prince even more so.
Jehu told himself he did not envy Ahab’s position. He told himself there was nothing about Ahab to envy. Jehu could find nothing about Ahab to admire or respect. Omri alone commanded all of the love and admiration the boy Jehu was capable of producing. After Ahab’s taunt, Jehu stewed in silence until the donkeys neared the end of the causeway, not far from Hiram’s Palace.
There the guard said something in Canaanite which was very close to Hebrew, and though Jehu would have understood it, he wasn’t listening. Instead, Jehu’s unhappy eyes wandered until they found the imperious, lofty towers of Hiram’s Palace among the many storehouses, watchtowers, and guards’ barracks surrounding the palace on the island. Strangely enough, after his foul temper cleared, he was impressed by the simple splendor of the foreign palace, even though it had been built by idol-worshippers.
After a moment, he saw something move, high up in one of the tower windows. Squinting, Jehu brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and looked harder, until he had discerned the source of the movement.
“Look there!” A small face appeared in the small, rectangular window. The face belonged to a lovely young girl, with pale olive skin and huge green eyes. She spied Jehu below, and their eyes met, with all the uncomfortable force two strangers bring to such a bold discovery of each other, though neither can say why.
“Look!” Jehu cried again in surprise, turning to the king, and pointing upwards. “There’s a face, peering out the window.”
“Where?” Ahab followed Jehu’s finger, and Omri suppressed an amused smile at his son’s sudden interest, but the face, if there had been one, had quickly withdrawn from the window when all eyes converged upon it.
“I don’t see anything,” Ahab said, with a dismissive shrug.
Then after a moment, as the men waited for the gate to be opened, suddenly the face was there at the window again, stealing a glance below.
“There it is again!” Jehu cried, for he had not taken his eyes from the tower window.
Once more, Ahab angled his head to get a better look, but by then the face had again vanished from sight.
“I think our young friend is seeing things.” Ahab laughed in a condescending way. “Or playing games with us.”
Jehu’s lip curled. The hostile expression on his face was more benign than his feelings were. Kaniel and the other men watched in silence, familiar by now with the little jibes Ahab daily launched at the boy, Jehu. Privately, the grim-faced soldier and chariot commander, Kaniel, wondered how the boy managed to put up with it was well as he did.
“What do you think of Tyre, so far, young Jehu?” Omri asked gently as the Phoenician guards signaled for the palace guards within to life the gate. At a word from the king, Jehu’s anger had a way of dissipating completely.
“Well, my king, I’ll admit the city is fine,” Jehu said carefully.
“But…” Omri prompted, sensing Jehu’s diapproval. “You measure your praise, boy. What is it about Tyre that displeased you?”
Jehu shrugged. “It is a beautiful city,” Jehu said, recalling the mainland with kinder admiration. “But with such beauty around, what man has to dream of God’s divine reward for his obedience, faith, and love, when a city such as this offers all of the luxury a man might desire here on earth?”
Omri laughed hard, a good laugh that began deep within his soul and flooded him with genuine mirth. “Now you sound like your father, Jehu… but surely beauty is not displeasing to God. And what of the holy stone temple of Solomon, with its lofty bronze pillars, its opulent great hall and holy-of-holies?”
Jehu’s eyebrows drew together with momentary uncertainty, but he didn’t reply.
“Yes, of course, you have never seen it.” Omri judged, scratching his gray beard. “But you have been to Megiddo.”
“Solomon’s second palace at Megiddo is beautiful. I can’t say the same for the city.” Jehu replied, with an unexpected burst of enthusiasm that only made Omri laugh harder and with more affection, until tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes.
But as his laughter died down, Omri cast an eye over the boy carefully. Did I betray anything with that remark? He wondered. Did I stumble over that word—father… Will he suspect anything?
Jehu does not know that I may be his father. And I will make sure he never knows.
This was the one secret that had the power to disorder the heart of the king. He dared not speak a word of it to anyone, least of all to the boy it involved. Omri never told anyone of his suspicions: that Jehu was not the son of Nimshi, but his own. His brief, adulterous relationship with Jehu’s lovely mother Hannah after Ahab’s mother Yoninah died was the one thing in his life he regretted, the one breach of conduct that he prayed the God, Yahweh, would forgive.
Omri regretted that he had committed the sin of adultery according to the Hebrew commandments, but not that he had loved Hannah. He was a King, and could do as he pleased. If he did at all regret what he had done, it was because Hannah could not love him, and it seemed, had not ever loved him. She may have given him her body, but she felt nothing for him.
And he, Omri, who was not yet king then but merely a man in love with a woman he could not have, would not murder his old friend Nimshi. He had thought of it only in passing—the ancient King David had murdered Uriah the Hittite to obtain his Bathsheba. But Omri was a good man, and Nimshi was his friend. He would not harm Nimshi, not even a year after Jehu’s birth, when Omri was annointed king of Israel. As King, he could do as he wished to anyone. He was torn with indecision. He wanted his son for his own.
Jehu’s unheralded birth had come to Nimshi and Hannah after they had been childless many long years, only eight months after Nimshi’s return from Assyria. Nimshi was supposed to have been dead! It was during his long absence that he had taken the beautiful Hannah, because he loved her. When Nishi returned, Omri was left to pray to God to forgive him for adultery. He felt certain that Yahweh would take into account the unusual circumstances of the sin. It started so innocently.
Nimshi been missing for three years. He had gone as a tribute emissary on a long journey to Assyria on the errand of Omri’s predecessor, King Elah, and had never returned.
All the people of King Elah’s court, including Hannah, had begun to believe that Nimshi had perished in the desert. Meanwhile, Omri had come to love his widow Hannah. He wanted to take her as another wife, but she would not have him. And, in a moment of passion, he had forced her to submit to him.
Omri had every intention of making Hannah his wife afterwards, but she would not see him, or allow herself to be near him without keeping other company at hand. Ten days later, Nimshi had returned at last. He had with him King Elah’s long awaited message from the Assyrian king Ashurnasirpal II. He had with him the request for tribute on account of an inadequate payment five years past due.
Only then, when Nimshi came home at last, did it become clear why he had been missing. On his way north through Asia, just past the Syrian border, he had been attacked and left for dead by a party of thieves. Fortunately, Nimshi had still owned enough presence of mind to seek shelter and aid from a priest of Yahweh originally from Judah who was living and teaching followers in northern Syria. Nimshi had borrowed sufficient clothing and money from him to reach Assyria, choosing to fulfil his errand rather than return to Israel. He chose to be loyal to his King.
Shortly after his arrival in Assyria, Nimshi learned that Ashurnasirpal II had grown impatient at court for the message from Israel, and had gone quite suddenly to Egypt.
Thus Nimshi waited until the Assyrian king returned from Pharoah’s land. He remained in Babylon while the moon waxed and waned ten times, until at last Ashurnasirpal II returned to the city. Soon the Hebrew messenger thought to be on his way home. At long last!
He had traveled only a few days outside Babylon when unexpected desert storms forced him to turn back and wait in the ancient capital of Babylonia. Not until the end of winter could he try once more to journey back to Israel. And on the way back, Nimshi stopped to repay his debt to the prophet in Syria. There, he had remained a guest in the prophet’s house for two months, to aid the now sickly old man who had once saved his life.
Finally, after a three years’ absence, Nimshi returned to Samaria a haggard and weary man, but a shadow of the man he had been, and ill-suited to take up the reins of the war chariot again. As a reward for his services he had thereafter been granted the comfortable position of steward in Elah’s palace. Quite an honor! The stewards of the royal houses were the next best thing to being the governor of the city.
Eight months after his return, Hannah gave birth to a son that all proclaimed God’s gift to the virtuous man, who had done his King and country a good service, and whom God had given a reward. He had answered Hannah’s prayers to her husband, and gave him a son and heir.
Nimshi and Hannah now lived in Samaria, where Nimshi remained the chief steward of Omri’s new palace. And over the years, Omri had often wondered if Nimshi ever suspected that Jehu might not be his flesh and blood. Omri had secured Hannah’s promise never to tell her husband that he had been with her, but he also knew that Nimshi was no fool, either. To his credit, Nimshi never openly accused Hannah of any adultery. Hannah loved him, and they remained happy together. It still hurt Omri that she had never loved him, even when she believed her husband was dead. And she had been the one woman he had truly loved.
“My king,” Jehu said after a moment, “please do not take my words too severely.”
Oh, yes, the boy has been thinking throughout this silence! Omri thought in admiration, now looking thoroughly at the well-favored youth.
“A temple may be fine or humble, and a city fair or poor, and in either the humblest servant of god or an evil profligate might equally be found.” Jehu said, in fair appraisal of the matter.
“But you distrust opulence.” Omri suggested. “My father taught me that too much of any good thing has a way of making a man forget his beliefs, and that self-indulgence weakens a character.”
“A man who loves gold more than honest living will spend his life worrying over his riches.” Said Omri. “Before I was King, I used to dream of this city, but I never thought to see it. I was not ambitious as a youth.”
“Do you think fat cities such as Tyre more likely to pay tribute to their enemies than to fight honestly for the burial ground of their ancestors.?” Jehu asked.
“You have been over-listening my conversations with Kaniel since we left Samaria!” Omri shook his head. “Yes, I hope so. Very clever of you to pick up on that.”
Jehu colored a little, basking in Omri’s approving tone. “And do you remember, my son, what we concluded?” Omri asked.
“That a rich city has vices.”
“Yes, but for all it’s vic es, it has ample stores of gold to build exquisite palaces and to pay great armies.” Omri reminded him. “And it may draw more armies to try to take that wealth.” Omri smiled, as the great gate of the island of Tyre at last swung open.
Jehu and Omri stopped talking, as all eyes turned towards the parting gates. Except the eyes of Ahab.
“Politics, politics,” Ahab sighed, bestowing an expression of exaggerated distaste on Jehu. For once, he had been listening to the conversation that passed between his father and the boy without mentally wandering off the subject.
And the strange mysteries of the city of Tyre had begun to reveal the necessity of the art of politics to Ahab, for the first time in his life. Understand a man’s motives, and you’re a step closer to conquering him. This realization fell upon Ahab like a cold, chilling winter rain, despite the heat of the summer sun. And the prince told himself emphatically that he would have to give the subject more consideration in the near future.
Chapter Two
Inside the island city, Omri and his company were led past two and down a long avenue to the hundred year-old Palace of Hiram, where they dismounted their donkeys and attended to bruised and aching back sides. A group of stableboys waited to lead the beasts away to Ithobaal’s stables and descended like locusts as the Hebrew men were ushered towards the palace. Then an escort of guards appeared outside the palace gate to lead Omri’s company to the feasting hall of Ithobaal.
The imperious stone archway of the palace boasted doors of solid cedar inlaid with gold, flanked by the giant statues of winged lions and ivory inlaid pillars. Beyond it lay a network of colonnaded courts, and the thick walls of Hiram’s ancient palace opened up into a central courtyard edged by porticoes, offering a panoramic garden unrivaled by anything save Eden.
“Have you ever seen such a place?” Ahab said in wonder. “It smells like a woman’s perfume in here.”
“And that’s a good thing, since we all reek of donkey.” Kaniel said with a laugh.
“Remarkable,” Omri said, his eyes sweeping over the garden in calculation. Never one to be outdone and to stand for it, Omri began to note carefully all that Ithobaal of Tyre had at his palace. “Tell me something, Kaniel.” He turned to the grizzened steward.
“Yes?”
“How difficult would it be to reproduce such a garden in the palace at Samaria?”
Kaniel thought a moment.
“I don’t think it would be unduly difficult, my King. But expensive. We’d have to hire Tyrian architects, and they don’t come cheap. Remember that Solomon paid a king’s ransom for his Palace, and ended up giving Hiram half of the mines of Tarshish and a thousand slaves to pay for it.”
“Well, the design could stand a few improvements.” Omri considered audibly. “What do you call those flowers over there?” he wondered, gesturing to the lovely flowers with delicate pink blossoms.
“Hibiscus, sire.” One of the Tyrian escorts replied. Omri nodded. He made a mental note of it.
Meanwhile, the Tyrian guards waited patiently for the men of Israel to recover their senses and tear their eyes from the flower gardens and fountains spread before them. To the left of the wall were open apartments. Past these a stone stair led away to the king’s palace rooms above. Omri and the other men of Israel followed the escorts as they turned left and headed to the stair, halting only briefly on their way past the main entrance guard to allow him to strip them of weapons.
At the foot of the stair, several serving girls came to sponge the traveller’s dusty feet and to offer them fresh sandals.
“Now these are Phoneician flowers I can appreciate!” laughed Ahab, looking lustfully at the lovely young ladies of the island city as they massaged his feet.
He sighed deeply, trying to hold himself still as they finished cleaning his feet.
“I think she’s taken a shine to you,” said Kaniel, pointing to the nearest woman, with a lovely face and pretty smile.
“Maybe if you speak to her, she’ll find her way into your room tonight,” said Ahab.
“I shall have to enquire about that,” said Omri, as Jehu’s face flushed crimson.
“Do you think that they speak Hebrew?” he whispered to one of the guards.
“Don’t worry about it, boy. There is no harm in it. These women, I wager, are quite used to being looked upon by men who admire them.” Said one of the guards.
“I expect them to be here for our convenience,” said Ahab. “King Ithobaal is showing us his hospitality.” The women retreated, heading backwards. Ahab and the other men watched them depart. After this second detour, the company headed up the torch-lit stair into the well-lit second floor of the palace, with its colored, glazed tile floors. White limestone walls inlaid with colored mosaics and decorated with exquisite tapestries, surrounded them, relieved only by wide interior windows, and small, protective outer windows, both decorated by carved, ivory inlaid beams.
“These Tyrians certainly are fond of their gold,” Ahab mused. “How long do you think it would take to build a place like this?” he wondered, fingering one of the tapestries.
“Solomon’s temple took thirteen years.” Kaniel replied pleasantly. “But if a man could be content with half as much ornamentation and color, I would imagine he could build himself a worthy enough palace in half that time.” Kaniel didn’t attempt to hide the fact that he considered too much opulence distasteful, and that a happy medium would be more elegant, more acceptable to the tastes of the Hebrew court.
“Without sacrificing quality?” Omri asked.
“Without any great sacrifice in quality,” Kaniel replied. “But I thought the palace at Samaria was nearly finished.”
“I thought so too,” Omri laughed. Now he wasn’t so sure.
“All of this color would give me a headache after a while.” Jehu interrupted quietly.
“Then ask one of the servants for some sweet violet tea,” Ahab advised on impulse, only half-catching Jehu’s comment. Sweet violet was of course a common herbal medicine believed to prevent the onset of a headache. And of course, the misdirected advice was not received generously by Jehu. Jehu’s lip curled once more, and he glowered at the Prince.
Meanwhile, the guards had stopped.
“There are accommodations here for you and your men, King Omri.” One of the guards motioned to a group of chambers on his right. “I have a message from Ithobaal that he expects to meet with you and your men at dinner this evening.”
“Send a message to your master that we shall attend at whatever hour is convenient.”
The servant nodded and led them each to their rooms.
“They say Ithobaal’s court is as liberal as the royal court in Egypt,” Ahab was saying as he went to his chamber. “I wonder if Ithobaal keeps a harem of dancing girls.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find out.” Jehu said, in a facetious tone so mild that it passed unnoticed. Ahab smiled broadly and clapped Jehu on the back in a fraternal, affectionate way. And for once, wonder of wonders, the startled boy found he didn’t mind.
After a hot, refreshing, mint-infused steam bath and a change into fresh clothes, the men of Israel were brought to the feasting hall where King Ithobaal awaited his guests. Jehu pulled at his long sleeve as he passed into the feasting hall behind the others. The Tyrian clothes presented to Omri’s men as gifts were made of soft linen, clean, comfortable, brightly colored, crisp, and unworn, belted with the widest of belts around his waist.
The long chiton, heavy-sleeved robe, and belt were like nothing Jehu was used to. And he couldn’t seem to keep the overlong sleeves from rolling up just enough to be an annoyance. Yet at the same time, they were too crisp to roll up neatly. And certain to catch on something before the evening was through, or else drag in one of the spicy sauces sure to be served at dinner. Nonetheless, Jehu stroked the material with pleasure, wondering how he appeared in such finery.
Inside the banquet hall, the Tyrian King sat at the head of a beautifully polished Egyptian ebony table, decorated with gold, a gift from the Pharoah in Hiram’s generation. Ithobaal was immersed in conversation with two others when the Hebrew party arrived, bearing a gift of myrrh from Sheba’s land. One of Ithobaal’s companions seemed around his own age, and the other but a young man. The larger man to the right of Ithobaal showed the posture, manner, and elaborate gestures of a wealthy merchant from the city.
There could be no mistaking which of the two older men was the King of Tyre, for Ithobaal’s deep purple and russet garments were of the finest linen dyed with the expensive Tyrian purple dye made of murex shells and copiously embroidered with the distinguishing crest of Phoenician royalty. And Ithobaal sat bedecked in enough bright gold jewelry to rival a desert sunrise. Musicians played a low, soft melody in the corner of the room on lyres, oboes, lutes, cymbals, tambourines. Silver oil lamps burned along the walls; it was surprisingly bright in the hall.
“Greetings to you, my brother,” Ithobaal said pleasantly, calling Omri “brother” in the manner of Oriental kings when addressing each other, after the guard announced the Hebrew king and his men. “I hope your journey was not too difficult.”
“No.” Omri replied. “My men are tired, but we are pleased to meet with you, great King.”
The two men regarded each other in a moment of cold assessment, but each seemed to come to a favorable impression of the other. The two exchanged gifts formally, letting the servants open the gifts and present them, and each king went through an established ceremony of manners, custom, and mutual hospitality. A token gift of myrrh had been exchanged for a small gift of ceremonial oils. The larger gifts had yet to be arranged, and would depend largely upon the outcome of the political negotiations.
“And now I ask you to sit down, brother, and let your men refresh themselves.” Ithobaal said at length. “I have prepared a modest banquet in honor of your arrival to Tyre. My messenger Aberdal tells me you have brought no interpreter with you, so I’ve arranged for Baaldad here to join us. While my understanding of Hebrew is good enough, I’m afraid it far exceeds the limits of what I can say.”
“Baaldad.” Omri nodded at the larger man, whose short hair curled in a wreath around his face. “Are you an advisor to the king?” Omri asked as his men found their seats at the table.
“I am merely a humble merchant, mighty king.” The Tyrian man replied, with hands spread wide.
“Baaldad of Tyre is a kinsman of my mother’s house,” Ithobaal explained quickly, “and a respected friend.”
“His majesty is too kind.” Baaldad made an unhurried gesture of gratitude. “I am little better than a wandering sailor, King Omri. And pleased to find myself invited to a feast among such respected company.”
“You speak Hebrew well, Baaldad,” Omri observed.
“Baaldad has been from one end of the world to another, and learned more than a few languages along the way. That is why I like to keep him at court when he is at Tyre. He is my eyes and ears in the wide world.” Ithobaal said, his eyes flicking secretively to one of the guards at the door, who departed. Ithobaal then turned back to his guests, with a bright sparkle in his eye.
“My wife came from northern Galilee and spoke Hebrew and Syraic, King Omri.” Baaldad explained. “She is at rest now, along with my son.”
“Then I am sorry for your misfortune.” Omri said gravely, wondering what Ithobaal had planned.
“I am enduring it, King Omri. As best a man can. And the royal children of Ithobaal cheer me when I come to Tyre. It seems more difficult to depart from Tyre with each voyage.” Baaldad sighed.
“A brave man you must be, to live so long from dry land.” Omri, who could not even swim, shook his head in wonder that a man could willingly coop himself up on a boat for months at a time and entirely surrender his fate to the sea. “And who may I ask is this young man?” Omri asked, gesturing to the youth beside Baaldad, who could have been no more than twenty-four, which was Ahab’s age.
“I am Badezor,” the youth replied boldly.
“Ah yes, the eldest son of Ithobaal.” Omri returned, appraising him. Badezor didn’t flinch at all while Omri looked him over. Well, Badezor ceratinly had his father’s hazel eyes, but none of their sharpness, if Omri was any judge of character. Badezor’s eyelids were heavy, in the manner of a man overindulged in luxury and bored by the mundane.
“Forgive my rudeness, King Ithobaal,” Omri said gracefully. “And allow me now to introduce my son, Prince Ahab, to you all. And beside him, Kaniel my chariot commander and personal steward, Jotham, Aviel, David, Shamir, Oren, all chariot commander in my army, and Jehu.”
“Your Jehu seems rather a young sprig to be uprooted and taken so far from his native soil.” Ithobaal observed, his eyes following Omri’s gestures of introduction. “But perhaps… not,” Ithobaal added, after studying the boy a moment. His smile faded into a light upturning of the left side of his mouth.
This Jehu is quiet but ambitious, Ithobaal thought, keeping his eyes guarded. Thinking, always thinking. And dangerous.
“Jehu travels with me. He is to be my personal charioteer.” Ahab explained. “As his father Nimshi was for my father.”
“Well, be sure you keep him firmly at your side, Prince Ahab. That one has quick eyes.” Ithobaal laughed. “He thinks before he speaks, I’ll wager.”
“His majesty is a good judge of character,” Kaniel said. “Jehu is quite generally considered to be wise beyond his years.”
“Yes, I could see that he is.” Ithobaal pronounced, then moved on to other matters. One Hebrew child was of little concern to him.
For a while, the two kings and their entourage began to contemplate political matters together, the history of the alliance between them, and their mutual expectations for the new one.
Jehu listened closely to the discussion but contributed little to it. He thought that King Ithobaal presented a fine figure of a man, with his angular face, long, thin nose with a slight crooked bend in it, keen, wide hazel eyes, and broad forehead. The Tyrian King was tall and naturally well-formed, but he had never been a warrior. It seemed his strength was an iron will and a keen wit, and no doubt his battles had always been of a political nature.
But Ithobaal was the kind of king, who, though inflexible and imperious, had an air of sanguine humor about him. As a priest, with a supposed claim over men’s souls (after all, he was an idol-worshipper), he was extremely well-spoken, despite his claim to speak the Hebrew tongue poorly. While Omri’s strength in speeches held sway over men at arms, Ithobaal’s power as a priest was over a man’s will and reasoning, slower to reach but more sure hold, and a supersititious hold that no man would willingly throw off, for fear of divine retribution.
Jehu found himself admiring Ithobaal, though the king was a priest of idolatry, and his oracular gift put to ill use. Jehu listened to him nonetheless, to learn from him, imprinting this presence and authority in his heart, where later he would look upon it and reflect, and emulate the manner.
Baaldad, the kindly merchant, was little like Ithobaal, being a burly and hairy man with ruddy, wide cheeks and small, dark eyes that glittered merrily. Baaldad’s face was tanned from the sun, with crows-feet pulling at the corners of his eyes. He was large and stocky, but not fat, though old age would certainly turn the muscle soft. His face was rounder and redder than Omri’s, and his hair more coarse; his disposition was also sanguine, and well-disposed towards inappropriate kinds of humor.
The kings spoke until the sun went down entirely, at which time the musicians changed their melodies on cue. Very soon, the palace eunuchs appeared through the wide doorways bearing the heavier lavish trays laden with covered dishes in burnished Phoenician red dinnerware; the air was thick with a dozen aromas rivalling to outdo each other. Still more eunuchs brought in flatware and fine, thin-stemmed glass goblets of various colors overlaid with meshed gold. The table was set in no short order for a magnificent feast.
In the hallways outside, a slight, gracefully made girl with huge green eyes peered into the room. Her face was like a delicate but curious little bird’s, bobbing in and out to observe all she had been excluded from. One of the palace serving women crept up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. The girl jumped with a bird-like little screech; if the music within had been any quieter, her presence would have been discovered by all.
“Your father asked for you to come and serve the wine to his guests.” The old serving woman Haza said sharply. “And don’t be wilful, my headstrong girl.” She added as the girl presented her an indignant look, a look that attempted to mask how mortified she was. “And don’t you go running away and hiding like Elisha, either.” Haza said, eyeing her. Jezebel had been known to bolt before, and Haza wasn’t fast enough to chase her down.
“My sister Elisha is afraid of her own shadow.” The girl retorted.
“But obedient. She’s bringing the wine with the others, and you’d better go in when they come from the kitchens.”
“You did, of course, have to shake some sense into her?” Jezebel asked snidely.
The servant frowned. “At least she is being useful, while you skulk about out here, eavesdropping and spying.”
“I do not skulk about!” the girl countered.
“Then do as you’re told and fetch the honey-wine. Your father wants to show off his lovely daughters tonight before his guests. You didn’t dress for the dinner, did you?”
Jezebel didn’t reply but appeared uncomfortable.
“Oh well, I suppose you could look worse.” Haza sighed. “Let me have a look at you,” Haza said, running a moistened finger over the girl’s hair to smooth it down. She made an adjustment to the arrangement of Jezebel’s pale blue, sheer linen shawl, and draped it evenly over her shoulders. “Now you won’t embarrass your father. As long as you remember to keep still and your mouth closed. No running to ‘uncle’ Baaldad for any favors. Keep your distance in front of guests, unless they require more wine.” Jezebel screwed up her face in one final moment of combatting resignation, then went off to find the pitchers for the feast.
Meanwhile, the eunuchs had finished spreading out the banquet table with elegant fare of fish, more fish, and goat’s meat dishes drenched in spicy sauces. Wheat bread served with plenty of butter and honey-milk, barley dishes and lentil dishes, dishes made of cheese and cooked vegetables and unfamiliar to the Hebrews, fresh vegetable dishes in marinade, with honey cakes, assorted fruits, dates, and nut sweetmeats for dessert.
As the eunuchs carried away clattering empty silver trays, a dozen or more young girls came in holding flagons of sweet honey-wine and dark red wine; and they swarmed round the table, serving to one and all. Fashionable they were, too, enrobed in fine multi-colored Egyptian linens and smelling of jasmine and myrrh. They were pretty girls, most of them between the ages of thirteen and sixteen from the looks of it, and they kept their eyes and heads lowered, baring an occasional bashful smile to their guests now and again.
To the Hebrews, the most astonishing thing of all was that none of the girls wore veils to cover themselves. They were quite conspicuously indecent. Their hair was extremely long, relatively straight, and black or dark brown, apart from a few foreign girls with fair, honey-colored hair and gamine, dark-complected girls from Ethiopia, and the smallest girl who attended first upon the king and then upon Baaldad.
Omri had no idea why the youngest caught his eye, perhaps because he felt uncomfortable looking at the others in what they wore. The small, pretty creature, thin as a gazelle and flat-chested, could be no older than eleven; but she was a funny little thing, pouring the wine as carefully and seriously as if she were annointng a king with holy oil.
Her hair was dark but with an underlying reddish cast to it—natural, not from Henna, he suspected—and it fell in soft waves, like a cloud of fine silken threads. She was the youngest of the serving girls, but strange though it was, he thought her manner showed more elegance than any of the other girls in her company. However, Omri’s attention was soon drawn to the tall, regal young woman Ithobaal gathered beside him proudly.
“This is my daughter Elisha,” Ithobaal announced, compressing his lips to form a grim smile. “A rare treasure in my house.”
The Hebrew men regarded Ithobaal’s daughter. Elisha was beautiful, with a round face and delicate mouth which she had reddened with ocher, large black orbs for eyes, rimmed with curling black lashes and Egyptian blue-green eyeliner. The upper eyelids had been blackened with dark stibium in the Egyptian manner to make her eyes appear even larger, and rouge had been applied to her cheeks. She smiled demeurely, and bowed respectfully.
“She is a treasure.” Ahab agreed whole-heartedly. “But I would keep her closely guarded, if I were the king.” He winked at the girl. Elisha blushed deep scarlet. Ithobaal smiled. Omri gave a careful laugh. And Jehu frowned at it all.
“Elisha, will you pour the honey-wine for my brother?” Ithobaal entreated the girl in warm tones. Elisha nodded and moved over to Omri, then happily poured him a large, sweetly fragrant glass of wine. Meanwhile, the smallest girl followed Elisha with her eyes. Her eyes were clouded just so slightly with pangs of jealousy, though there was no accusation or malice in her glance. She was standing in between the king and his friend, Baaldad. And suddenly became quite awkward.
You know Elisha is your father’s favorite. Baaldad thought, smiling kindly at her. My poor little bird, Jezebel, looking as though her wings have been clipped. She’ll recover, of course. But it would be better for her if she learned to expect disapointment, he thought again, as he had so often in the past. But no, how could that be better? For then she wouldn’t be his untamed little Jezebel, and able to bring such joy to his heart with the lightness of her own.
“May I pour you some honey wine?” Jezebel asked Baaldad, seeming lost about what to do, and unusually dejected, as she was continually surprised to find herself whenever forced to appear in Elisha’s company.
“Merciful Astarte! Sweet wine made sweeter by the touch of your tender hand. Pour as much as you like, my child.” Baaldad nodded with enthusiasm, and watched Jezebel’s face break a smile. She poured the wine energetically, oblivious to the effect she had produced in Baaldad, and in the others who regarded her.
Omri watched the transformation in interest. Before, the girl’s face had held a sensitive, reserved expression with traces of intense calculation in it, but no malice. These were signs of a curious but sensitive spirit; not moody but thoughtful, he guessed. Now he saw the type of person whose soul, slow to ignite to unprovoked anger could blaze quick as fire in the face of insult, in particular any unjust insult to her pride. Since she would have been taught manners at an early age, this temper would have to manifest itself in other ways. He guessed that her amazement at being neglected was a sure sign of her true nature. Yes, this girl had her pride. Omri noticed all of this as she was standing there, how firmly she held on to the pitcher, how decisive were her movements. What a clever little thing! It was a shame she was a girl child.
Meanwhile, Ahab was heaping praise and warm smiles upon the fair Elisha. Ithobaal spoke to Ahab at length of Elisha’s upbringing and merits past Omri, who listened to them both only in half-interest.
Kaniel was busy eating a leg of lamb; Jotham and the others were playing harmless games with the serving girls. The guests ate everything with their fingers, all but the thickened honey-milk, which they drank and polished off with more wine.
For a moment, Ahab’s eye wandered to the young girl by Ithobaal. Her marvelous green eyes drew a second look from most casual observers, but Ahab easily turned back to Elisha. Women, not children, interested him. And by and by, Omri began to appraise the elder girl, as Ithobaal invited an opinion on his daughter from the King of Israel.
Beside Ahab a short distance down the long table, Jehu was trying to eat without food getting caught in the large gaping holes of his sleeves. Jehu only spared a moment every now and again for the fair Elisha, and mostly because he did not wish to feel left out of the conversation.
Beautiful, but unremarkable, he thought, appraising her as he might inspect the quality of a goat, linen, or wine. She would bear children well. Healthy children. Which was a fine thing. Elisha was to be praised for the happy fortune of her curvy hips and healthy complexion.
Jezebel listened, but was not jealous at all. The thought of having children made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. She hated the idea of having to walk around with so very great a burden in front of her body, weighing her down. Or the idea of becoming heavy and slow afterwards, as so many women did. She was glad it wasn’t any time soon that she would have to think about it.
This conversation was nearing a satisfying conclusion. While he listened, Jehu reached across the table for the bowl of dates, nuts, and figs, and then caught the pair of brilliant green eyes in the face of a girl standing across the long table a little to his left, near Baaldad. His hand found the bowl of dates, but instead, Jehu studied the green-eyed girl a moment longer. Her eyes… were really strange.
But stranger still, there was something in those bright green eyes that abruptly reminded him of himself. That discovery was more shocking than anything else he had seen all evening. Yes, he was sure that he had seen it! The same traffic of calculation going on behind her eyes, which she would never be permitted to vent verbally. She was, moreover, completely oblivious to the fact that he was now openly staring at her. It was as though, from lack of scrutiny, she had withdrawn into a veritable world of thought going on in her mind.
She was as invisible among her elders as he was. Jehu heard the tale end of a bit of a joke that had bypassed him, and almost turned to his left instinctively to catch what King Omri was saying. Instead, he found himself still staring at the girl a few years younger than himself. Who was she? He wondered. And she seemed quite suddenly enshrouded in a palpable air of mystery.
His eyes narrowed, at precisely the moment that the girl turned her head in his direction. She made eye contact, visibly caught his expression and started in surprise. What she saw as disapproval was actually an expression of interest. She retaliated by screwing up her eyes and nose and making a face at him.
Jehu gasped in anger; it was the last thing he expected.
These Tyrian women are shameless! Jehu thought to himself, secretly mortified that the girl had singled him out as the recipient of her childishly crude gesture. Had Omri and the others seen it?
“More wine, please,” Baaldad said, gesturing to Jezebel. Was she going to provoke that Hebrew boy now? He wondered in mild concern. As she drew near, he whispered to her.
“You’d better watch your behavior today. Your father is trying to make a good impression,” he said affectionately. “A toast to the safe arrival of our guests!” Baaldad pealed.
“Yes, a toast to King Omri and his men,” Ithobaal nodded.
“I need some more wine,” Jehu piped up, relishing in anticipation his opportunity of asserting his power over the green-eyed girl. “Dark wine, if you please.” He said, making eye contact with her to establish that he expected her to fetch it for him. The young girl nodded and picked up another pitcher off the table, then passed behind the king, carrying the red wine over to Jehu.
“And good luck to you on your voyage, my friend.” Ithobaal raised his glass.
“You’re leaving, Baaldad?” Jezebel interrupted the men, still approaching Jehu, who watched her coming towards him in immense satisfaction.
Omri and the others looked to the merchant expectantly.
“My ships sets off for Tarshish in the morning.” Baaldad shrugged. “Our miners there are having difficulties getting the ore loaded for shipment.”
“What kind of difficulties?” Omri wondered. The mine of Tarshish was a shared endeavor between Israel and Tyre and concerned him greatly.
“A plague, my king, in the Tyrian quarters. It seems to have wiped out half of our slaves there.” Baaldad replied gravely.
“But you just got here a few days ago…” Jezebel said in anguish, drawing the attention of everyone in the room as she reached Jehu. Elisha narrowed her eyes on her younger sister but kept her sweet smile, privately embarrassed by Jezebel’s outburst.
“I’m afraid I must leave.” Baaldad shrugged. “The storms last season forced us to stay in our harbors too long. Our ship is being loaded with supplies this evening.”
Jehu was looking at Jezebel when she abruptly fumbled with the flagon of red wine. It tumbled in the air, suspended a moment, before hitting the edge of the table and falling to the floor with a clatter. But not before the red wine had splashed all over Jehu.
“You careless girl! Look what you’ve done!” Jehu cried in a flare of temper. His new tunic and chiton were now drenched in patches with great purple-red stains.
“Jehu,” Omri said, in a tone of mild reproof. “I am sure the girl didn’t mean to insult you. We are guests here.”
Meanwhile, Ithobaal swallowed, kept his tongue, then shot a glance at Jezebel to see what she would do. No one had ever spoken to his daughter so rudely in all her life as this Hebrew upstart. What would she do? He wondered in mild curiosity. Yet in a way, this was her chance to prove herself, to show her character. And that would be something to see.
At the same time, Jezebel studied the hot-tempered boy Jehu a moment. The wine was seeping through his hair onto his face. A trickle of red ran in a line down his temple and to his chin. Then she knelt down quietly, picked up the empty pitcher and set it on the ebony table.
“I’m truly sorry for my clumsiness.” She said at last, carefully polite, and her deft fingers traced around her neck until she had worked out something from under her dress: it was a long chain of gold strung with stones and beads, on which a jeweled pendant hung. “Please accept this gift as an offering, an offering for my injury to you.” She said, holding the necklace chest-high, her manner quiet and calm.
Jehu stared at it, feeling his temper settle and inclined to forget the whole incident once he had a chance to clean up. But now he was too deeply involved. Everyone in the room was waiting for his reaction. So he nodded, half-bewildered by all that had transpired, and waited to receive the gift.
“It’s a good luck chain,” Jezebel explained, stepping towards him. “It will ward off demons and spirits in the air and keep you safe from harm.” She leaned forward to coronate him with the beaded necklace; so close he could smell the perfume of hibiscus oil on her skin.
“There isn’t an enchantment on it, I hope,” Jehu said skeptically. His instincts told him women were not to be trusted, and that included careless Tyrian girls.
“I don’t think so,” the girl bristled at such a thought. “It’s just a simple luck charm.” What a monster! She thought in silence. She was doing her best to apologize, and to show hospitality to him. It would serve him right if she poured another jug of wine over him!
“But why are you giving it to me?” Jehu demanded, watching as the Tyrian girl hesitated, her brows drawing together lightly. Then she smiled faintly. “I think you need it more than I do.”
The company, worn out by the tension, erupted into laughter. For a change, Jehu didn’t take offense by it. Instead, he turned to Omri for approval; was this talisman condoned by the king?
“I think there can be no harm in the necklace.” Omri said, reading Jehu’s expression. “It is just a piece of jewelry, not that kind of magic amulet forbidden by God.”
“Besides,” Ahab interjected with a smile, “men only fall victim to a woman’s sorcery when they wish to.” The corners of Jehu’s mouth turned up slightly. Then he turned back to the girl.
“Thank you for your gift.” Jehu said, fingering the necklace briefly. It was a fine piece of craftsmanship in Egyptian style, with a golden hawk holding a giant acorn made out of a pearl in its talons in the center. The rest of the necklace was made of small beads of carnelian, lapis lazuli, green feldspar, turquoise, hematite, and bright glass beads. Most intriguing were the fine gold beads adorning the necklace centerpiece. The manufacture of these tiny, perfect gold granules, smaller than the eye of a needle, had been a coveted Phoenician secret for hundreds of years.
The girl smiled lightly, certain he would appreciate it now.
“And who might you be, my girl?” Omri asked, leaning forward.
“Jezebel,” the girl replied without hesitation. “Jezebel is also one of my daughters.” Ithobaal said, almost apologetically. “The middle girl out of five royal daughters.”
“Jezebel,” Omri repeated. Then his eyes turned calculating, and flickered towards Ahab. Jezebel, Jehu thought to himself, and tucked the necklace under his linen shirt.
“Go with Elisha and retire to your room now, Jezebel,” Ithobaal said strongly as conversation resumed. The girls nodded, and departed. The feast began again, but the conversation did not end with the dinner. As the dinner trays were cleared by eunuchs, and half of the serving girls departed. Omri leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard thoughtfully.
“You eldest daughter is a concubine of the Egyptian Pharoah, I hear.” Omri said after a time, taking the last piece of a sweet honey cake from among the remaining desserts.
“Yes. Elisha is my second daughter.” Ithobaal replied.
“Yes, yes. And a lovely flower she is.” Omri agreed pleasantly.
“Is something on your mind, King Omri?” Ithobaal asked, perceiving Omri’s contemplative manner.
“Yes, I’m afraid there is.” Omri admitted. “I have been praying to Yahweh for some time for guidance in how best to arrange our treaty of alliance. But at last He has given me an idea how best to consolidate our houses.”
“Oh?” Ithobaal cocked an eye in interest.
“I propose a royal marriage between one of your daughters and my eldest son, Ahab.” Omri said plainly.
Now Ahab turned to the conversation with a measure of enthusiasm.
Ithobaal smiled secretively. “Ah yes, I have already given the matter some thought, my brother.
And I have resolved to offer your son as a wife my second eldest daughter Elisha. She is a girl of extraordinary beauty and modesty, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, indeed,” Omri said, then hesitated, disturbed by a vague, nagging worry. Of course, he agreed that a royal marriage the best thing to seal the alliance between Tyre and Israel, but could it be arranged so quickly? If Omri knew the devout prophets of Israel as well as he thought, they would surely resist such a marriage and would have to be brought around to the idea. If a marriage alliance was to succeed, Omri was going to have to persuade them of the necessity, however he could.
“And how old is your next daughter?” Omri asked, still considering the matter.
“Jezebel?” Ithobaal thought a moment, and his eyes went inexplicably hard for a moment. “She is ten years old.”
“Has she a dowry?” Omri asked pleasantly.
“A considerable fortune in gold, silver, and timber.” Ithobaal replied. “I have kept her mother’s dowry for her. But, my brother, why should she interest you? I have already offered fair Elisha as a wife for your son. Surely you do not wish to take another wife for yourself?”
Omri’s ears colored, but he shook his head slowly, gravely. “No. Let us say that I’m curious about your family. Is the girl Jezebel bethrothed, then?”
“Ben-hadad of Syria has made some noise about looking for a royal wife for his son, Ben-hadad the younger.” Ithobaal shrugged.
At this news, Omri’s eyes flickered with dissatisfaction. A royal marriage between Syria and Tyre would not be in Israel’s best interest. Ahab was equally displeased by this news. Ben-hadad was something of a friend but also a great rival of Ahab’s. It was a strange kind of friendship between Ahab and the younger Ben-hadad. They were closer than brothers during the years that Ben-hadad had visited the court of Israel and joined Ahab at arms practice, wrestling, and hunting.
However nothing suited Ahab or Ben-hadad better than thwarting each other. Ahab was, no doubt, thinking of this as he pondered how best to alter the fate of Jezebel.
“And Ashurnasirpal II… has asked for one of my daughers as a concubine with the next tribute.” Ithobaal added. “Jezebel and Kalanit will be of age by then.”
“I see, so the Assyrian king has asked for one of your daughters as well as Ben-hadad’s daughter.” Ahab remarked. “I wonder how many women he keeps in his harem.”
“As many as he can.” Ithobaal laughed.
“I have a request, my brother,” Omri said suddenly, “and I’m not certain how to make it.”
“Speak freely, my brother.” Ithobaal made a gesture of invitation.
“Might I suggest giving the girl Jezebel as a wife to my son?” Omri said blithely.
“Jezebel?” Ithobaal echoed. Ahab blinked rapidly, surprised. Kaniel abruptly stopped chewing. Jehu forgot to draw a breath. “But Jezebel is only a child.”
“She will get older.” Omri observed, waving a hand dismissively.
“I must warn you, the girl has been raised to take my place as the priestess of the goddess Astarte.” Ithobaal explained with some sense of discomfort. “She has been brought up in the Canaanite religion. I could send her to Syria as a consort for Ben-hadad. They worship our gods, but to Israel…” Ithobaal trailed off, thinking of the many religious and political troubles between the native Baal-worshippers and the Hebrew monotheists. Religious turmoil that had plagued the people of Israel for generations. “It would be unjust to send Jezebel to Israel. She knows nothing of your customs.”
“What if my son would wait until the girl has reached marriageable age to take her from Tyre? Surely then you would have time to prepare her for her new life in Israel. I think it would be best to educate the woman who would become the next queen of Israel, my brother, in all matters having to do with our people.”
“I still don’t understand why you should want Jezebel for your son, my brother, when I have already offered the fair Elisha, a far more eligible choice.” Ithobaal shook his head. “Surely you can’t be asking for two of my daughters to be your son’s wives?”
“No. Only Jezebel.” Omri said curtly.
“May I ask why, my brother?” Ithobaal seemed stunned, and discomposed for the first time that evening.
For a moment, Omri scarcely knew how to answer him. It was not merely that it would be best to wait to push through a marriage until the prophets of Israel had agreed to it. To be fair to Elisha, the girl ought to be married sooner than Omri would require her to come to Israel. A marriage to Jezebel would give Israel time to get used to the idea of a foreign queen. Omri did need to secure Ithobaal’s loyalty as soon as possible, but a betrothal would do just as well. A long betrothal might even be better. Omri would be guaranteed several years of cooperation with Tyre.
Last of all, Omri had no intention of allowing Ithobaal to make bonds between Tyre and Syria or Assyria. Most definitely, he wanted to take Jezebel from Ben-hadad. The Assyrian king, by right of superiority, would have Kalanit, and nothing could be done about it. But once Jezebel was wedded to Ahab, Omri would do all he could to influence the Tyrians not to seek alliances outside Israel.
This was sufficient reason in favor of Jezebel as the choice for his son’s future Queen, but there was something else about the young girl that had intrigued Omri. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He wouldn’t admit to himself that he had immediately perceived many good qualities in the girl, qualities which were precisely those which his son lacked. And in so doing, he had come to a single most satisfying conclusion about her: she would be the queen who would make his son a better king.
“I am well aware my brother of the very great honor you wish to bestow upon my house with your second eldest daughter.” Omri said at length. “But surely, she would make a better match here in Tyre among the members of you own royal houses.”
“Indeed, father.” Badezor piped up. “There is the house of Aharbaal Barca, the priest of Baal. You did wish to keep him here in Tyre and ally him with our house.”
Ithobaal hesitated, disliking Badezor’s interjection. Badezor had never learned when to keep tactfully silent. Meanwhile, Omri sensed that his own argument had gained force with Badezor’s comment, and duly pressed his advantage.
“Our treaty might be sealed as effectively without so great a sacrifice to you.” Omri added, in a manner that prayed upon Ithobaal’s open affection and preference of his favorite, Elisha. “Therefore, with equal gratitude I would be happy to accept the younger girl, Jezebel, for my son. Provided her dowry is of equal measure to Elisha’s.”
Ithobaal wavered with indecision for only a moment. “I will make it equal.” The Tyrian King declared, dabbing his mouth with a cloth; he felt strangely pleased at the unexpected turn of events. The King of Israel seemed entirely disinterested whether Ithobaal gave him the fair Elisha or any one of the others. Ithobaal was not blind to the fact that this would leave him the asset of his lovely elder daughter to use to better immediate advantage. And perhaps, he would be able to keep Elisha in Tyre, where he would be able to see her.
If Elisha did marry Ahab, she would remain in Israel to the end of her days. It would have been a hard thing to part with her forever, but he had been willing to agree to it. As for Jezebel, he hadn’t spent enough time with her to object to Omri’s request to make her a substitute bride for his son.
But beside the Tyrian King, the merchant Baaldad suppressed a pang of sadness. My poor little bird, he thought. It pained him to hear that Jezebel would be exiled from her home and family, and from him, forever. The dutiful Elisha could have borne the exile, and would quickly have adapted to her new lifestyle, as much as she relished the complete favor of her father. While Jezebel was like a wild little bird that thrived only by the sea.
And these men of Israel would force her into a cage, he had no doubt of it.
Meanwhile, one of the eunuchs began passing out hot, heated cloths soaked in mint-water for the guests to refresh their faces. Baaldad accepted one, pressing it into his face with more force than necessary. “How do you like the girl, young Ahab?” Ithobaal asked, turning to the Hebrew prince, whose expression showed almost passive interest in this calm arrangment of his own future marriage. Of course, marriage didn’t confine him to the bed of a single woman, as it would his wife.
“Elisha or Jezebel?” Ahab asked. Jehu listened, bristling, silently critical of Ahab’s inappropriately thoughtless response.
“Jezebel.” Ithobaal replied patiently, watching Ahab for any sign of disapproval. The boy would not object, Ithobaal thought privately.
“Well, she’ll get older, as my father said.” Ahab said, scratching his temple. “She was the green-eyed girl, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, indeed,” Badezor said quickly, proudly. If there was one thing about his little sister he admired, it was her emerald-colored eyes. They were in fact, the one thing that he associated with her. He did not know very much about his sister at all, but her eyes were universally considered remarkable, if not altogether beautiful by those who preferred lovely black eyes.
“Well, I liked her well enough,” Ahab admitted, trying to be generous. Badezor beamed and looked at his father. Ithobaal nodded, the edges of his mouth curling into a light smile.
“You don’t mind that the girl is a devout child of Astarte.” Ithobaal wondered.
“My father and I often worship at the temple of Ashtoreth, who I believe is the same lady as Astarte.” Ahab said, with growing eloquence. “Besides which, a woman’s personal faith is of no matter to me.”
“Splendid. Then it’s settled. We’ll arrange a formal betrothal between my Jezebel and your son Ahab?” Ithobaal directed at Omri.
“Yes. As soon as you like,” Omri returned.
“When shall she come of age?” Ahab wondered.
“Ah, yes,” Ithobaal paused, considering. “I see no reason why the girl could not marry in… three or four years’ time.”
“What do you say, Ahab?” Omri asked.
“I’ll marry her of course, father,” Ahab said judiciously, thinking how very fortunate he was. A daughter of Ithobaal! Why, he had never anticipated it. Yet all along his father had been arranging it, and the King of Tyre himself had thought so well of the alliance to offer his favorite elder daughter Elisha to him!
In truth, Ahab would have preferred to have the fair Elisha, though. She was beautiful as a flower, and already a woman. He could have married her within a week and dispensed with the long, disagreeable waiting necessary with betrothals. But in reflection, he perceived the motives of his father and realized how much better the alliance would fare if he agreed to wait to marry, and to marry Jezebel. Jezebel could then be taught Hebrew customs and language, and would be better prepared to take her role as the future queen of Israel. And, though not as beautiful as Elisha, he had thought she was a striking girl, who promised perhaps to be a lovely woman.
Yes, Ahab thought pleasantly, she would make a good wife to him, easily as interested in beauty as in proper wifely character. Besides, why should he be ill-disposed to waiting for a treasure well worth the anticipation, when he had so many concubines at his disposal?
And just imagine the prestige of marrying the daughter of the Tyrian king! Ahab had been young when his father became king. He had not been born a prince, and still disliked being reminded of that fact. But no one would ever question his prestige and worthiness again, not once he had married the daughter of Ithobaal! It was a far better fate than any Ahab could have imagined.
Along the table, Jehu quietly fingered the necklace under his linen collar. Jezebel… so the girl would be the future queen of Israel. Like any other woman, her fate had been arranged, and all that remained was informing her of it. Like any other woman, she had no power at all in the world, and would likely accept her fate with an appropriate measure of duty and gratitude. She did not really even deserve a moment of his thought. Her fate had been so neatly decided, and there would be plenty of time before she made her appearance in Israel to consider how best to deal with her.
But Jehu could not overlook the fact that this Tyrian girl would be his queen one day. The boon she had given him now seemed even more worth keeping, he realized, feeling the smooth pearl at its center while the others continued to nibble on sweetmeats. Perhaps he could induce her to add more favors to her gift in the future, he thought in calculation. Perhaps so much as to raise himself from the status of one undistinguished charioteer out of thirty in Omri’s army. Provided he humbly made a petition to Ahab through the queen. She was certain to have some influence over Ahab in the future, and more likely to recognize Jehu’s merit than Prince Ahab, who was not an observant or a subtle man.
Jehu never doubted for a moment in his consideration that Jezebel would naturally recognize his ability and help him. And he never even realized that with this line of reasoning, he had unwittingly acknowledged the significant role she was to play in his life.
Chapter Three
The sun went down in orange fire beyond the western sea. The moon rose, pure and white, and segmented clouds rolled in, making an eerie even pattern spread over the sky, leaving the bright moon bare. Insects were chirping all over the island. The night was cool, and fresh zephyr blew in from the sea.
Jezebel waited until the changing of guards in the palace, then climbed out of a second floor inside window onto a tree branch in the inner palace courtyard. So much for the mint and basil steam bath she had endured but an hour since! Haza would be furious if she saw her little charge now scrabbling about in muck and filth, but Haza was nowhere in sight.
So Jezebel scrambled down the branch like a monkey, scratching her legs and arms as she clasped tightly onto the tree and shimmied down the trunk. Dirty marks adhered to her legs when she dropped to the ground and picked her way carefully through the garden, then headed out the open palace door to the main port of the city of Tyre. Every once in a while, Jezebel stopped to look back as she ran along a minor avenue towards the harbor. Once again, it seemed she had escaped without being followed.
Finally, she reached the wide, rocky bay that swarmed with dockers loading and unloading the heaviest cargo on the fleet of ships there: giant, thick-boled cedar timbers, and copper, tin, and silver ores held in amphorae packed in sand in every vessel’s hold. The dockers worked under the light of a hundred slow-burning oil torches and the bright silver light of the moon, and by the light of a giant beacon that flared every night on the highest promonotory of Tyre in order to guide in merchant ships at night who had been delayed by high seas or winds.
Like many Phoencians, the dockers who also doubled as ships’ sailors, riggers, boatswains, and oarsmen, were accustomed to working past sunset when the situation called for it.
Jezebel could easily distinguish the Phoencian ships from the flat-bottomed Egyptian barges floating in the harbor. Phoenician ships were keeled, made of fir, and had a long cypress mast at midships, and they were swifter and more maneuverable than any other sea boat in the world. But some of them were also rather snub-nosed and heavy at the keel, with high bows and stern, sturdy and practical. All over the world, people rather derisively called them the “tubs”. It didn’t matter that the Phoenician ships came in three very different varieties. People at international ports only saw the tub-like cargo ships. Tubs they were, and tubs they would remain.
However, Jezebel had just run past the long, narrow, decidedly un-tublike war galleys, with their prows carved into arching horses’ heads, hull blackened with bitumen, small sail, and bronze-tipped ramming prow. (And seeing them, she was proud to remember that the Phoenicians had invented the battle ram). The warships, called “sea horses” by the locals, had been fitted with rows of oars, necessary for speed and maneuverability.
What finesse they showed! It seemed such a shame that many of the warships in harbor were seldom deployed far outside Tyre, except when rumor circulated that pirates were in the area. Some of the warships did routinely prowl the sea lanes, though there had been cutbacks in manning Tyre’s fleet recently, since the Sidonians and people of Joppa had not been able to match the per capita quota each Phoenician city had to provide to reap full benefits of inter-city trading alliances.
Few outsiders would have understood this Phoencian practice of shared responsibility among city-states who were, like the Greek city-states and the Assyrian cities of old, independent, territorial, patriotic, and quarrelsome. Few outsiders would likewise understand the kind of nonaggressive warfare these aggressively outfitted warships had been built for.
To those who came to Tyre, it seemed such a waste that the finest warships in all the world drifted untended in busy Phoenician harbors. The fact was that the Phoenicians preferred to negotiate with hostile nations like Assyria and Egypt, rather than to go to war directly. Neverthless, war ships were serious business, because pirates were a serious threat to Tyrian life.
At the end of the row of grounded warships, the slower merchant ships had been tied. These were short, wide, with strong decking, and had a large rectangular yard sail controlled by two ropes and unfurled by seven others called brails, which, amazingly enough, allowed the sails to be unfurled without being lowered. Add to this two frontal oars and an enormous cargo hold full of wares, olives, assorted goods, and the cargo ship was complete.
Most merchants sailed only by day even though Phoenician sailors were renowned for their ability to navigate by the stars. Since they preferred short day-trips, the sea captains had no need to sleep either themselves or a crew on board ship, preferring instead to reach a new port by evening, where they might go ashore and find lodgings for the night.
In Phoenicia, there were always houses for the merchant sailors clustered along the jetty. Many sailors lived there during the winter, when storms prevented them from leaving port. Summer was then, as a rule, the height of the commerical season, and Baaldad was thus quite forgiveably in a hurry to set sail.
Baaldad’s ship was at the far end of the harbor and nearly ready to depart. Several years back, he had acquired a mussel-boat in Byblos, the kind of ship preferred by pirates and those merchants who did not wish to be their victims. The mussel boats were something in between a war galley and the typical merchant boat, and while most mussel-boats had no sail, Baaldad had equipped his Princess Jezebel with a small sail. And as a result, she was fast.
“That’s it, now right round the dock,” Baaldad called, standing on the short wooden quay shouting orders to the workers he was overseeing from above. In his right hand, he held a giant lamp aloft in the night, which lent his face a bright orange glow. “That’s it, lads, just drop the timbers in the holding bay and let them float. And whatever you do, take care not to break them!”
Then Jezebel appeared on the quay without warning, panting for breath.
“Jezebel! What are you doing?” Baaldad thundered, swinging the lamp towards her. “You should get back to the palace!”
“You never came to say good-bye.” She insisted, planting her feet. Baaldad caught her expression and suppressed an urge to laugh.
“Get back inside, you headstrong Amazon, before I feed you to my leopards.”
“You sold them to my father,” she said, undaunted, then shot towards the decline and scrambled down to the holding bay where the dockers were working.
“What are they doing?” she asked, turning her head back so that Baaldad could hear her.
“Trying not to drop any of that wood on the quay.” Baaldad replied.
“And staying well clear of your temper if they do, huh, Baaldad?” she returned.
“While they can.” Baaldad laughed. “A broken bole is useless to me and expensive to replace.”
He stayed on the quay, watching as Jezebel wandered among the dockers loading and unloading the ships. They cast looks at her and smiled, and immediately began to display a great deal of conscientious care in their work.
This Jezebel, Baaldad thought with a mighty shake of his curly head. What a strange and rare and marvelous creature she was! He had known her all her life, yet with every visit he made to Tyre, he found his little friend transformed beyond his imagining. And he sighed, regretting that she should be as she was and the world waiting for her all that he knew it to be.
Haughty she might have been and had every reason to be, this royal daughter of Ithobaal the king, but she was not. Around others, such as the Hebrew king and his men, she showed at first a restrained, observant manner that was usually mistaken for shyness, but Baaldad knew how bold she became when pressed, put to the test, or once she became even slightly familiar with people.
Yes, by the gods, his little urchin had courage! he thought in admiration, watching her visually examining the dockers to her satisfaction, unafraid to follow closely in their shadows and observe them, though they were nearly twice her size. Hers was not a reckless, brash courage ill spent in folly, though, he reflected. It was an intelligent, steadfast courage, and more rare than empty bravado. The kind of courage within people that is usually overlooked or invisible until extreme necessity or difficulty arises. And then it shines brightly, this light of an inner will stronger than an ocean storm. By Baal’s horns, he hoped she would never change!
Baaldad spared but a moment in wishing he shared some of her nature, but what was the use of wishing for the moon? He had always admired that Jezebel was hard to control, unless she wanted to be, even after a thousand scoldings urging her to do as she was told. At the same time, she could be coaxed to obey by those who knew her, and accepted responsibility when she could see the purpose of it. In both ways, she reminded him of Ithobaal in the days when they were young and inseparable friends, nearly a lifetime ago in Byblos.
Baaldad had long thought that in Jezebel more than in any other of Ithobaal’s children, the nature of the father, who had single-handedly founded a dynasty, had been duplicated. Baaldad could only assume that Ithobaal had never seen that fact because he never troubled to look for it in his female offspring.
Jezebel was independent and self-motivated. She needed no encouragement to do what was expected and to attempt what was not expected or even encouraged. By all accounts, she was disciplined in her studies, and indeed, no child Baaldad had ever known had ever came to academic study so naturally, or enjoyed the challenge so much, as she.
Why, the child had already been to Egyptian Memphis, the Greek city Ephesus, and Syrian Damascus. She was adept in Hebrew, fluent in Egyptian, Greek, Lydian, and Akkadian, could read Egyptian hieroglyphics and Babylonian cuneiform as easily as Phoenician. She had received a true Phoenician education in mathematics, simple engineering, and Egyptian medicine, and had memorized half of the folk tales from here to Greece and Assyria. Baaldad had of course seen to the last part of her schooling himself.
“Thought and knowledge fortify the will.” He remembered saying once in a rare moment of insight. The child latched onto the comment and now lived by it, engaging him until he tired of discussion. The wretched girl never forgot a thing! Yet what a waste it was, he often thought, for the gods to have endowed a girl child with a rapid mind and a man’s intellect. At the same time, he was glad of it, for he was one of the few people who could influence her.
He hoped he had influenced her for the better. At least she hadn’t developed his tendency to procrastinate, for all of the time she had spent around him. The one thing Jezebel was not capable of was idleness; she was an energetic child, who wanted always something to do, yet in other cases where this would show a lack of attention, in hers it did not.
Once Jezebel found a worthy mission, task, or purpose to occupy her attentions, she could sit in focused concentration at it for hours, or until she had finished or mastered it to her satisfaction. Unfortunately, this tenacity was quite generally considered a failing in a girl child in most lands outside Phoenicia, especially where docile manners and the silence of a women were most praised.
Baaldad was not, however, blind to Jezebel’s faults. Jezebel perhaps lacked adequate stores of patience, and she was also most unfortunately naturally wilful and stubborn to a fault, refusing to give up on her ambitions and beliefs until all hope was lost. Only in her prayer to Astarte was she utterly calm and devout, showing a fierce loyalty and complete obedience that was actually more shocking to those who had experienced her wilder tendencies and untamable spirit first hand.
Yet underneath all of this precociousness, Jezebel was an extremely sensible creature, and on rare occasions Baaldad found her capable of profound sentiment. Oh, she could squeeze his heart in his chest with her attentions! What a delight to have her pure, whole-hearted affections! And he felt privileged to be the only person who knew her, who bothered to know her. She was not at all what a demeure princess was supposed to be, and everything that made a prince remarkable.
Nevertheless, in the eyes of the world, she was but one girl child of Ithobaal’s numerous offspring, and her greatest misfortune was that, for many years, Ithobaal had shown little interest in the character of any of his children. He knew them very little, including the eldest boy Badezor, though admittedly, Ithobaal knew Badezor best of all.
Was that why Jezebel had learned to be so independent? Baaldad often wondered. Was that why she followed him, a simple merchant, so closely? Because he paid her attention? Because when he was gone, she had to rely only on herself for amusement and as the sole judge of her own failings and achievements?
It was true that Jezebel was being reared in the shadows of well-respected elder sisters and brothers and demanding younger ones. It was no wonder that she remained unspoiled. She was too often overlooked in the middle. The child had nothing but her tutors and the priests who taught her to be a future priestess of Astarte, and they tolerated none of her insubordinate, frank observations. Early on, Jezebel had been made very conscious of her duty and her religious inheritance, and that she was not entirely Phoenician.
The mother of Jezebel had been Asheba, a Hittite woman of noble birth, the only foreign wife of Ithobaal at the time. And Jezebel was Ithobaal’s only child by that marriage, which had ended when Asheba died four years before. Jezebel knew that she alone of Ithobaal’s children looked the least Phoenician, and to defy her own insecurities about that fact, she became more diligent in her faith and adherance to Phoenician tradition, religion, and customs than any of Ithobaal’s other children. Through love, choice, and diligence, Jezebel became more devoutly Phoenician than any of her siblings.
Who had let her off tonight? Baaldad wondered idly as one of the sailors turned on the girl trailing him and swept her up in his arms. She giggled and laughed as he swung her in a circle and vainly threatened to drop her into the sea. Had it been sleepy-eyed Adar who let her out, or soft-hearted Ramman? Or had she planned her escape from the palace not to be missed at all? That would have been better. By no means was Jezebel a hoyden or a thoughtless, hard-hearted child, as the guards complained when they were scolded for allowing her to sneak outside the palace walls. Jezebel had a naturally thoughtful and giving nature—she had given her mother’s necklace to a stranger, the surly boy Jehu, that very evening! But her nature did not permit her to be saccharine or indiscriminate in her kindness. Baaldad still could not fathomn why she had given the necklace to the Hebrew youth.
He wouldn’t have done it; but Jezebel was unpredictable. Yet like himself, she loved both to listen to and to tell a good tale, Baaldad thought in approval, mentally comparing her to the perpetually bored Badezor, who had not even mustered an expression of mild interest when the Hebrew king spoke of his homeland and long journey to Tyre. Whereas the world could not hold enough mystery to exhaust Jezebel’s interest in it.
It truly was remarkable that she, a king’s daughter, was not unduly greedy, having neither suffered privation, which Baaldad knew bred a kind of desperate greed, nor had Jezebel been given too much in her childhood, like Elisha. Modest and pleasing though Elisha appeared, Elisha had been soundly spoiled and had that kind of oblivious but habitual and insatiable greed common among spoiled children. While to his little friend Jezebel, knowledge, experience, and adventure were greater riches than gold.
Baaldad knew that young Jezebel did not actively crave attention and received little enough at the palace, but when she found an appropriate audience, the extraordinary charm that was hers drew attention. The sailors looked forward to her visits and remembered them years later, and kept her secret life secret from the Tyrian court. Jezebel’s appeal was a kind that combined a sharpness of intellect with a character intriguingly bold and sensitive, sensible and wild at the same time which, added to the beginnings of great beauty, made her, even at so tender an age, a fascinating being to behold.
The Hebrew men had seen it, Baaldad remembered with pride. Their king had seen it and asked for Jezebel instead of Elisha to wed his son Ahab. He had not wanted Elisha the fair. Who, like all women with round, full faces, was generally considered among the greatest beauties in Phoenicia. It was therefore easy for Ithobaal to judge his elder daughter Elisha far more beautiful than Jezebel and to value Elisha above his other daughters. But Baaldad had seen the world, and to his mind, it was Jezebel, with her slightly oval, slightly heart-shaped face, who had the makings of a veritable Helen, that ancient Spartan beauty. But no, she made a far bolder Helen than the legendary Queen of Troy, he amended himself.
Helen had been a mortal form of Aphrodite, goddess of love, who was deliberately scheming and cruel to men. While Jezebel was less like that Greek goddess than the unattainable, lithe huntress Artemis and the wise war-goddess Athena put together. For that reason, she would appeal to high-minded men more than any idle or vain Aphrodite possibly could. More than Elisha possibly could.
But Baaldad suspected that Jezebel would one day have the face of Aphrodite, and because of that, she would be desired by one and all.
“Baaldad!” Jezebel called, running up the rocky incline towards the merchant. He blinked twice, concentrating upon the present again. “Yehal says that the men haven’t had a meal since noon.” She said, her brows joining in concern. “Shouldn’t we let them stop and rest? They can’t work all night without any dinner!”
Baaldad laughed. For all her precociousness, his Jezebel was still very much a child. And it gratified him to be able to offer her his own wisdom. “We’re on a schedule, my child. And the men will have sustenance once the work is finished. And plenty of time to say a prayer to old Zaphon for his protection before we set sail.”
“But they won’t be finished for hours!” Jezebel protested, growing bolder.
“Poor dear girl. You just can’t bear the injustice, eh? Not without your tender heart burning to cure it.” He laughed. “But remember, all men disagree about what is right and just. And all men must endure injustice. It is the way of the world.”
“I suppose,” she reluctantly agreed, observing Baaldad’s seriousness beneath his mirthful face. “It just seems that they would work harder if they had a decent meal first.”
“Or more likely, fall asleep on the job.” Baaldad laughed. “And shouldn’t you be asleep, girl?”
“You sound like Haza! I can’t sleep tonight, Baaldad. There’s so much going on, and I don’t want to miss it. I won’t see you for a while, will I?”
“No. But you’ll have plenty to occupy youself while I’m away.” He said, thinking of the marriage arrangement conluded between Ithobaal’s daughter and the son of the Hebrew king. Jezebel’s Hebrew was by far inferior to her Akkadian, Greek, and Egyptian, even though Baaldad had taught her Hebrew himself. As a result, she knew how to swear and the words to many a ribald song, and her accent was something horrifically rustic.
“I never have anything to do.” She complained, straight-faced. “Haza follows me around like my conscience.”
Baaldad laughed.
“How are you getting to Tarshish?” Jezebel asked. “You can’t get there unless you sail around Libya, can you?”
“We’ll take a waterway as far east as we can,” Baaldad said, forgetting the matter of Ahab. “There’s a land route where the waterway ends, and a convenient little merchant post where a man can hire camels, donkeys, and wagons for a small fortune.”
“And then you’re sailing to Greece,” she said.
“Who told you that?” Baaldad asked.
“Mileus. He said you’ve got a buyer in Macedonia who wants a large shipment of copper. But I saw them loading purple linen, timber, jewelry and housewares into your ship.”
“I’ll be going round the Greek coastline after we leave coastal Macedonia.” Baaldad admitted. “The Greeks are good customers.” Baaldad added. “They can’t have us bring them enough luxuries that they can’t fetch for themselves.”
“But don’t they have merchant ships, too?” Jezebel wondered, her brows drawing together lightly.
“Fishing ships, mostly. And pirates!” Baaldad replied with an astute air. “The mainland Greeks don’t understand commerce, child, though it’s true the men of colonial Ephesus and Miletus are getting better at it every day. Most of the Peloppanesians spend their time warring on each other. And they don’t understand that a merchant must have enough money to live on while he is sailing months far from home. That’s why they begrudge us the cost of shipping their luxuries to them.”
“Then why do they do business with us?” Jezebel didn’t understand.
“They want the goods, and are too busy fighting amongst themselves to aquire them elsewhere.”
“But Baaldad, why should they mistrust us? When everyone knows we sell things in large numbers and make little profit.” Jezebel argued. This was more injustice, and she didn’t like it a bit.
“You’ve been listening to your father, I see.” Baaldad remarked. “But not everyone knows about our trading practices. It’s true that our furnaces at Zarephath make enough clear glass to supply half of the homes from here to Etruria. But even if we sell the glass cheaply by Tyrian standards, bear in mind that the Greeks and Etrurians have little to barter for it, so it may be expensive to them.”
“Oh,” she said.
“Pottery and weapons they offer us in exchange,” Baaldad continued. “Though there is too much of these goods to make either very valuable. And remember that all of the Egyptians, Persians, Assyrians, Syrians, Greeks—everybody wants our Tyrian purple dye. And you know that ten thousand snails must die for enough of it just to stain a shawl! But there isn’t enough to go around. And the Greeks and Etrurians don’t want to pay what our purple linen costs.”
“But Baaldad, the dye is expensive because we can’t make enough of it. I heard it doesn’t fade, like other inferior dyes. Can’t the Greeks and Etrurians see that’s why it’s worth it? I’ve never heard that the Assyrians and Egyptians complain.”
“Because Egyptians will buy anything expensive!”
Baaldad smiled. “And the Assyrians don’t have to pay for anything. They demand tribute, and who can stop them? Whereas the Greeks know we won’t sell them our dye as cheaply as they would like, and so they like to believe we’re trying to cheat them.
Phoenician craftsmen are the finest in the world, dear girl, but as you noticed, we can’t produce either enough or too little for anyone’s satisfaction. So we do our business, and try not to involve ourselves with our customers too much. It’s better not to argue too much, when you’re trying to keep your customers happy.”
“How do you trade fairly with them, then?” Jezebel wondered. “The merchants in Uzu and Tyre haggle all day long.” She sighed, as though she found all of the haggling excrutiatingly boring.
Baaldad laughed. “When we trade with other cities, we don’t barter directly.”
“You don’t?”
“Don’t tell me, my girl, that you don’t know how we sailors trade with our customers by now?”
“I don’t get much of a chance to study other things besides religion these days,” she shrugged.
“Well, Jezebel,” Baaldad said, “when we pull our ships into a trading port, we lay our wares out on the beach for the people to look at, and then we go back to our ships.”
“You leave your wares in the open?” Jezebel was incredulous.
Baaldad nodded. “Our customers are honorable. They don’t want to offend us in case we don’t come back, and we don’t want to lose their business!”
“I see,” Jezebel said, in amazement.
“Once we’ve hightailed back to our ships, we light fires so’s they know it’s okay to come and have a look at what we have. They leave gold on the beach for us, and if we think it’s enough when we come to get it, we leave.” Baaldad sighed.
“And what if it isn’t?” Jezebel asked, wonderingly.
“Why then we wait for more gold.” Baaldad explained. “And no one touches either the gold or the goods until an agreement has been reached.”
Jezebel’s eyes visibly processed this information, and grew round and eager. “Oh, Baaldad, I wish I could go with you!” she cried. “And I’d bring along some of the snails we use and show the Greeks how hard it is to make our dye. They probably think we’re just hoarding it so that we can charge them any price we want.”
“Probably, but I don’t know for certain what they think,” Baaldad said. “We try not to stay longer than a day in any foreign port.”
“I think I would like to see all of Greece, not just Ephesus.” Jezebel said wistfully.
“Oh, I think you would like it,” Baaldad returned with enthusiasm. “The water in the Peloppanese is as blue as a you’ll ever see, and clearer than glass.”
“I’ve heard legends that the first Philistines came from the Greek islands, long ago.” Jezebel said. “And that some of the Philistines came to Phoenicia, too. Is it true, or just more stories like the tale of the one-eyed Cyclops?”
“Would you like to be a descendant of the lovely Helen, then?!” Baaldad teased. “Well, who knows? Perhaps you are. And as for the Philistines, well, every story has a grain of truth in it, Jezebel. But if they did come to Phoenicia, they have disappeared among us. The Philistines in the east are out enemies, and you’d do well to remember it and forget your romantic notions about kinship.”
“My mother’s people came from Lydia, in the lands that belonged to the Hittites.” Jezebel added, ignoring the warning. And of course she had heard tales that the blood of the Greek companions of Odysseus or Achilles ran in her father’s royal Phoenician veins. For it was believed by some in Sidon, Tyre, and Zarephath that the Greek wanderers she insisted on calling “Philistines” had intermarried with the royal houses of Canaan when they landed in Phoenicia, after years of wandering the seas. After the fall of Troy. Having never returned to the cities of rugged Hellas. “Ilium and Troy belonged to the Hittites.” Jezebel added.
“Yes, a long time ago.” Baaldad agreed. “You still have the heirlooms from your mother, don’t you?”
“I didn’t give any of those away today,” Jezebel insisted, perceiving Baaldad’s affront. “My mother’s pieces are in an ivory chest in the great hall. Oh, Baaldad, I wouldn’t give those away. I’m supposed to wear her jewelry on my wedding day.” Baaldad’s smile faded.
“The headdress belonged to an ancient queen, you know,” Jezebel said proudly, invading the silence. “One of my mother’s noble ancestors. I take it out sometimes and play queen with it whenever Haza isn’t there to scold me.”
“Well, just remember what fate the lovely Helen had before you go admiring yourself in a mirror.” Baaldad advised, but he said it only to tease the girl; for though she was pretty, she had never been raised to believe it herself.
“Tell that to Elisha,” she retorted.
“I wonder, do you remember your mother, Jezebel?” Baaldad asked, recalling the face of Asheba, Jezebel’s mother. Though a Hittite and a foreigner, Ithobaal’s third wife Asheba had been considered by some, including Baaldad, to be one of the most beautiful women in Phoenicia. Her skin had been far too pinkish pale to endure the sun, her flaxen hair like dark gold, her face too much of an oval, her cheekbones inordinately high.
But her eyes, how he remembered them! A bright clear blue like the Aegean Sea. And though Asheba had not been Phoenician, her daughter had more of the Phoenician coloring. It was a good thing that Jezebel was not cursed with the same degree of fairness of skin as her mother, skin that was doomed to burn and wither in the Near East.
In Jezebel, there was an Eastern beauty, Baaldad thought, a strength added to her mother’s elegance. He could not help but wonder if she would surpass her mother in beauty still.
“I can’t seem to picture her face, Baaldad, no matter how hard I try,” Jezebel answered solemnly. “But I know I loved her very much. I wanted to be noble and fair and good like her. But I don’t think I can be, no matter how I try. And my father says a princess of Tyre and Sidon must know how to rule. I remember him saying that Asheba was too kind to make a good ruler or to have strong sons.”
“It was cruel of him to say that where you could hear it.” Baaldad sighed. “But true enough, Jezebel. You can’t afford to be kind and rule a kingdom.”
Jezebel’s lip curled, then she shrugged.
“Have you been to Libya, Baaldad?” She wondered, changing the conversation. “I heard that our cities Cyrene, Uttica, and Hippo have been looted by Libyans and pirates.”
“Exaggerations, Jezebel. The cities are well defended on promontories and rocky bays, and the ships escaped plunder.” Baaldad replied, scratching his beard.
“Many people died, when the cities were sieged. Father said so.” Jezebel argued.
“Yes, but thankfully, we think to build our cities safely on a promontory, so most of the people survived. I believe the Libyans are now quite happy with trading arrangements, too much so to attack us again. But if I go to Libya, you can be sure I’ll pass the night near to my Princess Jezebel. There’s nothing shameful in knowing when to make a quick getaway.”
“I’d love to see Libya.” Jezebel sighed.
“What, and forsake your little brother Hamilcar? He’ll put up a fuss if you leave him. Besides, there are no women on my ship.”
“Well, I prefer the company of men.” Jezebel insisted. “My sisters all hate me, anyway.”
“Nonsense.” Baaldad said. “You like men better because they put up with your tricks.” He teased, not meaning it, but the remark did its damage.
She frowned and wrung her hands. “Baaldad… Baaldad, not you, too!” She said strongly, but her voice was low, unhappy.
For a long time afterward, they stood in silence, watching the dockers work. Then after a while, as the moon began to sink lower in the sky, she sat down on the edge of the quay and began to swing her legs idly.
“Baaldad, do you ever wonder about the world? Why it changes? How much there has been and how much has been forgotten? How long there has been wind and sun?”
“As long as there has been man, at least.” Baaldad replied uneasily.
“Imagine, Baaldad—long ago,” Jezebel said in enchanting, soft tones, “in the days of the heroes of the city of Hattu-sas and fair Helen of Troy in the Hittite lands, the sun shone as bright, the wind blew kindly and fierce; rain fell on the land as it does now. And it shall go on, Baaldad, long after you and I are both dead.”
“Well of course it shall!” He laughed.
“But doesn’t it amaze you to think on it?” She turned a small, serious face to him, and her eyes burned with contemplation. “The world will continue forever and ever, and no man will know what the end of the journey might be like.”
“A man’s journey is short,” Baaldad said, shaking his head in wonder at the silly, endearing things Jezebel sometimes said.
“What will it be like to die, then, Baaldad?” She asked suddenly.
“I... don’t know.” Baaldad admitted, sitting beside her. The dockers continued their work busily in any case, probably thinking ahead to a midnight feast. “But if I have my way, I’ll be buried at sea, in the arms of lady Astarte.” Baaldad sighed, glancing out across at the dark sea with its bright silver arcs under the light of the moon.
“After a life of adventure on the seas!” Jezebel cried unexpectedly. “Oh, Baaldad, it sounds wonderful.”
“I’m glad you think so.” He sighed again. “But you will have a fine sarcophagus of stone, basalt or marble, like your mother’s. And the priests of the palace will bring the ivory benches and lay them round you, so that when you wake in the arms of the earth, the force of your life will ensure the cycle of life for our people.”
“Will it, Baaldad?” She turned to him, listening intently.
“Well, they say a good queen brings peace for all her people if she is devout to Baal.” Baaldad smiled. “You will be long remembered, Jezebel, and I shall be lucky to find friends to bury me if I die in port away from Tyre.”
“Oh no, Baaldad, you won’t be forgotten. I shall remember you to the end of my days.” She said solemnly.
“Will you indeed?” he laughed, stroking his beard. “Imagine that. I feel rather honored by that.” He said. And he meant it.
Jezebel smiled impishly. “You know what, Baaldad?”
“What?”
“I think I would rather have your burial at sea.”
“But a princess must have a funeral before the people,” Baaldad insisted. Jezebel listened, and was silent a while.
“Then when I die,” she said gravely, “I wish to be laid on an ivory bed before the good people, so that wherever my spirit shall go, even to the gates of the subterranean world where Lord Mot rules the dead, I can still hear them singing songs of me far away in Tyre. And I wish to be buried outside the holy groves of the temple. You know it, don’t you? Where all of the hibiscus flowers grow?”
“Yes, I know. Your mother planted them there.”
“Did she? Imagine, I had forgotten that, Baaldad!
But if I can, I’ve decided that I want to be buried there, so that may flesh may nourish the flowers of the fields.”
“Thundering Jupiter! Where do you get such notions, Jezebel! Come, let us both stop all of this chatter about dying and funerals. I am away to sea tomorrow, you know. It seems an ill omen to talk about death on the night before I go.”
“All right then, what should we talk about to clear away the omen? Mighty kings in lands far away?”
“And many a treasure lying in wait for treasure-hunters.” He added, playing an old game with her. “And the fierce natives who guard it.”
“And monsters of the sea, and strange creatures who inhabit lonely islands. And wily heroes who make their escape under cover of night.”
Jezebel frowned. “What? No wily heroes for you, Jezebel?”
“No. Heroes make a queen wait for them while they go off to war… it is far better to marry a man of adventure who will let his wife go with him.” She said with a laugh. “That’s why I’d rather marry you.”
“Just listen to you! Why, your father would string you up by your feet if he heard this kind of talk. You can’t run off with me, my girl. Anyway, I wouldn’t cause enmity between myself and your father for any treasure on earth. I love you, child, but as if you were my own flesh and blood.”
“Yes, I suppose I’ll have a state marriage, won’t I?” Jezebel sighed. “After all, only peasants and merchants are fortunate enough to marry for love, and even then, it is never the wife who chooses her own husband. My father is wealthy. But I can’t buy love or faith; and though I am a princess, I can’t choose my own destiny.”
How well she had learned what was expected of her! He thought.
“You—know about what happened, then?” He asked. “What… happened?” she asked. “Baaldad? Tell me!” she cried in alarm, for an unexpected veneer of worry had crossed the merchant’s sanguine face.
“King Omri has asked to form a marriage alliance between his son Ahab and one of Ithobaal’s daughters to seal the trade alliance he made with your father.” Baaldad replied seriously.
“Elisha?” Jezebel’s brows drew together.
“No, Elisha is to be betrothed to Aharbaal Barca now, and your father has already said that he intends to give your sister Kalanit to the Assyrian king Ashurnasirpal II as part of our tribute.”
Jezebel sat in silence, dreadfully contemplating what it all meant.
“Omri took a liking to you when you came into the feasting hall.” Baaldad explained. “He requested your hand for his son and then spent a while in conference with young Ahab.”
“And?” her voice was a whisper.
“I’m afraid Ithobaal has already given his consent. You are to marry Ahab within four years.”
“Prince Ahab—of Israel?” she asked dumbly, feeling the blood run out of her face.
“You don’t want to marry him?”
“He’s so old!”
“He’s younger than me,” Baaldad smiled. “And you were ready to run off with me only a minute ago.”
“Isn’t Ahab already married?” Jezebel asked meekly.
“It is true he has many concubines,” Baaldad admitted, “but no legitimate sons from what I gather and no future queen. They say he was married to a woman named Alizah, and has one daughter, Athaliyah. Just a sprig of a girl. Can’t be more than three years old. But Alizah, his first wife, died in childbirth, and gave him no legitimate sons. He’s still young, and a man must have a legitimate son to perpetuate his house when he is gone.”
“Oh, Baaldad!” she cried in sudden and acute despair, flinging her slender arms around the burly man.
“There, there. It won’t do to cry your eyes out, my dear. There isn’t anything to be done. You’ll have to accept your lot in life, just like the rest of us.” But Baaldad spoke tenderly, and stoked the girl’s hair. “And just think of all that you could do in Israel.”
“What?” She stopped fretting a moment and drew back to look at him.
“There are many of our people, the Canaanites in Israel,” Baaldad explained, “who would not leave the lands that had been their fathers’ for a hundred generations, back when our brother Hebrews came and took away our lands and cities. But you can be their leader, and with Ahab, the leader of the Hebrews, you might heal a divided land, and unite a divided people.”
She looked at him in wonder, her wide eyes processing the significance of what he had told her.
“I can be of help to them?” she wondered aloud. She considered the idea a moment. “Thank you, Baaldad. I feel much better now.” She dried her eyes decisively, comtemplating the wetness on her fingertips in detachment.
“You do?”
“I am glad to know that the people of Israel need me.” She turned to him gravely, and bravely. “Ever so glad. I could go to Israel for their sake, yes for them. Be a true queen to the people, Hebrews and Canaanites together,” she said with a strange stiffness. Then, after a moment, “Do you know—is Ahab content to marry me?”
“He seemed quite pleased to ally himself with your father‘s house.”
“That isn’t the same thing, Baaldad.”
“I suspect that your prince will not lose any sleep grieving over the arrangement. He doesn’t seem to be the kind of man who worries too much about things.”
“Well, I hope he doesn’t snore. Hamilcar used to keep me awake every night until he turned five and got lumped in with our baby nephew Mattan.”
Baaldad laughed. “I think it will be some time before you find out the answer to that.”
“But I will, Baaldad, won’t I?” she turned to him. “The marriage will come to pass, unless I die first.”
“Don’t look at it that way.” Baaldad advised kindly.
But in the years to come, he realized that something inside her had died when at last this revelation sank in.
By the time Baaldad returned to Tyre again, Jezebel refused to see him at court, claiming that she suffered from illness on the one evening that he was in port and invited to dinner. And she never climbed down the garden trees again, never visited the harbor again with him, never spoke of stories and silliness, and lands beyond the Great Green Sea. By the time Baaldad returned to Tyre, Jezebel had begun to spend her days learning how to be the future Queen of Israel, and her nights praying to Astarte to give her the strength to endure what was to come.
The last time he saw her was a year before her depature for Israel. And she was beautiful, more beautiful than he had ever dreamed. But he never again saw her smile or laugh. Everything she was inside, she now saved for herself. She trusted no one, and loved no one. She was a sacrificial lamb being prepared for slaughter, and she knew it.
And the worst part was the waiting.
C 2001