Eleanor Jong - Jezebel

She passed beneath the grand archway to the dining hall. Over the silence that followed the pronouncement of her name, she heard dozens of indistinct whispers. There was not another woman to be seen among the diners, and their garb was so drab she felt their disrespect in all their dullness. Even Ahab, sitting imperiously on a raised platform at the head of the table, looked plain in a long grey robe that sparkled with silver thread. He rose slowly to greet her, perhaps as overwhelmed as she was by the trophy Obadiah had won for him in the negotiations.

‘Please, sit with me, Jezebel.’

At the moment she sat down on the smaller throne beside his, three Israelite priests stood from their couches and left the room. Ahab reddened.

On the opposite side of the table Amos, who was standing in dutiful expectation of his princess, turned towards Obadiah, who sat on Ahab’s other side. ‘You were never shown such contempt in Tyre,’ he said.

‘Priests here don’t bow to the King,’ said Obadiah, ‘and certainly not to a wife.’

‘Especially one so gaudy,’ said the other remaining Israelite priest. ‘They must grow gold in Tyre, from the look of her. If that is any indication, perhaps the Phoenician lands will be more fertile to farm than Judah’s,’ he added.

So her suspicions and Raisa’s aborted warnings were confirmed. Jezebel sensed Ahab tense beside her. He was staring at her, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and his eyes bright with rage, their chestnut brown so vivid against his hair and gown. She felt sorry for him, and guilty for being so elaborately dressed, as though the effusion of all her riches had somehow made everything so much worse. But why hadn’t he challenged his priests? In spite of all her own awkwardness she held his gaze in hers and smiled at him. As he studied her, probing deep beneath the mask of betrothal, she thought she saw a half-smile pass his lips in response, though when he spoke his voice was brittle with suppressed fury.

‘Would you like wine?’ asked Ahab.

Philosir had told her that women did not normally drink wine with the men in Israel and indeed there was a slight pause in the chatter around the table when Jezebel nodded and took the drinking bowl. And then she realised that this was in itself a small act of defiance by Ahab, and she sipped from it.

‘This vintage comes from my vineyard at Jezreel, a city north-east of here,’ said a nobleman sitting between the priests and Obadiah. He was a round fellow with a cheerful face, rather less lean than the other Israelites who still gawped at Jezebel, and his hair was curly, and as grey as Ahab’s.

‘Ever the merchant, Naboth,’ said Ahab dryly.

‘We grow most of our vines there for the valley is fed well by the river that runs through it.’

‘Is it not too cold?’ asked Philosir, his voice strained with enforced politeness.

‘The winds are weak so far inland,’ said Naboth. ‘The Winter Palace is there too.’

Jezebel had heard already of the city of Jezreel several times. During the coldest part of the year, the royal court left Samaria and travelled inland for the warmer climate. Although most of what she’d heard of the fortified city was grim.

‘The wine is very nice,’ she said.

Naboth gulped from his bowl. ‘I told you they would like it, Obadiah.’

‘You also told me there were mermaids in the sea,’ said Obadiah. ‘But I didn’t see one.’

‘There are many extraordinary riches in the Great Sea,’ said Philosir, ‘and it is on such discoveries that we have built our prosperity, just as you have built yours from the land.’

‘Israel isn’t as it once was,’ said Ahab, passing his own gold plate piled high with food to Jezebel. The gesture touched her, subtle as it was.

‘Our land is drying out,’ he continued, ‘and the crops didn’t flourish this year. What you see here is the best of it, and I’m not ashamed to ask our Phoenician neighbours to help us survive.’ He turned to Philosir. ‘We need engineers to help us extract the water from our springs if we are to survive another summer.’

‘The land isn’t drying out,’ said the first of the priests, ‘but our farmers have lost their faith that Yahweh will provide. And is it any wonder?’

‘When you understand the intellect of our Phoenician neighbours as well as you claim to understand the souls of our people, then perhaps I will concede your point,’ said Ahab. ‘But for now even you must admit that we cannot provide all that we need by way of cloth or metal ores, not to mention knowledge that can help our people live comfortable lives.’

Jezebel picked up a flatbread rolled with cheeses and olives, and chewed tentatively at the corner. With all the butterflies in her stomach she hadn’t realised that she was hungry and she’d eaten very little since being sick this morning. The food wasn’t bad at all, though rather blander than she was used to.

‘His Highness is right,’ said Naboth, the nobleman. ‘We need to expand our horizons if we are to make the most of what land we have.

‘When the springs north of Samaria are properly dug out,’ Naboth continued to Philosir, ‘I will be able to plant a new vineyard. There is an excellent curve in the foothills which faces full south and will catch the sun all day.’

‘Perhaps it would be better to plant on a west-facing slope,’ said Jezebel absent-mindedly, picking up a fig. ‘If the vines have too much sun they will be sweet enough, but without cool autumn mornings the wine will lack acidity, and won’t have sufficient finesse.’

Her mouth turned dry and the fig hung from her fingers. Without turning her head at all she knew every Israelite in the room was staring at her, some of them with expressions of utter disdain, while her own people stared at their plates. Jezebel felt her face burn with shame beneath the mask of white powder and she lowered the fig to the plate. And then, unexpectedly, Ahab roared with laughter from beside her.

‘That is the best advice you have ever been given, Naboth,’ he said, ‘and I suggest you take it.’

Jezebel tried to sit still on the couch in her room as Beset unpinned the long tresses of her hair from the headdress, but she was far too anxious to maintain any repose, and she simply grabbed the last few pins and yanked them out herself.

‘You are bound to be nervous,’ murmured Beset as she lifted the headdress off Jezebel’s head and laid it down in its cedarwood box. ‘The first night with your husband is an important occasion and will set the tone for your marriage.’

Jezebel wriggled off the couch and went to the window, her hand resting on her abdomen. ‘It’s not that.’

‘You did the right thing,’ muttered Beset, stroking her arm.

Jezebel sighed and couldn’t look into Beset’s eyes. Instead she turned up into the dark sky, searching for Kesil’s constellation. But the night was shrouded with thin cloud and she saw nothing to comfort her.

‘Jezebel?’ said Beset. ‘You did drink the purge, didn’t you?’

She shook her head a fraction. ‘I couldn’t kill the child,’ she whispered. ‘It was a betrayal of all that Jehu and I meant to each other.’

‘But what about the King?’ hissed Beset. ‘He isn’t a fool. When the child is born before nine months are over, he will know anyway.’

Jezebel sat down on the deep window ledge, looking out to the north-west, towards Tyre. ‘Perhaps I will be lucky and he will only send me home in disgrace.’

‘Amos told me you received a very hostile welcome at the banquet. When the priests find out about the baby—’

‘Then they will certainly do worse than send me home.’ Jezebel shivered and moved away from the window, turning to the shrine to Astarte that Beset had already set in the corner of the room. ‘The best I can do is to be honest with Ahab. Besides, he will know after tonight that he isn’t my first lover.’