Eleanor Jong - Jezebel

Beset huffed. ‘That, at least, is easily taken care of. A man’s pride is fragile, yes, but easily fooled.’ She went to the shrine and fiddled around in a box in the base, pulling out a small metal vial. ‘Chicken blood. It will pass for a broken maidenhead if you spill it when the time is right.’

‘How did you—’

But Beset put her finger quickly to her lips. A steady tread approached along the corridor. ‘I pray that Astarte and Kotharat will look after you. But you must have faith in them.’

Beset leaned forward and kissed her charge on the cheek, then ran through a curtain to the side of the room and into her own quarters beyond. Jezebel looked at the bed, then at the couch, trying to decide where Ahab might most want to sit down next to her, but her heart was beating so fast that she couldn’t hear herself think and could only wipe her damp palms on the delicate folds of her sleeping gown. Do I defy you, Kotharat, if I remember making love to Jehu when Ahab lies down on me?

But if the Goddess was listening she sent no sign, for in a moment the curtain was pushed back and Ahab entered. He was dressed as he had been at dinner, but the silvered gown now hung undone about his shoulders. He glanced around him, taking in the shrine, the well-stuffed Phoenician couches beneath the window, and the luxuriant blankets and sheets on the bed, all unpacked during the banquet.

‘Your maid has made it very comfortable for you. I’m glad. I want you to be happy here.’

‘Thank you, Your Highness,’ whispered Jezebel, far less sure of her voice now than she had been at the banquet.

Ahab smiled, the creases around his eyes catching deep shadows in the lamplight. ‘There’s no need to be so formal. That’s for my advisers and my nobles, not for my wives. Although you’ll have noticed that not everyone treats me with the same respect.’

‘I will do my best to honour you, and will defer to your judgement at all times.’

‘That isn’t what I’ve been told.’ Ahab sounded rather fierce and Jezebel couldn’t help but wrap her arms defensively across her. ‘I frighten you, I’m afraid. It isn’t surprising, but I’d hope you will soon learn what sort of man I really am.’

He crossed the room and stood very near to her, delicately fingering the long curls of hair that framed her face. He was a head or so taller than Jezebel, but he didn’t loom over her, only looked down rather sweetly at her.

‘My mother has already taken a great liking to you,’ said Ahab, his breath fragrant with wine.

‘She is a fine woman.’

‘You have no mother of your own, I understand.’

‘She died several years ago.’

‘I hope you will come to enjoy Raisa’s wisdom as I have, not to mention her comfort. For when our first son is born you’ll know not only my pride but the pride of my late father, for the future of the House of Omri will be assured.’

Jezebel couldn’t meet his eyes any longer.

Ahab slid his fingers beneath her hair to the nape of her neck, stroking the skin so lightly that his hand might have been made of feathers. Jezebel felt herself quiver with bewildering delight, and when he drew her to him and began to loosen the clasp of her gown, she found herself reaching for the neck of his tunic to unlace it. His kisses were soft and delicate at first, as if he were still afraid of frightening her, but she quickly found his passion beneath his restraint and she was already breathless with anticipation when he finally drew off her gown. She couldn’t help but notice that his body was not sculpted and strong like Jehu’s and he caught the way her eyes lingered on the scars on his arm and his shoulder as he lifted her up and laid her down on the bed.

‘This body has lived a little, I’m afraid,’ he murmured as he lay down beside her. ‘But the men who drew my blood did not live to see the wounds heal.’

In Jehu’s voice such words would have sounded terrifying, but Ahab’s was as soft and thoughtful as his manner with her. He touched her with such tenderness that she knew his body wished to find its echo in hers and when he entered her she felt not the fear nor the repulsion she had so dreaded, but such an intense and unexpected pleasure that she barely remembered to reach for the vial of blood in time. While his head was buried in her shoulder, she flicked off the stopper with her right hand and felt the slightly warm liquid trickle over her fingers. She wiped them on the sheets, but Ahab made no remark, if he even noticed.

Afterwards, they lay in silence for a long while, the whole Palace so quiet that Jezebel could hear each of Ahab’s breaths as they caressed her hair. She felt his eyelashes brush her forehead each time he blinked, and beneath her fingers his chest pulsed with the beat of his heart. There was such intimacy in the way he held her that she already felt his renewed stirrings of desire in herself. And yet it was infused with such guilt that made her cheeks burn, for it was Jehu’s arms she remembered being held by, his unshaven jaw that she recalled softly scratching her throat as he kissed her, the smell of his hair she missed so dreadfully.

She must have slept, for in the early hours, she woke to him stirring and leaving the bed. In the near darkness, he tied the robe at the waist, then leaned over the bed and kissed her once more.

‘You will find your wedding gift at the end of the orchard,’ he murmured.

When he was gone, Jezebel buried her face in her pillow and let the tears flow so they might flush out the poisonous turmoil in her heart and in her head.

In the light of dawn the Palace did seem more welcoming, its interlocking courtyards now easy to navigate. Guided by her curiosity, Jezebel rose early and wandered towards the walled gardens to the south. A pair of soldiers overtook her with watchful nods, the air was sweet with the smell of baking breads and honey cakes, and as she looked up at the colonnades and archways, she hoped it would not be impossible to make some sort of home for herself here.

It would never be Tyre, but what city was? And if Ahab was always as kind to her as the previous night, if he was as good a man as Esther said—

The nausea rose fast within Jezebel just as it had the previous morning, and she stumbled to the nearest tree, desperate not to be sick out here in full view of the Palace. But she couldn’t keep it down and she staggered against the trunk, retching over and over until her body stilled and her mouth tasted sour.

‘Perhaps you swallowed something you were not accustomed to,’ said a cool voice.

Is that dreadful man following me around? she wondered weakly, lifting her head to find Obadiah staring down at her, his eyes tracing her body as though he was imagining her first night with the King for himself.

‘Or perhaps you don’t find our food as palatable as the Judeans?’

An awful thought occurred to Jezebel. Could he know? Had he perhaps seen Jehu climb into her room in Tyre?

‘Your water isn’t as pure here,’ she forced herself to say as she straightened up and moved away from the tree, ‘nor the air you breathe.’

‘You haven’t spoiled the surprise, have you, Obadiah?’ Ahab came striding down the gentle slope towards them, the regal gown of the night before dispensed in favour of a plain white tunic and a wide leather belt.

‘Of course not, Your Highness. I would not dream of denying you that pleasure.’ Obadiah lowered his head and moved away, leaving the King and Jezebel alone.

‘Good morning,’ Jezebel bowed low.

Ahab lifted her chin and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to wait to see your wedding present, and I woke up knowing I couldn’t either.’ He smiled and took her hand and led them between low clipped hedges across the gardens. ‘Custom dictates I should wait until after the wedding ceremony, but I would much rather show you now without any of the pomp and nonsense that will be expected.’