скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Jehu!’
He shook his head and strode from the room. Jezebel watched the curtains sway in his wake, felt the last sweet draught of almond-scented air brush her face, then she sank sobbing to her knees.
Chapter Seven
‘Hail, Hail!’ cried the crowd at the head of the causeway. ‘All Hail to Jezebel!’
Jezebel glanced at Beset, who stood beside her in the Palace courtyard. But the young maid was staring at the huge gathering of Tyrians who lined the path linking the promontory to the mainland, her eyes wide with her own nervousness and anticipation of her future responsibilities at Jezebel’s side. Beyond Beset stood Daniel with his horse, the beast saddled up with his medicinal chests and rolls of clothes and blankets. Her friend smiled at her and puffed out his cheeks – there weren’t really words for occasions like this.
Barely a month had passed since Jehu and the Judeans departed the city, but it seemed like longer. Everything had changed, and Jezebel felt as though she’d been snatched up on a whirlwind of preparations which would carry her away from Tyre to a new and strange life.
Before the retinue stood an enclave of priests, all dressed in the same long linen robes, led by Daniel’s uncle, Amos. He held aloft a great wreath of sacred branches which he would shortly break apart and spread on the first few steps of the journey. The offering to the Great God El was to ensure safe passage south to Samaria.
Finally, ahead of Amos in the arch of the Palace gateway stood Ithbaal, with the wine bowl of Kotharat, the Goddess of marriage. The King raised the bowl high, then he turned to face Jezebel and summoned her forward.
‘Go in safety, go in peace, go in contentment,’ he intoned. ‘May your journey through life be rich and fertile, and may it please the great pantheon of our Gods.’ He drank from the bowl then handed it to Jezebel. It sat heavily in her palms, steadying their tremor. She looked uncertainly at him, then lifted the bowl and sipped from it, the wine sweet in her dry mouth.
He leaned forward to take the bowl from her. ‘I will miss you,’ he murmured softly. ‘But you will become a great emissary for our kingdom. And every one of our people gathered here to see you go believes that too.’
Jezebel looked around her at the Palace officials, at Rebecca sniffing proudly into her apron, at the fishermen, the traders, the priests and all the families of Tyre clustered together, each of them perhaps holding their breath just as she did, uncertain of the future. She swallowed hard, and gave the bowl back to her father, then straightened herself as she knew she must, her bead-edged scarf rippling over her shoulders, and looked out across the causeway towards the land.
‘To Samaria.’
It was a long walk down through the crowds that lined the road, their cheers rolling around her like the waves on the beach. But she knew as she crossed the causeway that those same crowds would ebb away quickly enough too. Her city would forget her. In the days since Jehu had left, she’d prayed to forget him too, just to escape the pain of the memories. The almond sweetness was fading from the cushion on which he had lain, now tucked safely into the carriage behind her, but his image was stubborn and resolute in her mind. The love which had made her feel afloat above the petty concerns of trade and borders and politics now lodged deep in her stomach like nausea on a rolling sea. She doubted it would ever leave.
As soon as she reached the shore, Jezebel paused, waiting for the retinue to swell up around her and regroup for the journey, first along the coast and then inland. Priests, diplomats and officials clustered into their groups, all watching her intently. But it was not until the stable boys arrived that Jezebel spoke, tilting up her chin as she strode through the crowd.
‘I will ride from here.’
‘Your Highness?’ said Philosir, the senior official sent by Ithbaal to Israel. Beneath his headdress, his forehead was lined with all the wisdom of the kingdom, and those sharp blue eyes that had seen so much observed her shrewdly. ‘Your carriage would be more comfortable.’
‘I want to ride.’
‘It is very warm this morning,’ said Beset, ‘and we have a long slow journey ahead of us all day. You’ll want to look your best when we arrive tomorrow.’
‘I won’t hide away among this delegation,’ said Jezebel. She paused, trying to still the fear in her voice. ‘It is my place to lead it as any Phoenician princess should.’
Philosir and Beset exchanged the briefest of looks, then Philosir clapped his hands. A horse was brought forward with a mounting block, and Philosir offered his hand to Jezebel to mount.
‘I understand you very well,’ said Jezebel as she took it, settling herself side-saddle in all her finery on the horse. ‘But I must begin as I mean to go on.’ However that might turn out to be, she thought to herself.
Philosir bowed his head, his grey hair curling at his shoulders, then he released the harness so that Jezebel could trot out of the group. She saw Daniel urge his horse forward to join her, but she shook her head and broke into a canter to put space between her and the group. Too far and they would canter to catch up with her. But a small gap should allow her the solitude she craved.
It had been a small argument with Philosir this time, but she knew that would surely be the last of such victories. From now on, she must do as others wanted, from the diplomatic orders rolled up in parchment in Philosir’s chest, to the rituals of Amos and the priests, and not least the wishes of her husband-to-be. Rebecca had explained to Jezebel and Beset that Ahab wanted her as his second wife to give him a son, as those his first wife had provided had all died shortly after birth, leaving him with just one daughter. As she thought of this, Jezebel couldn’t help but remember Jehu on the roof of the Palace talking of first and second wives, the shame and impotence of being born a strong man to the wrong woman. She shivered a little and cast a brief look at Tyre, now receding against the shimmering blue of the horizon, its people attending to their own business again, their princess no doubt already a fading memory. Then she rode on, aware of the dull murmur of the retinue dragging behind her, trying to picture a bed she had never slept in, a lover she had never seen, and a future she could barely imagine. While miles ahead Jehu was probably forgetting his loneliness in the soft arms of some other girl.
The mountains had been a soft smudge on the horizon for a while, like dirty clouds belched by Shapash from her yellow sun. The land had none of the sparkling purity of the sea, and Jezebel had felt suddenly frightened when she glanced over her shoulder and realised she could no longer see the coast at all. The light was draining quickly across the dusty foothills around them as Daniel rode up beside her.
‘We are making camp for tonight because there is a spring just over there and soon it will be too dark to ride safely any further. Shall I bring some water to wash your face and hands?’
Jezebel looked past Daniel towards the well. It was a ramshackle wooden construction, dilapidated from use and with none of the elegant mosaics of shells that celebrated the carefully pumped water on Tyre. Some distance away were the huts and tents of a small Israelite settlement, as brown as the land around. But she knew appearances were deceiving. The land here concealed vast underground reserves of water.
‘Let’s get you off that horse. You should eat something and rest.’
Jezebel shivered. ‘I’m not hungry.’ She rubbed her belly. ‘I feel sick with nerves.’
Daniel smiled gently. ‘I’m not surprised. But some food and wine will settle you down and help you sleep. Even you have never spent a whole day in the saddle.’
Jezebel laughed ruefully and guided the horse to the rapidly assembling encampment. Tents were being erected and wood piled up for a fire, and she could hear the rhythmic evening chants of the priests. The land grew dark even as she looked at it, and she suddenly felt weary. As she dismounted she couldn’t even work out which way was home, and she stood alone on the edge of the busy group, watching them prepare everything for her just as she would expect it, so they might all pretend that this was still a little piece of Phoenicia. But there was nothing familiar in all this industry, not the nervous murmurings of her staff nor even in Daniel’s soft plucking of his nevel, tuning the twelve strings so that he might play soothing songs of home. Even the air smelled strange and dry, and Jezebel rocked back her head to breathe in from the sky and not the land. And there, far above her, sparkled Baal’s star – Ayish, as Jehu had called it – and there, as she traced the patterns in the sky with her finger, Kesil, his twinkling archer.
Where are you, my love? she wondered. Do you look towards Tyre as I do, and remember?
Chapter Eight
The next morning it was not the unfamiliar light that woke Jezebel, nor the strange soft breaths of the horses against the walls of her tent, but the awful heat in her skin and the lurch of sickness in her stomach.
‘What is it?’ said Beset, sitting upright in her bed on the floor beside her.
Jezebel clamped her hand over her mouth, her tongue bitter with bile. Beset emptied a water bowl just in time and held her as the sickness heaved through her, drawing her hair back from her face and resting cool damp cloths against her neck and forehead.
‘You rode too long in the sun yesterday,’ the maid said. ‘I’m calling for Daniel.’
Jezebel didn’t have the strength to disagree, and soon she lay still while Daniel gently felt her face and then carefully touched the skin around her belly.
‘Was it the food? The water in that well might not be good so far inland,’ suggested Beset.
‘No one else is sick,’ said Daniel standing up from where he had knelt beside the couch. But he was frowning, and he was slow to soak the cloth from Jezebel’s forehead in the bowl of cold water. ‘How long have you been feeling like this?’
‘Just today,’ she replied weakly.
‘But you said you felt sick last night.’
‘I remember.’
‘Have you woken like this on any other morning recently?’
‘Daniel?’ said Beset in a warning tone. Jezebel shivered, not from feeling so awful but from the strange atmosphere that was building in the tent.
Daniel bowed his head but his expression was confused and he frowned over hidden thoughts Jezebel couldn’t decipher. ‘What is wrong with me?’ said Jezebel, suddenly afraid.
Beset took Jezebel’s hands in hers and gestured to Daniel with a jerk of her head that the two young women should be left alone. He glanced at Jezebel, his face creased with worry, then he slipped out of the tent.
‘Am I going to die?’ whimpered Jezebel.
‘No, no. Well …’
‘What is it?’ Jezebel felt sick once again, but purely from fear. She tried to sit up on the couch and Beset piled cushions behind her, never once letting go of her hand. Then the young maid knelt down on the ground beside Jezebel, looking up at her mistress. Jezebel was comforted by the shadow of Rebecca’s sensible comfort in her daughter’s face, but Beset suddenly looked so grown up that Jezebel felt her eyes sting with tears at how their worlds were surely changing.
Beset, thinking her mistress understood, nodded with relief. ‘That’s right. You are with child.’
Jezebel shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I thought you had guessed for yourself.’ Beset chewed her lip with worry. ‘Those nights of intimacy you shared with Jehu. He has left his seed in you and you are now carrying his child. The early sickness is very common, it does pass, but in eight months or less you will give birth to his child.’
Jezebel grabbed Beset’s hand, gripping it hard as she tried to get up off the couch, but her head was spinning. ‘But I’m not yet married to Ahab. When I give him a child that isn’t his own he will …’ Panic surged through her. He would certainly cast her out, and she’d be lucky to escape with only exile. Death would be swift for the child. And where could she go then? Her father’s anger would be implacable, the shameful stain on the kingdom too great. She wouldn’t be welcome in Tyre, the soiled princess, and foreign kingdoms would view her as nothing but a pariah. She could only shake as if Baal Hadad’s godly roar shuddered through the skies in anger at her foolishness. ‘Oh, dear Gods, what have I done?’ she wailed.
‘Shh,’ murmured Beset, sliding her hand around Jezebel’s shoulders. ‘Daniel?’
The young physician returned to the tent, his face taut and pale in the shadows. He looked almost as wretched as Jezebel felt but she could no longer bear to look at him. When Beset stood up to confer, she curled into a ball, drawing the covers over her head. She didn’t want to hear their fears for her future. She’d known, she supposed, that it could have ended like this, but in those blissful nights it hadn’t mattered. Jehu was going to be her husband and any children would be legitimate. It would have seemed perverse to curtail their passion, churlish even. Now those desires looked very reckless indeed.
Beset tugged the covers aside, leaned again over the bed, her long black hair dangling against Jezebel’s cheek. ‘All is not lost,’ she said. ‘Daniel can make you a special drink that will end your worries.’
‘But I’ve never concocted such a thing before.’ Jezebel could hear the desperate concern in Daniel’s voice and she pressed her face further into the pillow.
‘If you take the life of the child then you are saving Jezebel’s in return,’ Beset replied.
‘I trained as a physician to save all lives, even the ones who haven’t yet known this world.’
‘But you do know how to make the drink,’ said Beset.
‘It goes against everything I believe—’
‘But you believe in Jezebel. Surely you believe in the role she plays for our kingdom?’
Daniel sighed and after a moment Jezebel heard the creak of the lid as he opened his small medicine chest, and with these strangely comforting noises she sat up on the bed and faced him. She lifted her eyes to look at his and saw not judgement, only a sad understanding.
‘I’m so ashamed,’ she whispered. He nodded, silently drawing together powders and dried leaves and mixing them with wine. Then he came to the bed and offered her the bowl.
‘This will purge the child. It will make you sick and you will bleed. You should ride in the carriage and not on the horse today while you take this treatment. But perhaps that is for the best.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘For you cannot ride into Samaria as though you are going to conquer it.’
Jezebel took the drink from him. ‘I don’t know how to thank you—’
Daniel cut her off with a wave of his hand. ‘No one need ever know.’ He closed his chest, picked it up off the floor and left.
Jezebel watched him go, then she glanced wretchedly at Beset. ‘He’s angry with me.’
‘He’s afraid,’ said Beset.
Jezebel looked down at the bowl, the sweet red liquid cloudy and bitter with the poison that would tear Jehu’s baby from her. She thought of the sky beyond the roof of the tent from which last night Kesil the archer had looked down on her. Soon the stars would be the only reminder she had left of the nights she had shared with Jehu. Slowly she lifted the bowl to her lips but the smell made her wince and she retched, the bowl shaking in her hand.
‘Probably best just to drink it in one go,’ said Beset. ‘That’s what my mother always told us to do with medicine when we were little, do you remember?’
Jezebel nodded. ‘Then could you bring me more wine? This smells so awful that I’ll need something to wash it down.’
‘I’ll come straight back.’ Beset disappeared through the tent flaps, and Jezebel let the bowl sink into her lap. Her hand felt beneath the covers for her stomach. There was nothing there yet, no bump, no sign of the baby’s presence except in the sickness in her throat. But she knew in that moment that for all the good intentions of Daniel and Beset, for all the dreadful fear of what would happen if Ahab found out, she could no more end the life of the child than she could put a stop to her longing for Jehu.
She snatched up the bowl and poured the liquid away in the corner of the tent out of sight. Then she curled up on the couch and cried.
Chapter Nine
‘This city was built to keep strangers out,’ murmured Jezebel under her breath.
The carriage lurched and she clung on to Beset, not daring to look out at how the slopes fell steeply away. They had been travelling for much of the day across the undulating foothills but the city of Samaria now towered above them on a great flattened mountain as if all the Gods had chosen this as their table round which to sit and feast. The city was barely visible from down here, though as the long Phoenician entourage twisted and turned its way up the steep sides of the mountain, Jezebel glimpsed the dull yellow corners of buildings and shallow reeded roofs. The sun was already low in the sky and the air grew colder with every step of the horses’ hooves.
Finally the carriage slowed and Jezebel peered out at the looming city walls, a last defence against any determined invader who had made it this far. She could hear Amos and Philosir up ahead presenting their credentials to the gatekeepers, and a moment later a soldier appeared at the carriage window, his face creased from months of defending this harsh landscape, his hair long and greasy.
‘So you’re the Phoenician bride?’
Are you expecting any others? she wondered. She chose to ignore the word he’d used for ‘bride’. Rather than kingly consort, its meaning hinted at a brood-mare paired with a stallion. ‘I’m Jezebel, Princess of Tyre,’ she answered.
He stared at her as one might a strange sea creature beached on the shore. They’d paused before the ascent for her to assume her best purple travelling cape and the modest cap of the betrothed bride.
A shout went up at the head of the procession and with a great creak the gates were opened and a bugler played a single solemn note that sounded more like a peal of bad tidings than a welcome. The carriage lumbered forward once more and the procession dragged into the city. But there was none of the warmth and joy of the departure from Tyre, none of the cheering or the wash of the sea. Instead the city was flat with the clop of hooves on stone as they travelled among the walls within walls, deep into the heart of the city. Jezebel caught a glimpse of what was surely the King’s Palace, a huge stone edifice that rose up in the middle of the city, its sheer walls pockmarked with windows and wooden shutters. The Israelites who passed the carriage met them with cold curiosity, drifting begrudgingly apart to let them pass.
It wasn’t quite the warm welcome Jezebel had expected. She felt Beset’s hand link with her own beneath the cape.
The carriage jolted to a halt and the doors were snatched open. A pair of soldiers clad in leather armour stood on each side. Neither offered a hand.
Jezebel climbed out of the carriage as elegantly as she could, shaking out the heavy travelling cape over her dress. The procession had stopped at another closed gateway and Jezebel realised they were outside the Palace, for the great walls soared above her, pale against the dusk sky. In one of the high windows she thought she saw a woman looking out across the city, but when she looked again the figure was gone. Her gaze fell to the stony street beneath her feet and she shivered. Philosir appeared at her side, Amos behind him, the priest’s normally tranquil demeanour tainted with worry.
‘I apologise, Your Highness,’ said Philosir rather more loudly than was his usual custom. ‘I do not know why we are being kept here outside the Palace gates like tradesmen.’
Because it is a trade, thought Jezebel. And someone wants me to remember that.
After a short wait the gates yawned open and through them emerged Obadiah, the Israelite envoy who had arrived in Tyre the day after the Judeans. He wore a black robe over his tunic, embroidered at the edges in pale thread, but his head was bare and he looked rather scruffy next to Philosir. He had also dispensed with the permanently obsequious smile he had worn in Tyre and he looked humourlessly down his long narrow nose at Jezebel. She wondered fleetingly if her father had been deceived by the courtship of negotiation, like a maid duped at market by a flirtatious farmer. Nonetheless she took a deep breath and bowed while Philosir offered his hands to the other official in the traditional Phoenician greeting.
But Obadiah ignored them both, instead asking his soldiers, ‘Why have you brought them here? Escort them to the rear gate.’
Philosir asked sharply, ‘Is there to be no formal welcome?’
Obadiah raised his brows. ‘Before the wedding?’
‘This is a meeting of kingdoms, not just a marriage of convenience.’
Obadiah gave a dry laugh. ‘There will be a dinner this evening.’
‘Before or after the wedding?’ asked Beset. ‘Should Her Highness wear the wedding gown or—’
Obadiah waved a hand. ‘I will have someone see the girl to her chambers. The rest of you should follow the walls around to the far side.’ And then he strode off into the Palace compound without a backward glance.
Jezebel glanced at Philosir but the diplomat was himself exchanging angry whispers with Amos. So she took a deep breath and walked through the Palace gate after Obadiah, lifting her cape so that it would not drag in the dirt. She could feel every eye on her. Stopping, she turned around.
‘Well?’ she said in a voice so loud and clear it surely didn’t belong to the girl who was shaking so much inside she could hardly breathe. ‘Which of you will take me to my chambers?’
Her momentary courage was lost in a rattle of horses’ hooves and a spray of dust as a rider cantered round the Phoenician party and into the courtyard. The soldiers suddenly stood to attention and rapped their staffs into the ground, one of them dashing forward to take the horse’s harness as the rider dismounted.
‘From the look of you, I assume you are Ithbaal’s daughter,’ said the rider, a tall lean figure in a dirt-streaked tunic and leather jerkin. Greying hair fell in a tangle around his shoulders. He must have been twice Jehu’s age, at least. His nose was narrow and his eyes small and very dark as they watched her. A deep scar ran beneath his mouth and along his jawline. ‘They told me you were beautiful, although I would suggest that striking is a more accurate description.’
At least my face isn’t scarred, and my clothes are not filthy.
