reflected a painted image. What the people had brought forth from their imaginations had been horror varnished to look like worship. Thousands upon thousands of infants had died in the name of pleasure and freedom.
So lost was he in thought as he wandered through the makeshift camp to find water, that he was startled to feel a strong hand grab him by the arm and pull him behind a covered chariot.
Mirra glared at him. “You should have told me who you were! I did not appreciate an important servant knowing something I did not.”
Obadiah shrugged in reply. He was speechless, and his nerves melted his tongue and his knees at the same time. It was a wonder he could even stand when so close to her.
“You are Omri’s administrator.”
“I am.” He wetted his lips at once to keep them from sealing together. His mouth was drying out.
“Then get me out of my duties. I don’t want to serve the princess.”
“Your father made that arrangement himself.” He did not think it was wise for a young girl to question her father. Especially when her father had a temper and a fast hand.
“My father wants me to find a husband. He thinks that if I am at court, I’ll meet someone more suitable than a soldier. And soldiers are the only men in Samaria.”
That wounded Obadiah. He cleared his throat.
“Soldiers can make good husbands. Though they are not royalty, or elders, I have read many stories of valor …” he began. He sounded stupid even to his own ears. She cut him off with a look of disdain.
“Since you keep the records, write this down: I would rather die than ever have a soldier touch me. But neither do I want my father to decide my future. I want freedom, Obadiah. I don’t care how I get it, but I want freedom.”
She released him and stormed off. He stood still for several minutes as the blood returned to the spot where she had gripped on his arm. Lifting his sleeve as the sun set in bright orange and gold, he saw the shadows under his skin. He would have a bruise there by morning. Bruises lasted longer than kisses. He liked that thought and went back to his work.
The camp was busy with servants doing chores: waste pots being emptied far from the path, fires begun for dinner. He was glad to see the Phoenician servants already watering their animals. It meant they had found water. Their scouts were excellent at it, Obadiah knew, often scenting it in the air before ever seeing it. Obadiah relaxed a little. If all the animals were cared for, he had less to worry about, and the foreign servants needed no prompting to do what needed to be done. They might not add the burdens he feared. It was the priests who concerned him.
Obadiah knew his only moment to speak to Ahab would be as Ahab washed. After checking to be sure that Ahab’s personal cooks were at work to bring up a good fire and prepare his evening meal, Obadiah was free to look for Ahab, whom he found walking among the caravan, asking where the princess was, pausing to inspect the goods being carried into the capital city. Obadiah fell in beside him, knowing he would have to write every single item in the records. For Ahab, this inspection was a show. For Obadiah, it was a month’s work.
But he couldn’t think of himself or the work. He had to warn Ahab that Elijah had been right but had not told them everything. Obadiah hadn’t believed it, not really, not until it was real and in his hands. Ahab had to be woken up.
“She brings her gods,” Obadiah began. “She has a caravan of statues of the goddess. I’ve heard she intends to give them as gifts to the noble women of Israel.”
Ahab nodded, the comment dismissed.
Obadiah’s stomach twisted. “You remember Elijah’s warning. Those gods bring a curse. Perhaps she should destroy them.”
Ahab caught him by the arm. “The princess is just a girl of fifteen. What kind of god would curse a girl?”
“Her gods are the curse. They do not worship a goddess, but a demon. They worship death and
So lost was he in thought as he wandered through the makeshift camp to find water, that he was startled to feel a strong hand grab him by the arm and pull him behind a covered chariot.
Mirra glared at him. “You should have told me who you were! I did not appreciate an important servant knowing something I did not.”
Obadiah shrugged in reply. He was speechless, and his nerves melted his tongue and his knees at the same time. It was a wonder he could even stand when so close to her.
“You are Omri’s administrator.”
“I am.” He wetted his lips at once to keep them from sealing together. His mouth was drying out.
“Then get me out of my duties. I don’t want to serve the princess.”
“Your father made that arrangement himself.” He did not think it was wise for a young girl to question her father. Especially when her father had a temper and a fast hand.
“My father wants me to find a husband. He thinks that if I am at court, I’ll meet someone more suitable than a soldier. And soldiers are the only men in Samaria.”
That wounded Obadiah. He cleared his throat.
“Soldiers can make good husbands. Though they are not royalty, or elders, I have read many stories of valor …” he began. He sounded stupid even to his own ears. She cut him off with a look of disdain.
“Since you keep the records, write this down: I would rather die than ever have a soldier touch me. But neither do I want my father to decide my future. I want freedom, Obadiah. I don’t care how I get it, but I want freedom.”
She released him and stormed off. He stood still for several minutes as the blood returned to the spot where she had gripped on his arm. Lifting his sleeve as the sun set in bright orange and gold, he saw the shadows under his skin. He would have a bruise there by morning. Bruises lasted longer than kisses. He liked that thought and went back to his work.
The camp was busy with servants doing chores: waste pots being emptied far from the path, fires begun for dinner. He was glad to see the Phoenician servants already watering their animals. It meant they had found water. Their scouts were excellent at it, Obadiah knew, often scenting it in the air before ever seeing it. Obadiah relaxed a little. If all the animals were cared for, he had less to worry about, and the foreign servants needed no prompting to do what needed to be done. They might not add the burdens he feared. It was the priests who concerned him.
Obadiah knew his only moment to speak to Ahab would be as Ahab washed. After checking to be sure that Ahab’s personal cooks were at work to bring up a good fire and prepare his evening meal, Obadiah was free to look for Ahab, whom he found walking among the caravan, asking where the princess was, pausing to inspect the goods being carried into the capital city. Obadiah fell in beside him, knowing he would have to write every single item in the records. For Ahab, this inspection was a show. For Obadiah, it was a month’s work.
But he couldn’t think of himself or the work. He had to warn Ahab that Elijah had been right but had not told them everything. Obadiah hadn’t believed it, not really, not until it was real and in his hands. Ahab had to be woken up.
“She brings her gods,” Obadiah began. “She has a caravan of statues of the goddess. I’ve heard she intends to give them as gifts to the noble women of Israel.”
Ahab nodded, the comment dismissed.
Obadiah’s stomach twisted. “You remember Elijah’s warning. Those gods bring a curse. Perhaps she should destroy them.”
Ahab caught him by the arm. “The princess is just a girl of fifteen. What kind of god would curse a girl?”
“Her gods are the curse. They do not worship a goddess, but a demon. They worship death and
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