men she had contact with, and they regarded her as an unworthy rival. They remembered who she had once been. But these men were glad to see her and approved of her. Lilith seemed as surprised as Jezebel and hid behind her. Mirra sat up eagerly, probably anxious for her peers to see her riding into the city with the princess. Jezebel knew Mirra was as much a fool as Ahab. Israel might be an entire nation of fools.
Jezebel studied the women carefully whenever one approached. Dirty, in ragged robes of no distinct fashion, faces lined by hard years in the sun and with no hint of cosmetics. Everywhere she saw their hands lifted to beg her blessing, hands that were calloused and layered in dust. Her stomach flipped from the shock of seeing all of them so eager and adoring. She had done nothing to earn their love. They didn’t even know her. She wished someone would make them stop. Her hands began shaking then, and a punch of adrenaline struck her abdomen. She didn’t deserve this. She couldn’t even make a noise that expressed the grief their adoration gave her. She sat, frozen in pain, as they cheered and called her name.
Ahab walked ahead of Jezebel into the city on foot, shaking hands and accepting congratulations, but it made her own progress slow. She cursed him. She wanted to get inside the palace, not loiter in these city streets as women held infants up for a royal blessing. Jezebel panicked. They were mocking her. She held out her hands to refuse to bless the infants, to motion the mothers back, yet the mothers just rushed closer still. Her face grew hot. She did not want to see all these newborns, their eyes wide with innocence, their tiny pink mouths making sweet sounds.
Little black bugs swirled in her vision, but no one else seemed to see them. Jezebel tried to swat at them, looking helplessly at Lilith for help. Then Jezebel realized she was about to faint.
A blast from the shofar made her jump, startling her back to consciousness. A man in fine robes approached, and the crowd parted. He bowed before Ahab and called for attention.
“A song for the new princess!”
The crowd roared. She was the first royalty ever brought into Samaria, and the first royal blood to extend the line of Omri. They had no idea of the bitterness in her blood, she thought. No idea how much blood was in her memories.
The man cued a group of musicians that had assembled in the crowd: lyre, harp, and flute players. “To the tune of Lilies,” he called, and they began. He sang loud and clear, a fine deep voice that pleased Jezebel, though she hated the words.
“The people of Israel are like a river
Bursting its banks with joy
We will celebrate with a poem to the prince.
You, Ahab, are the most excellent of men.
Your lips, anointed with grace.
Gird your sword on your side, mighty prince,
Clothe yourself with splendor and majesty!
May your arrows pierce the hearts of the king’s enemies,
May all nations fall beneath your feet.
All your robes are fragrant with myrrh and aloes and cassia
Brought from that fine palace adorned in ivory
And at your right hand is the royal bride in gold from Phoenicia.
All glorious is she, her gowns woven from gold.
Listen, my princess: forget your father and your father’s house.
The prince is enthralled by your beauty
Honor him, for he is now your lord.
May your sons take the place of your fathers,
May the nations praise you forever and ever!”
The crowd applauded, and Jezebel knew it was finally over. She had distracted herself to keep from fainting by studying the city behind the singer. The first outrage was that the wall that should mark its boundaries and give it protection was still under construction. Workers in tattered robes and frayed head scarves had thrown down their shovels to approach Ahab, and she was able to see the dusty trench they had been working on. The wall might take another year or more to complete.
Jezebel searched the horizon for Omri’s flag. His colors would fly above the
Jezebel studied the women carefully whenever one approached. Dirty, in ragged robes of no distinct fashion, faces lined by hard years in the sun and with no hint of cosmetics. Everywhere she saw their hands lifted to beg her blessing, hands that were calloused and layered in dust. Her stomach flipped from the shock of seeing all of them so eager and adoring. She had done nothing to earn their love. They didn’t even know her. She wished someone would make them stop. Her hands began shaking then, and a punch of adrenaline struck her abdomen. She didn’t deserve this. She couldn’t even make a noise that expressed the grief their adoration gave her. She sat, frozen in pain, as they cheered and called her name.
Ahab walked ahead of Jezebel into the city on foot, shaking hands and accepting congratulations, but it made her own progress slow. She cursed him. She wanted to get inside the palace, not loiter in these city streets as women held infants up for a royal blessing. Jezebel panicked. They were mocking her. She held out her hands to refuse to bless the infants, to motion the mothers back, yet the mothers just rushed closer still. Her face grew hot. She did not want to see all these newborns, their eyes wide with innocence, their tiny pink mouths making sweet sounds.
Little black bugs swirled in her vision, but no one else seemed to see them. Jezebel tried to swat at them, looking helplessly at Lilith for help. Then Jezebel realized she was about to faint.
A blast from the shofar made her jump, startling her back to consciousness. A man in fine robes approached, and the crowd parted. He bowed before Ahab and called for attention.
“A song for the new princess!”
The crowd roared. She was the first royalty ever brought into Samaria, and the first royal blood to extend the line of Omri. They had no idea of the bitterness in her blood, she thought. No idea how much blood was in her memories.
The man cued a group of musicians that had assembled in the crowd: lyre, harp, and flute players. “To the tune of Lilies,” he called, and they began. He sang loud and clear, a fine deep voice that pleased Jezebel, though she hated the words.
“The people of Israel are like a river
Bursting its banks with joy
We will celebrate with a poem to the prince.
You, Ahab, are the most excellent of men.
Your lips, anointed with grace.
Gird your sword on your side, mighty prince,
Clothe yourself with splendor and majesty!
May your arrows pierce the hearts of the king’s enemies,
May all nations fall beneath your feet.
All your robes are fragrant with myrrh and aloes and cassia
Brought from that fine palace adorned in ivory
And at your right hand is the royal bride in gold from Phoenicia.
All glorious is she, her gowns woven from gold.
Listen, my princess: forget your father and your father’s house.
The prince is enthralled by your beauty
Honor him, for he is now your lord.
May your sons take the place of your fathers,
May the nations praise you forever and ever!”
The crowd applauded, and Jezebel knew it was finally over. She had distracted herself to keep from fainting by studying the city behind the singer. The first outrage was that the wall that should mark its boundaries and give it protection was still under construction. Workers in tattered robes and frayed head scarves had thrown down their shovels to approach Ahab, and she was able to see the dusty trench they had been working on. The wall might take another year or more to complete.
Jezebel searched the horizon for Omri’s flag. His colors would fly above the
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