It is a long time since I have posted a story here. This is my retelling of a biblical story. Reference and a little background information follow the story.
This is part one. I will post part two in a few weeks. Enjoy!
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“He is dead. They are
dead.’ The messenger cautiously repeated his key points. He tried to keep his distance from the
terrifying woman he was reporting to, while at the same time handing her a clay
tablet from the new King confirming his words.
Athaliah peered at him, a mousey little man, with her eyes
wide and body frozen as the letter was placed on her open palm. She had no intention of striking the
messenger, although she was pleased to see that he feared it. Instead, her mind was rapidly considering the
implications of this news. Her son, King
Ahazial of Judah, was dead; her husband’s last son, the only survivor of an
attack by raiders. Her brother was dead;
not that the death of her brother, Joram, King of Israel, overly concerned her. He had been a weak, killed by his own general. All this and it was only a year since her
husband, King Jehoram, had died of a foul disease.
“So much death,” she thought to herself, “that perhaps a
little more would make no difference.”
It was a miracle that the any of the Royal family remained
to rule or be regent. The raid on the
palace had taken away most of the young men.
Ahazial and his young family were fortunate to have been enough to be
elsewhere at the time. Her husband had
been involved in a war that ultimately led to his destruction. However, the Levitical priests claimed that
the family would always have someone on the throne of Judah and, while Athaliah
generally disbelieved anything they said, she was willing to make an exception
in this case.
Unfreezing, Athaliah nodded a dismissal at the messenger who
backed reverently out of the now crowded throne room. Everyone in the palace had come to hear him. She
smiled at the rapid footsteps echoing along the stone corridor as the man
hurried away from any possible misdirected vengeance. The man was right to run, she thought. As the sound faded, she turned to one of her
husband’s many advisors. Advisors who
failed to advise Ahazial not to visit Joram at this time at a time of war and
instability, Athaliah noted, disregarding the fact that she had encouraged the
visit.
“You are now regent,”
The Advisor stated. “until one of the boys is old enough to rule. The oldest perhaps? He is a strong and bright lad.”
“Regent?” Athaliah considered her oldest grandson, a lusty
and obnoxious boy of six. He would want
power in only a very few years but Athaliah was too much her mother’s daughter
to want to cede power. She could have
another thirty or forty years in which to wield it.
Athaliah pondered her mother, Jezebel, a woman who ruled
through her weak and bendable husband, Athaliah’s father Ahab. Athaliah had ruled for the past year through
a son. Well, she could go one better
now, perhaps.
“Yes, Regent.” The advisor affirmed. All too aware of her thirst for power, he
thought she would be pleased.
“Perhaps… I will ponder that. Thank you for the suggestion.” She peered at
him through narrowed eyes.
The advisor suppressed a shudder at the words. He doubted that she would select another to
be regent for a grandson in her place, so he wondered exactly what she had to
ponder.
Athaliah rose and paced about the room, courtiers moving
rapidly from her path, as she considered her family. More were now dead than alive. Again, she thought: what would a little more
death matter and, anyway, who would be around to care. At that moment, she caught her daughter’s eyes. Jehosheba had always been a sensitive and good
child; a misfit in this family. If she
did not remember giving birth to her, Athaliah would have accused the girl of
being a changeling. Adding insult to
injury, rather than following the family’s worship of Baal, Jehosheba had
chosen to follow the old religion and then married the high priest, Jehoiada,
an enemy. Athaliah was not impressed by
her last surviving child or the tears in the woman’s eyes, a sign of weakness.
* * *
Along with everyone else who could contrive entry to the
palace, Jehosheba had come to hear the news.
One of the watchmen at the Temple, spotting the messenger riding fast up
to the city gate from the Samarian highway, had alerted her husband. Jehoiada asked her to go to the palace,
knowing he would be refused entry.
Jehosheba was only too aware of her mother’s hatred but the guards were
not about to turn a princess away from the palace door, especially one who
brought a large basket of bread and oil as a bribe.
Watching her cold hearted mother, Jehosheba was also rapidly
reviewing her remaining family. Her
nephews were all too young show any signs of future kingship. None were yet
like her father, uncle or brother, possessing a brave recklessness, certainty
in their own rightness and infallible belief in their own mortality in the face
of much evidence to the contrary. Not
men to be admired, she thought, hoping that her nephews would not turn out like
that. They would be better off
dead. Would her mother agree with her?
She wondered. Seeing her mother’s hard
faraway eyes, she could not imagine her mother being content as Regent. What would the evil woman do? With sudden clarity, Jehosheba knew.
She slowly and quietly slipped through the crowd. People
were coming and going, milling around as the news spread. Knowing that her mother would have to act
decisively, as the country could not be left without a King, or at least a
Regent, Jehosheba decided to be decisive too and act on her fear. If she was wrong, no harm would be done.
After pausing to breathe a sigh of relief at escaping the
throne room unnoticed, Jehosheba hurried towards the nursery. She pulled her plain scarf over her head to
increase her anonymity. Almost
unconsciously, Jehosheba brushed her fingers along the raised stone of the
friezes that lined the walls of the corridor.
Although many of them were more than a hundred years old, the colours
were still as bright as if they had just been paints; lots of red and
blue. The friezes told the stories of
her ancestors, mostly great victories won by David and the astounding
achievements of Solomon. Perhaps one of
her nephews could emulate them rather than her more recent ancestors.
Within minutes, Jehosheba reached the nursery. It was quiet; too quiet for a space occupied
by five small boys. The nursery was a
large room with several alcoves that served as sleeping quarters for the boys
and their closest servants. Jehosheba
found the room almost empty. A squawk
from the furthest alcove drew her attention.
A nursemaid was just lifting the infant Joash from his sleeping basket.
“Where are the boys?” asked Jehosheba the young woman.
“Out in the courtyard.” The nursemaid said as she soothed
the newly awake babe. “One of the guards
rescued an orphaned lion cub.”
“Ahh.” Jehosheba frowned.
There was no way she could discretely approach and extract the boys from
the guards and a lion cub. They would
object vociferously, as would their tutors, all men young enough to be
enthralled by a wild animal. Fearing
that she would run out of time, she decided to make the best of the situation.
“Come with me, bring Joash.” Jehosheba commanded with her
best princess voice. “Come along now, no dawdling and keep him quiet.”
“What’s happened?” The nursemaid asked, having missed the
drama unfolding elsewhere in the palace.
“Later. There will be
time for that later, I hope. But for
now, we must hurry. Come, follow me.”
The nursemaid shifted a squirming Joash to her hip, grabbed
his favourite toy and allowed Jehosheba to lead her from the nursery. She patted the baby’s back to comfort him and
herself.
Pausing at the door, Jehosheba turned and rearranged the
nursemaids shawl to cover her head and the small child. As if sensing something was not right, the
boy snuggled closely to his beloved nurse.
* * *
Athaliah, although keeping her expression blank, was
observing everything going on in the throne room. She noticed her daughter slide out of the
room but dismissed the action as unimportant.
She assumed that Jehosheba wold take the news to the Temple where she
lived with her husband. Athaliah had no
time for a priest of the old religion and did not see him or his wife as a
threat. He could be squashed like a
gnat, when she was ready. Athaliah
followed her mother’s religion, the religion of a strong woman who was the wife
and mother of kings. Between them, they
had converted much of this country and neighbouring Israel to their way of
thinking, eliminating opposition.
Watching the officials form groups, whisper conversations,
split and form new groups, Athaliah came to a decision. She did not want to be Regent, the servant of
a mere child. Now free of the constraint of Kingly fathers, husbands, brothers
and sons, she did not want to again be subject of a man. She had been the power behind the thrones of
her husband and son but now she wanted to be the throne. She smiled and stretched catlike at the
thought. The only barrier was her five
distressingly healthy grandsons.
“Where are my grandsons?
They must be told of their father’s death.” Athaliah demanded and then
added noncommittedly after a pause. “And
there is the question of the succession to be answered.”
“I saw them in the courtyard with some soldiers.” One man
bravely drew attention to himself.
“Someone said there was a lion cub.” said another brave or
foolish young man.
“Well, bring them to my private rooms, they will be upset.”
She stood up, ready to leave the room. Randomly pointing at an official in the
room, she added. “Oh, and bring some food.
They will be hungry and thirsty after all of that activity. Definitely, they will need something special
to drink. I have just the thing.” She raised a thoughtful eyebrow.
Athaliah processed regally from the throne room to her
quarters. A number of people
followed. Guessing which way the wind
was blowing, they were eager to serve her in any way possible. Some others discretely dropped off the back
of the back of the crowd as they considered the news that Jehu, reportedly a
decent and welcoming man, was now King of Israel following the coup that killed
Jehoram and Ahazial.
* * *
Safely reaching her old suite, which had not been
re-occupied after her marriage, with less people living in the palace,
Jehosheba drew the nursemaid and child into one of the inner chambers.
“There may not be much time.” Jehosheba stated, considering
how to break the bad news. “So listen
carefully.”
The nursemaid nodded, wide eyed with fear.
“King Ahazial has been killed, along with King Jehoram, in a
coup in Israel. None of the boys is old
enough to take the throne outright, which means the chosen one would need a
Regent. My mother, Athaliah, I don’t
think she will be content to be Regent.
She bullied Ahazial endlessly. No
wonder he took off at the first opportunity.
However, I digress. I fear for
the boys lives. They are too young and innocent. My mother is not a kind woman and I fear she
wants the throne enough to do anything to get it. Do you understand?” Jehosheba explained.
The nursemaid nodded again, not wanting to utter words that might
be considered treason.
“You will be safe enough here for now but I need to get you
to the Temple, Jehoiada and the other priests will look after baby Joash.”
Joash chose that moment to start crying.
“He’s hungry.” said the Nurse, as she loosened her top. She had been employed as a wet nurse and to
have care of the child until he was weened in another year or so.
“Wait here! I will
see if I can find out what is going on.
It could be that I am wrong.”
Jehosheba, having watched the babe feed,
was hoping that his brothers might have returned to the nursery. If they could escape her mother’s notice for
just a little while, she might have time to rescue them.
Jehosheba walked through the palace. The nursery was silent. Deciding to risk the courtyard, she saw from
a secluded colonnade that the guards were back on duty and the cub, tied to
post, was sleeping by a pail of water.
There was no sign of the boys.
Her last stop was a pause at the door of the now empty throne room. Deciding it was too risky and also pointless
to go to her mother’s rooms, Jehosheba turned back towards her quarters and the
hidden nursemaid.
* * *
“Drink up, come on boys, drink Grandmama’s special
drink. It is blessed by Baal.” Athaliah
urged her grandsons.
The few officials who had reached this inner sanctum
grimaced as they wondered what was in the drink. All were only too aware that Baal allowed
child sacrifice. All were too afraid of
the queen and each other to act. Old
alliances could no longer be relied on; it was each man for himself. Athaliah was the only woman in the room.
“It tastes funny.” One of the boys complained.
“Of course it does dear.
It is special. Come on, drink
up. Be good boys.” She again encouraged
them.
All of them reluctantly drank up. Athaliah stared to smile and then appeared to
count.
“Wait, shouldn’t there be five of them?”
There was a long silence, disrupted when one of the boys
started to cough. It sounded like he was
chocking. Athaliah ignored the child,
brushing aside a small hand that grabbed her skirt in a plea for help. She stepped away.
“Well? Isn’t there a baby?
He was born just after Ahazial took the throne. There isn’t one that age here. Where is he?”
The officials looked at each other, panicked.
“Are you sure?” One particularly foolish man asked.
“Of course I am sure.” she exclaimed, ignoring the now four
gasping children. “I wouldn’t imagine the birth of a grandson.”
“We will have the guards search the palace immediately for
him.” A smarter man offered. He hurried
from the room.
“Bring every babe and toddler in the palace to the throne
room for inspection; I won’t have some serving woman lying and saying that he
is hers, when he is not. No, we must be
certain; very certain!”
Abandoning the four gasping children, Athaliah led the remaining
officials back to the Throne room.
* * *
Jehosheba found the nursemaid still in the inner room with a
milk drunk Joash in her arms.
“I couldn’t find the others.” she said.
Looking around the room, her eyes caught the basket she had
brought to the palace. It was a big
basket. She looked back at the child. Picking up the basket, Jehosheba held it up
to the nursemaids arms.
“He will fit, I think.
Will he sleep for a while now?” She asked.
The nursemaid nodded nervously, staring wide eyed at the
basket. “I hope so. The rocking should help.”
“Good. We will put
him in this and we can carry him out of the palace. There is a risk of being caught if he cries
but if you don’t come with me, you will be at risk for not having him. I am sorry you are in this position. Will you come with me?”
Nodding again, the nursemaid carefully stood up and placed
the blanket wrapped sleeping boy in the basket with his favourite toy. The lid fitted snuggly over the small child.
Jehosheba took a deep breath and picked up the now heavy
basket.
“I’ll take it.” said the nurse.
“No, I had best carry it.
The guards saw me bring it in.”
Jehosheba smiled at the nursemaid. “Courage, we can do this. Pull your scarf over your face.”
The two woman walked steadily along a corridor to a side
door into the palace ground, side by side.
Jehosheba was thankful that her quarters were not far from the
entrance. As they crossed the courtyard
to the palace gates, they saw guards rushing around. One man stopped and peered at them. He looked them up and down. The two woman paused, waiting for the man to
react. The guard then shook his head and moved on. Jehosheba felt the nursemaid shudder.
“Courage.” She whispered.
Approaching the gate, Jehosheba saw that there were now four
men on guard instead of two. The two she
had earlier plied with bread and oil were still there. She closed her eyes and breathed her
thanks. She acknowledged the two
men. All four men looked carefully at
her and the maid.
“Where are you going?” One man asked.
“To the Temple, to tell my husband the news. He will be eager to hear it.” Jehoseba
replied, lowering her head in a posture of wifely modesty.
“You didn’t have a maid with you when you came here.”
Another man observed.
“No, but with the news of the King’s death, there may be
ruffians looking to take advantage, and I am, was, the King’s sister, so I
asked this servant to accompany me.”
“If you fear violence, you will need more than a maid’s
protection in these streets. I will
escort you.”
Jehosheba risked a glance at the nursemaid and prayed that
the boy would stay asleep.
“Thank you for your kind offer. I am happy to accept.” she lied.
The two women passed through the gate and along the street
to the Temple followed by the guard.
Jehosheba let the basket swing gently as she walked, hoping it would
keep Joash quiet for long enough.
* * *
Athaliah looked at the five babies that had been presented
to her and ignored the crying women standing in the corner of the throne room
surrounded by guards.
“Did you check the entire palace?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The soldiers affirmed.
“Good. And are these all baby boys you could find?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“My daughter!” a women sobbed.
“Did you check that they were boys?” Athaliah rolled her eyes at them. “Well? Go on them check.”
Two guards ineptly ripped away some clothing from each
child. Athaliah glanced down.
“Let the two girls go.
Kill the boys.” She commanded.
* * *
Jehosheba felt the weight of the basket growing on her arm
as she climbed the hill to the temple.
She struggled to keep her body straight as she tried to make it appear
like she was carrying an empty basket.
Her husband, Jehoiada, was waiting at the Temple gates,
along with a crowd of other priests.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Jehosheba turned to dismiss the guard. Instead of turning back to the palace, he
stood and waited. Fear gave Jehosheba a
burst of energy that propelled her up the remainder of the hill. She walked steadily through the gates and
carried on to the inner most part of the temple that women were allowed to
enter, well out of site of the palace guard, not pausing to answer the many
questions being thrown at her.
Jehosheba finally stopped and put the basket down. A squark from the basket drew the nursemaid’s
attention. The woman pulled the baby
from the basket.
“What?” asked Jehoiada, not sure where to start.
“My brother is dead.
I fear my mother will not be happy as regent. I rescued young Joash. One day he must be King, but until then, my
mother will be the Queen of Judah.”
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The story of Athaliah and Jehosheba is told in 2 Kings 8:26 to 11:16 & 2 Chronicles 22:10 to 23-15.
Athaliah became queen c. 841 BC.
There appears to be some debate about the exact details of the how the various people mentioned were related, so I have gone with what I think makes the best story.
Ahab and Jehu are mentioned in non-biblical contemporaneous sources. Like anything biblical, the interpretations have been questioned.
