Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jezebel left the throne room, her chin held high, but…
Five years later 854 BC – Regent
Chapter Forty
From the banks of the River Jordan, the encampment of…
Chapter Forty-One
Through the archway of the Court of the Priests, Jezebel…
Chapter Forty-Two
Though it pained Jezebel dreadfully to leave Athaliah behind in…
Chapter Forty-Three
The plains around Samaria were almost unrecognisable, so thick were…
Chapter Forty-Four
A prophecy was just a set of words, Jezebel told…
Chapter Forty-Five
Jezebel called for Beset, who summoned the commander of the…
Chapter Forty-Six
Down in the stableyard, several horses were already harnessed and…
Chapter Forty-Seven
Messengers were dispatched to Samaria, Tyre and Jerusalem to spread…
Chapter Forty-Eight
The coronation was set for the following day, and from…
Chapter Forty-Nine
Throughout the coronation ceremony, Jezebel kept looking around the fringes…
Chapter Fifty
The Palace was full of noise that evening, but Jezebel…
Two years later 852 BC – Queen Mother
Chapter Fifty-One
The spring sunshine brought a light breeze with it, and…
Chapter Fifty-Two
Beset dropped her spoon on the platter, a dull thud…
Chapter Fifty-Three
Shadows from the lamp danced on the walls of Jezebel’s…
Chapter Fifty-Four
A terrible pall of silence had fallen over Samaria after…
Chapter Fifty-Five
‘It’s too dangerous,’ said Daniel, as Jezebel stood on the…
Chapter Fifty-Six
Jezebel’s melancholy was infectious. She and Raisa sat for a…
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Even after a month, Jerusalem still felt like a foreign…
Chapter Fifty-Eight
It wasn’t Athaliah who called on Jezebel the next day.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Without the protection of her anonymity in Jerusalem, Jezebel found…
Chapter Sixty
Five days later Jezebel received word that Joram had returned…
Ten years later 842 BC – Jezebel
Chapter Sixty-One
The tiny stone house in the corner of the Palace…
Chapter Sixty-Two
Jezebel rode out to meet the carriage that brought Joram…
Chapter Sixty-Three
Once again it was Ahaziah who spotted the arrival of…
Chapter Sixty-Four
Jezebel blinked in the darkness, unsure at first what had…
Epilogue
Who will stop and drop a coin to hear the…
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books by Eleanor de Jong
Map
Chapter One
Salt spray glistened in the stallion’s mane and stung Jezebel’s cheeks. She leaned close into the neck of the horse, urging the animal on through the low waves. Ahead, the city of Tyre rose up out of the lapis blue of the Great Sea, the white walls of the Royal Palace and the temples like the crest of a perfect wave just ready to break.
As Jezebel reached the causeway that climbed onto the lower reaches of the Tyrian island, Shapash the sun Goddess had already begun to draw her heavy head towards the soft shoulder of Yam, the God of the sea. Jezebel knew she should turn south at the city gates, towards the Palace and the stables. Rebecca, her maid, would be waiting to tut and sigh at how the young princess had surrendered her carefully arranged elegance for the dishevelled disarray of any other fifteen-year-old girl let loose for an afternoon.
But Jezebel couldn’t resist one last whip of the wind in her hair and instead turned north, daring the horse faster and faster round the city walls. She galloped out along the narrow stone promontory, built on the orders of her father to protect the harbour from the heaving discontent of winter seas. For a moment, she felt like she was flying, until the stallion tensed beneath her, his ears pricked and eyes wide. He shuddered to a halt. Jezebel grabbed at the harness to steady them both, her knees digging hard into the saddle cloth. ‘Steady, boy!’
The promontory fell away steeply on either side, the sheer walls plunging deep into the natural well that Tyrian ships called home. For a moment she felt dizzy, as though the tide was rising fast to meet her, and she laughed in spite of the unexpected rush of fear, and patted the horse’s neck. ‘Don’t you dare tell Father I brought you out here.’
She glanced back along the wall but they were quite alone up here. A large crowd had gathered below on the wooden docks that nestled into the curve of the harbour, their attention entirely on a wedding party disembarking from small redwood boats. Snatches of pipe music and laughter drifted up. Jezebel spotted a girl of about her own age stepping off the boat, her hands taken up by a young man. They both wore the plain linen tunics favoured by fishing families, but the young man wore a second overskirt, a shenti in rich Tyrian purple. Jezebel’s older brother Balazar wore the same type of garment – if somewhat more bejewelled – every day as he strutted the enclosed gardens of the Royal Palace. Jezebel guessed this young man must be one of the fishermen whose rare right to wear the purple cloth came from the back-breaking daily grind of harvesting the precious sea snails that gave up the dye. His bride was lucky to marry such a man, for if she could ignore the terrible smell of the rotting snails he must endure to make the dye, and if he could rise up steadily from fisherman to trader, perhaps one day he would sail her in a much larger boat down the coast to Ashdod or even as far as Egypt.
The crowd cheered as the young man draped a fine purple veil over his bride’s hair, and beneath Jezebel the horse grew restless. She shivered and glanced towards the setting sun.
‘Father will be expecting us,’ she said quietly.
She turned the horse around where the wall widened and let it trot back into the city. But she could not resist a last look down at the wedding party. The dock was now edged by the sparkle of shell lamps. The girl looked so happy as her husband fastened a purple-edged cape at her throat. Jezebel’s hand reached absently to her own throat and the fat Red Sea pearls that rested on her skin. Perhaps Rebecca would know who the happy couple were, perhaps they were young cousins of hers and she would be able to tell their story. The island was full of faces Jezebel recognised and who would smile respectfully when they saw their princess ride