There was indeed a faintly frosty welcome when she returned to the stables, not from Rebecca but from Hisham, one of her father’s senior courtiers.
‘I must be in trouble if Father has sent you to find me,’ she said as she handed the harness to one of the stable boys.
Hisham’s lips barely curved. ‘His Royal Highness has been waiting two hours.’
‘I suppose Balazar has told on me. Otherwise, how would you have known where to find me?’
‘The King had also hoped to ride this afternoon, Your Highness.’
‘Oh.’ Jezebel winced and glanced at her father’s favourite stallion, now being rubbed down by the boy. ‘I don’t suppose I have time to change my dress either, do I?’
‘I believe there will be time for that in due course.’
Hisham turned neatly on his sandalled feet, and led Jezebel through the Palace to her father’s retiring room at a ridiculously stately pace considering the apparent urgency.
‘You look a mess,’ said Balazar from where he lay on the couch beside her father’s marble desk. King Ithbaal was sitting at the desk studying a scroll of papyrus that rustled crisply as his fingers worked across it. He did not look up at the sound of his son’s voice and Jezebel chewed on her lip. The desk was piled high with scrolls, some of them papyrus, others of vellum, and a neat pile of engraved clay tablets stood on one corner. Jezebel tucked her loose hair behind her ears.
‘At least I’ve not just been lying around.’
‘Don’t we have boys to exercise the horses?’ yawned Balazar, twisting his black hair between his short fingers. ‘Anyway, you should not go out on your own like that. I could see you racing along the beach from up here. It’s not safe.’
‘Or seemly?’ she asked. ‘When was the last time you even stepped out of the Palace? In all your seventeen years, have you ever been across the causeway?’
‘I have no need to go down there. Anyone of note comes to us, Jezebel.’
Ithbaal let the scroll close around his hand. ‘And did you see anyone of note on your ride today, my dear?’
She walked to the desk and kissed his cheek. ‘I’m sorry. Will you forgive me? You should have told me at lunch that you wanted to ride. We could have gone together. I would even have let you saddle your own horse.’ She maintained a pious expression for a moment, then smiled, for her father’s dark eyes sparkled with amusement.
‘Actually, we could have ridden out together to meet the Judeans,’ he said. ‘I am surprised you did not see their retinue on the Sea Road.’
‘I thought they weren’t coming for a few days.’ Jezebel pushed back one end of the scroll which her father had been reading. The angular letters were neatly inscribed, but they were so tiny and ran on and on. But still she read, lowering her head towards the scroll: Tax on goods in transit— Contribution to maintenance of the King’s Highway—
She let the scroll go. ‘Are you asking the Judeans to pay for the upkeep of the northernmost stretch of the Highway? They surely will not agree to that. It is the furthest stretch from Judah, and also the furthest from here, and the part of the Highway in which both kingdoms have least interest.’
‘Are you calling Father a fool?’ asked Balazar lazily from the couch.
‘Jezebel is right. Strategically it appears to make little sense.’ Ithbaal looked down at his son.
‘Then it makes little sense,’ repeated Balazar, his cheeks ruddying.
‘Unless you think that Ben-Hadad of Damascus has ambitions to seize that piece of the Highway,’ explained Jezebel. ‘It borders his land of course. Should it fall into his hands traders would be at his mercy. That does neither Judah nor Tyre and Sidon any good at all.’
Ithbaal nodded, but his attention had fallen from her face to her dress. ‘I presume you have something else to wear for dinner. One of your very best outfits. And perhaps that engraved amethyst pendant I gave you for the Spring Festival.’
‘You want me to meet the Judean officials?’
‘They’re absolute barbarians,’ said Balazar. ‘No culture, no art, their food is bland, and that awful brown land—’
‘I suppose I’ll seat you between the King’s son Jehoshaphat and his son Jehu,’ said her father to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. He spoke casually, but she felt the weight of his touch. ‘I am sure you will show them both the very best of your hospitality.’
Jezebel’s heart banged hard in her chest, and she held her breath to slow it down. ‘Of course, Father.’
Her father stood and walked away without another word and Jezebel could only watch him go, as dizzy now as she had been up on the promontory.
‘You know what he means, don’t you,’ said Balazar slyly, ‘sitting you next to—’
‘I know.’
She ran past Hisham out of the retiring room and up the grand stone staircase to her room, flinging back the heavy drapes and darting across the corner of the room to the small shrine to the great Goddess Astarte beside the east window. But the stone plinth was already heaped with grapes, and the redwood circle carved with Astarte’s manifestations was wound with fresh tendrils and leaves of the vine.
Jezebel glanced frantically around the room, for Astarte’s shrine was only ever dressed for festivals and for weddings. At the foot of the bed stood Rebecca, her hands clasped at her waist, her eyebrows arched knowingly beneath her greying hair. Beside her was her youngest daughter, Beset, a year older than Jezebel and in Palace service at her mother’s side. The girl smiled at Jezebel. Jezebel tried to speak, but her throat was tight and she could only sink down onto the white kneeler at the foot of the shrine. At a nod from Rebecca, Beset filled Astarte’s ceremonial bowl with water and gave it to Jezebel. She drank it down gratefully.
‘What did Father tell you?’ she whispered, looking up at her maids. ‘You must know something, else why would you have dressed the shrine?’
‘So that Astarte will guide you,’ said Rebecca.
‘I will have to marry one of these Judeans to secure the safety of the Highway,’ gulped Jezebel. She’d been expecting this day for two years – not many royal daughters remained unmarried in their sixteenth year. ‘Has he told you which one?’
‘The Palace is full of gossip—’ whispered Beset.
‘Then which?’
‘It won’t do us any good to speculate,’ said Rebecca, frowning at her daughter. ‘We have made our offering to the Goddess, so we must allow her to take care of you.’
Jezebel shook her head. ‘It would surely be better if I did not understand what is at stake, then I could just do as I am told without thinking about it.’
‘When have you ever done as you are told?’ said Rebecca. ‘Now come and bathe and then we can dress you. You must look your best for your future husband, whomever the Fates decide upon.’
Chapter Three
Later that evening, Jezebel entered her father’s crowded chambers for the ceremonial dinner, her heart feeling tight in her chest. Two courtiers held the pleated train of her finest silk dress, and she kept her eyes fixed on her father rather than glancing around at what form her future might take. Ithbaal stood to escort her personally to the couch opposite his, signalling the respect which she was to be accorded by the visitors. Jezebel lowered her gaze to the tables, groaning beneath golden bowls piled high with cooked grains and meat, fruits and nuts.
‘You look wonderful,’ whispered her father.
Jezebel concentrated on keeping her shoulders drawn back. Standing so, she