She turned back to the toy temple and caressed it. Such a building would she make in Samaria, and in Jezreel, which was a sort of summer capitol for the nation she would rule. Priests without number she would bring from Tyre and Sidon into Israel, to worship her god.
In such a temple as this all Israel would bow down in worship before great Baal.
Living babes would be cast screaming into the holy fires built before the golden statue of the god. Let their mothers wail and tear at their hair, as some Phoenician mothers were wont to do, it made no difference to Jezebel. Men and women taken in war would be brought for sacrifice into his temple, held down for the sacrificial knife that their deaths might bring the blessings of Baal-Melkart on Jezebel and Ahab.
She put her hands to her breasts under the thin muslin tunic, lifting them up as she felt a flood of desire stab her loins. Ah, and after the sacrifices, when the blood-lust was upon both men and women, when men forgot their heritage and were no better than animals in rut, these were the moments which were best of all.
She and Ahab would watch and then take part in the orgy. Jezebel was glad she had saved the young Israelite from death on the timbers of the god-wagon. He was young, strong, filled with hungers as vital as her own.
After a while she would tire of him, but that was only natural. She would procure, pretty slavegirls for him, or handsome noblewomen if he wanted them, while she herself would . . .
She smiled dreamily as her eyes narrowed. Those two companions of his, the one who was built like a stallion, Jehu, and the other one, the more slender Rael: they liked her. She had seen their eyes on her as she posed before the golden image of Baal. It might be fun to see how passionate she could make them.
Oh, it would be marvelous, being queen of Israel!
4.
The high priest dipped the myrtle twig into the golden basin and scattered drops of water from a spring dedicated to Baal over the persons of the young man and woman standing under the ornate canopy of white linen and gold brocade, the silver spears supporting it being held by two friends of the groom and two friends of the bride. The myrtle was a flower sacred to the gods; because of its eternal freshness, it symbolized affection and constancy.
Jezebel blinked when the spring-water touched her. Baal-Melkart was the god of weather, of rain and sun and wind, and water was a sign that he rained his blessings on this couple who stood before his altar. She wondered why she shivered at its touch. Certainly there was no need to shudder; she was gowned magnificently in a tunic of Cos linen so sheer her body could be seen and admired beneath it, and the value of the gems sewn into it exceeded the price of a small caravan. She was radiant with beauty, and no woman in all Tyre might match the glory of her long black hair.
A young boy knelt with a cushion in his hands; on it rested a tiny shoe. Jezebel reached for it and with her eyes cast down, handed it to Ahab. This was an evidence of good faith, an admission of the dependence of Jezebel upon her husband. In return, Ahab lifted a small coffer from another page—it was filled with gold and jewels—and passed it beyond Jezebel to the boy who reached for it; Jezebel merely brushed it with her fingertips in token acceptance of the bride price. As she turned her head to follow him, she saw the young physician from Israel, the good friend of Ahab, staring at her.
Jezebel smiled at him. He was so handsome! Not big and strong like her husband but slim and with wide, thoughtful brows. An intense type, with that full mouth and dark, piercing eyes. She wondered if she might develop a little ache or pain after the rites, in order that he might examine her. No; she must not give Ahab reason to be angry with her, just to gratify a whim. In her own way, she loved the prince of Israel and was determined that their marriage should be a good one.
The high priest was moving around in front of her, blessing her and her bridegroom. The ceremony was complete.
Jezebel put her hand on Ahab’s wrist, smiling up at him. He was so tall, so powerful. His arms were used to the heft of a shield or the tug of a brace of chariot horses on the reins, but they also served to crush her softness against him when Astarte goaded his loins. Her senses swam when she remembered the night—how long ago it seemed!—which they had spent in the Temple watching the deaths of Shubadad and her little girls.
She hoped that night would live again this night.
Rael tossed the nuts he held at the bridal couple, keenly aware of a tightness in his chest, of a slow sullen fury deep in his mind. Not Ahab but he should be walking the Temple floor tiles with Jezebel on his arm. His should be the right to strip her garments from her. His should be the body to crush her softness. His should be the power which would make her his own and fertilize her flesh for motherhood. A man nudged him and Rael for the first time realized that he was trembling.
He understood also that he hated Ahab.
Jehu had been smart. He had run away to avoid trouble over Jezebel. Rael wished that he had gone to Babylon with him. On the other hand, in Babylon he would not be able to see the woman whose image appeared in all his dreams; as he filed out with the other merrymakers bound for the feasting, he wondered if those strange dreams would ever prove prophetic.
His flesh leaped at the thought.
Omri died while the marriage cortege was in Cabul on its way to the cities of the plain, that the prince might show his people their future queen. A dusty rider threw himself from his foaming mount into the dirt where Ahab sat in the crimson saddle of a white mare, and rubbed his face on the ground. From the litter where she lolled at ease on fluffy cushions, Jezebel sat up straighter and lifted a brocade curtain the better to hear what was being said.
“Hail Ahab, king of Israel,” cried the rider.
The men closest to Ahab turned to one another with startled faces. Ahab himself scowled and quieted his unruly horse with a hand at its glossy neck.
“What nonsense is this?” he demanded harshly.
“Omri died last night, my king. Now Ahab his son rules in Israel.”
“Hail, Ahab,” shouted an officer, clanging sword on shield.
“Hail, Ahab king,” echoed a hundred tongues.
Jezebel put a hand to her throat, knowing the thick pulse of intense pleasure. So soon to be queen! So soon to sit on a throne, lording it over these adopted people of hers, these Israelites! Her eyes squeezed shut in her excitement and her red mouth curved into a smile. Just for a few seconds did she revel in her exaltation; then she smoothed out her features with an effort of will and pushed wide the brocade curtains.
A slave came running to help her from the litter. Other slaves dropped cushions on the ground so that she might walk on them as she crossed to the white mare where Ahab sat like a man stunned by a terrible blow. His face was blank, his eyes glazed.
She understood that he had loved his father. They had been close in the years of his youth and young manhood. He would be grieving deep inside him.
He started when she touched his knee. “You will want to ride for Samaria at once,” she said.
Ahab blinked. “You are understanding, my wife.”
“Go now. Fast and straight. Take only enough soldiers to guard you from harm. Leave the others to protect me. I will follow you at once.” She saw him glance at the litter, and shook her head. “I would slow you, even if I rode a horse. It is better that you go alone, that you may take power at once. It is not good for a land to be without a king.”
Startled, he glanced down at her. She had made him understand by her words that with Omri dead, the land of Aram under Ben-hadad its king, might rise against Israel as it had risen up against David and later against King Solomon. The Aramaeans were troublemakers, as were the people of Bashan to the east, the Moabites and Ammonites to the south. Israel stood surrounded—well, not quite surrounded, since Phoenicia was its ally—but certainly uncomfortably close to easy attack, on several sides.
Omri