Ahab and Jezebel: A Match Made in Hell by Joseph Bringman

Author:Joseph Bringman [Bringman, Joseph]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bringman Publishing
Published: 2024-03-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter nineteen

“How soon before you think Ben-Hadad attacks?”

“Well, his final messenger departed the city right at nine o’clock,” began the commander, rubbing his chin. His bushy eyebrows were squeezed together in thought. “It should have taken about twenty minutes for him to reach the Aramaic camp. By now Ben-Hadad is probably readying his troops. He could give them their marching orders anytime now.”

Ahab glanced at the sundial located in the center of the palace pavilion. It was a large slab of red granite, roughly twelve feet in diameter, which had been skillfully carved into a dodecagon. The sides had been cut so sharply that the edges posed the danger of minor laceration to any bare foot careless enough to brush up against it; the surrounding moat filled with polished white pebbles that glistened in the sun, however, proved to be a sufficient safeguard for unthinking extremities. Rising from the center of the granite was the gnomon made of black marble whose triangular blade cast a shadow across the mark for eleven o’clock. “And are our troops ready?”

“Nearly so, my lord. A few platoons quartered in the western part of the city are still en route to the Asherah Gate.”

“Very well. You may leave now.”

With a respectful salute, the commander left his king with his thoughts. Ahab ambled over to a granite bench and sat down beneath the lofty ghaf tree overshadowing it. Resting his head in his sweaty hands, a deep sigh escaped his regal lungs.

Oh, what am I to do? Only a few hours ago I felt so confident and vigorous. Thoughts of Ben-Hadad’s defeat, my kingdom’s salvation, the warm embrace of Nava, finally winning Jezebel’s approval… all came easily to my impatient mind. But now, as the hour of battle approaches, I find it difficult to muster hope, let alone courage to face it. We are so badly outnumbered.

A great shiver went up his spine.

Oh, why didn’t I just submit to Ben-Hadad’s second request? He probably would have demanded more like before… But what if he didn’t? What if he would have accepted it? I could’ve salvaged something of my realm instead of losing it all. It’s too late now. Or is it? What if—if I could send an envoy before the battle begins, and make Ben-Hadad an offer of…

“Why has your countenance fallen, O King?”

The rasping voice, piercing his concentration as a gadfly does a cow, awakened Ahab from his introspection. Jolting up with surprise, he looked towards the pavilion’s entrance. An elderly gentleman dressed in moth-eaten sackcloth, the ragged hairs of his beard clumping in discreet greasy tufts, was moseying in his direction with the aid of a scraggy cane.

“Who are you?”

“The better question is: who are you?”

“I’m the king of Israel!”

The elderly man shook his leathery finger. “Then why do you sit here in unkingly angst? A king is not a potted plant: a king is the active part of his kingdom’s soul, the director of all its movements. Be not passive in the face of heathen hordes but rouse yourself and fight like a man in defense of his home.

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