In the Shadow of Jehu
The kingdom of Israel has fallen, yet some are not pleased with their new king.
“Look,” said Eliab, a wiry man with a patchy beard, as he leaned over his cup. He spoke to several men seated with him. “Nobody’s saying Ahab was a saint. Or Jezebel. Baal worship drained the kingdom dry, with all those offerings funneled to their filthy altars. But Jehu? He’s swinging a battle axe when a paring knife would do. Hacking away at everything, leaving nothing standing.”
In a dusty inn on the outskirts of Jezreel, the flicker of oil lamps cast long shadows across the worn wooden tables. The air smelled of stale bread and spilled wine as weary and wary men huddled together, their voices low but sharp with frustration. Outside, the wind howled through the streets, carrying whispers of King Jehu’s latest purge. The house of Ahab lay in ruins, Baal’s temples smoldered, and dogs lapped the blood-soaked stones of Samaria. But here, in the dim light, discontent brewed like a storm.
“Exactly,” grumbled Obed, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his knuckles. He stabbed a finger at the table for emphasis. “Sure, Ahab’s sons were corrupt. Stole from the treasury, siphoned it to those priests in their gaudy robes. But wipe them all out? Seventy heads in baskets? Who’s left to run the kingdom now? The poor are already begging at the gates, and the bread deliveries stopped weeks ago. Jehu’s so busy killing he’s forgotten the widows and orphans. Is it not written in the Law that ‘you shall not mistreat the widow or the orphan’?”
“And it’s not just that,” added Zorah, a thin man with nervous eyes that darted to the door every few moments. “He’s reckless. That business with Ahaziah, king of Judah? Killed him too, right alongside Ahab’s lot. Judah’s furious. We’ll have their armies at our border before the harvest, mark my words. International conflict, all because Jehu can’t aim his vengeance properly.”
Obed snorted, taking a swig of his wine. “And the lying. Calling the prophets of Baal together, pretending he’s going to honor their god? ‘Come, let us have a great sacrifice,’ he says. Then bam, swords out, temple torched. Two wrongs don’t make a right. If he’s so righteous, why stoop to deceit? Sounds more like Ahab’s tricks than God’s justice.”
Eliab nodded vigorously. “That’s what I’ve been saying. And don’t get me started on Jehonadab. Who is this man? Some desert wanderer Jehu picks up on a whim to help him ‘cleanse’ the land? Nobody’s vetted him. No experience, no credentials. He’s weird too, with his wild hair and those vows he makes everyone swear. What’s he even doing here? God wouldn’t send someone like that to assist a king.”
“God wouldn’t send Jehu either,” Zorah muttered, his voice dropping even lower. “Elisha’s servant anointed him, they say. A prophet of God? I don’t believe it. Look at the chaos. The poor are starving while Jehu’s chasing blood and glory. Surely God cares more about feeding the hungry than burning temples and stacking heads. This cannot be His will.”
The men fell silent for a moment, the weight of their words settling like dust. The innkeeper shuffled past, eyeing them suspiciously, but said nothing. Obed leaned in closer, his voice a harsh whisper. “Jehu’s a madman. Elisha’s lost his way. If this is what ‘righteousness’ looks like, I’d rather have Ahab back.” He spat for emphasis.
A sudden creak from the door made them all freeze. A figure stepped inside, cloaked and silent, but the moment passed, and they relaxed. Zorah smirked faintly. “At least we’re still here to talk about it. For now.”
The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken fear, until Obed shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the others. His scarred hand brushed against his chest, where something bulged beneath his tunic. “I tire of this game,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “We are all brothers here as far as I can tell. Kinship thicker than blood. I’ll drop pretense and speak plain.” He tugged at the neck of his garment, revealing a glint of bronze, an amulet etched with the crescent of Baal, dangling against his skin. “I served in the temple at Samaria. Twenty years. I fled when the flames started.”
Zorah’s nervous eyes widened, but after a hesitant pause, he nodded. “So did I,” he whispered. He rolled up his sleeve, exposing a faded tattoo of a bull, the mark of Baal’s inner circle, inked into his forearm. “I was at the great altar when Jehu called us. I slipped out the back when the killing began. Hid in a grain cart till nightfall.” His fingers trembled as he traced the tattoo, a mix of shame and defiance in his gaze.
The other men around the table began to share their secrets one by one. A cousin of Ahab overlooked in the purgings. A discontented army officer previously employed by Jehu when he was still a general. A wine merchant who had supplied the previous dynasty well and could no longer make ends meet without his most generous patron. The tension around the table released with each confession.
Obed leaned back, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “Brothers, then. I thought I was alone in this pit.” He glanced at Eliab, who had yet to reveal his plight to the company. His wiry frame still hunched over his cup. “And you? What’s your story? You’ve been nodding along, but you’ve said little as of late.”
Eliab’s eyes flicked up, sharp and unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing, then slowly reached beneath his cloak. The others tensed, expecting another amulet or tattoo, but instead, he pulled out a small, worn cord, knotted in a peculiar pattern. “I’ve no pretty trinkets,” he said quietly. “But I’ve seen the destruction of the temples too.”
“You escaped as well?” Zorah pressed, his voice tight. “A priest? You’ve got the look of someone who’s burned incense, spoken the chants, offered vows.”
Eliab’s mouth twitched, almost a smirk. “I’ve offered my vows, aye. And I have offered my burnt sacrifices too.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell me, brothers, do you still pray to Him? To Baal? Even now, with his house in ashes?”
Obed hesitated, then nodded. “Every night. In silence. I’ll not abandon Him, no matter what Jehu does.” Zorah murmured agreement, clutching his tattooed arm as if it anchored him to his lost god. The other men affirmed their fidelity as well.
“Good,” Eliab said, his eyes glinting in the lamplight. “Then we’re safe here. Confessed and united.” He stood abruptly, stretching as if relieved, and the others relaxed. Obed even chuckled, raising his cup in a mock toast. “To Baal, then. May his shadow linger.”
But as Eliab turned toward the door, his cloak shifted, and a glimpse of wild, matted hair spilled from his hood, too distinctive to miss. Zorah’s cup froze halfway to his lips. “Wait,” he rasped, his voice cracking. “That hair. I’ve seen it before. On the road with Jehu…” His words trailed off as realization dawned, cold and merciless.
Eliab paused, then turned back, his smirk widening into something feral. He yanked off his cloak entirely, revealing not the robes of a priest but the rough, austere garb of a desert zealot. The knotted cord at his neck was no priestly token but a vow-taker’s mark. “You’re right,” he said, his voice no longer soft but ringing with authority. “You’ve seen me. I am Jehonadab, son of Rechab, who rides alongside the king of Israel.”
Obed’s amulet clattered to the floor as he stumbled back, knocking over his chair. Zorah whimpered, clawing at his sleeve to hide the tattoo, but it was too late. Jehonadab’s eyes burned with a righteous fury. “My friends, had you learned the words of Solomon rather than your chants to Baal, you might have saved your lives. For it is written, ‘Even in your thoughts, do not curse the king, for a bird of the air will carry your voice, or some winged creature tell the matter.’ My wings are not those of a bird but are as one of the cherubim with flaming sword ready to strike down both the wicked and unholy.”
Jehonadab raised a hand toward the door. The creak they’d ignored earlier returned, louder now, as armored figures stepped inside, their swords drawn. Jehonadab unsheathed his sword as well, and it glinted in the candlelight. “Baal’s shadow ends tonight.”