Читать книгу Jezebel - Eleanor Jong De - Страница 17

In the light from flickering lanterns, the young woman stared back at Jezebel, haughty and refined, almost arrogant in the way her eyebrows arched and her eyes stared, rimmed with the blackest kohl. Her skin was fashionably paled with the most expensive of the ground powders but it looked like a mask, taut and still, concealing every thought within. Only the mouth curled faintly, reddened with dyed wax. But if her face was mesmerising, it was merely an opal in the most elaborate of settings, from the headdress of sculpted gold through which her hair was delicately woven, down through the rich swathes of silken gown edged with hundreds of tiny shimmering pearls, to the jewelled sandals and sparkling ankle bracelets which tinkled musically as she walked. She was the richest of offerings in every sense.

‘I hardly recognise myself,’ said Jezebel.

Beset lowered the bronze hand mirror, its panel etched with a scene from the abduction of Princess Europa by the lovesick bull. ‘You look like a queen.’

Behind the facade and the armour of a bride, Jezebel’s heart thudded with fear and her hands sweated, and she prayed that the paint on her face would not smudge and smear. It was well after dark, and she’d heard the dining party gathering for some time.

‘I hope the King has made such an effort,’ murmured Beset as she straightened the train of Jezebel’s gown one last time. And then the maid stepped back to admire her work and sniffed, quickly wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘Your father would be so proud.’

Jezebel lifted her chin to swallow down her own emotions and the wide gold neckband rubbed against her throat. There was something to be grateful for in these ceremonial outfits for they made you stand tall and proud even when you wanted to run away to curl up and hide. And perhaps Philosir understood that, for he didn’t make her walk any slower than she could bear to on the way to the banquet, giving the Israelites that clustered in the Palace corridors enough time to notice her but not to weigh her further with their disdainful fascination.

She passed beneath the grand archway to the dining hall. Over the silence that followed the pronouncement of her name, she heard dozens of indistinct whispers. There was not another woman to be seen among the diners, and their garb was so drab she felt their disrespect in all their dullness. Even Ahab, sitting imperiously on a raised platform at the head of the table, looked plain in a long grey robe that sparkled with silver thread. He rose slowly to greet her, perhaps as overwhelmed as she was by the trophy Obadiah had won for him in the negotiations.

‘Please, sit with me, Jezebel.’

At the moment she sat down on the smaller throne beside his, three Israelite priests stood from their couches and left the room. Ahab reddened.

On the opposite side of the table Amos, who was standing in dutiful expectation of his princess, turned towards Obadiah, who sat on Ahab’s other side. ‘You were never shown such contempt in Tyre,’ he said.

‘Priests here don’t bow to the King,’ said Obadiah, ‘and certainly not to a wife.’

‘Especially one so gaudy,’ said the other remaining Israelite priest. ‘They must grow gold in Tyre, from the look of her. If that is any indication, perhaps the Phoenician lands will be more fertile to farm than Judah’s,’ he added.

So her suspicions and Raisa’s aborted warnings were confirmed. Jezebel sensed Ahab tense beside her. He was staring at her, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and his eyes bright with rage, their chestnut brown so vivid against his hair and gown. She felt sorry for him, and guilty for being so elaborately dressed, as though the effusion of all her riches had somehow made everything so much worse. But why hadn’t he challenged his priests? In spite of all her own awkwardness she held his gaze in hers and smiled at him. As he studied her, probing deep beneath the mask of betrothal, she thought she saw a half-smile pass his lips in response, though when he spoke his voice was brittle with suppressed fury.

‘Would you like wine?’ asked Ahab.

Philosir had told her that women did not normally drink wine with the men in Israel and indeed there was a slight pause in the chatter around the table when Jezebel nodded and took the drinking bowl. And then she realised that this was in itself a small act of defiance by Ahab, and she sipped from it.

‘This vintage comes from my vineyard at Jezreel, a city north-east of here,’ said a nobleman sitting between the priests and Obadiah. He was a round fellow with a cheerful face, rather less lean than the other Israelites who still gawped at Jezebel, and his hair was curly, and as grey as Ahab’s.

‘Ever the merchant, Naboth,’ said Ahab dryly.

‘We grow most of our vines there for the valley is fed well by the river that runs through it.’

‘Is it not too cold?’ asked Philosir, his voice strained with enforced politeness.

‘The winds are weak so far inland,’ said Naboth. ‘The Winter Palace is there too.’

Jezebel had heard already of the city of Jezreel several times. During the coldest part of the year, the royal court left Samaria and travelled inland for the warmer climate. Although most of what she’d heard of the fortified city was grim.

‘The wine is very nice,’ she said.

Naboth gulped from his bowl. ‘I told you they would like it, Obadiah.’

‘You also told me there were mermaids in the sea,’ said Obadiah. ‘But I didn’t see one.’

‘There are many extraordinary riches in the Great Sea,’ said Philosir, ‘and it is on such discoveries that we have built our prosperity, just as you have built yours from the land.’

‘Israel isn’t as it once was,’ said Ahab, passing his own gold plate piled high with food to Jezebel. The gesture touched her, subtle as it was.

‘Our land is drying out,’ he continued, ‘and the crops didn’t flourish this year. What you see here is the best of it, and I’m not ashamed to ask our Phoenician neighbours to help us survive.’ He turned to Philosir. ‘We need engineers to help us extract the water from our springs if we are to survive another summer.’

‘The land isn’t drying out,’ said the first of the priests, ‘but our farmers have lost their faith that Yahweh will provide. And is it any wonder?’

‘When you understand the intellect of our Phoenician neighbours as well as you claim to understand the souls of our people, then perhaps I will concede your point,’ said Ahab. ‘But for now even you must admit that we cannot provide all that we need by way of cloth or metal ores, not to mention knowledge that can help our people live comfortable lives.’

Jezebel picked up a flatbread rolled with cheeses and olives, and chewed tentatively at the corner. With all the butterflies in her stomach she hadn’t realised that she was hungry and she’d eaten very little since being sick this morning. The food wasn’t bad at all, though rather blander than she was used to.

‘His Highness is right,’ said Naboth, the nobleman. ‘We need to expand our horizons if we are to make the most of what land we have.

‘When the springs north of Samaria are properly dug out,’ Naboth continued to Philosir, ‘I will be able to plant a new vineyard. There is an excellent curve in the foothills which faces full south and will catch the sun all day.’

‘Perhaps it would be better to plant on a west-facing slope,’ said Jezebel absent-mindedly, picking up a fig. ‘If the vines have too much sun they will be sweet enough, but without cool autumn mornings the wine will lack acidity, and won’t have sufficient finesse.’

Her mouth turned dry and the fig hung from her fingers. Without turning her head at all she knew every Israelite in the room was staring at her, some of them with expressions of utter disdain, while her own people stared at their plates. Jezebel felt her face burn with shame beneath the mask of white powder and she lowered the fig to the plate. And then, unexpectedly, Ahab roared with laughter from beside her.

‘That is the best advice you have ever been given, Naboth,’ he said, ‘and I suggest you take it.’