02/04/2025
The Other Side of Jezebel
Part Three: Betrayed by Jehu
I have known betrayal, but none cut deeper than that of Jehu.
He was not an enemy when we first knew him. No, Jehu was one of us—a soldier in Ahab’s army, a man we trusted, trained, and elevated. He dined in our halls, stood in our courts, received our favors. My husband saw promise in him, granting him command, ensuring his rise in the ranks of Israel’s army. And how did he repay us? With a sword to our backs.
When Ahab fell in battle, I mourned as a wife should. He was not perfect, but he was a king who had ruled with vision, a man I had loved despite the burdens of the throne. His son, Ahaziah, took his place, and though young, he could have been strong with the right guidance. But fate was cruel—he did not reign long before he, too, fell. And before we could even steady ourselves, Jehu emerged, dripping with the blood of those who had once trusted him.
Word came that Jehu had been anointed king by the prophets. Ah, the prophets again. They had always wanted the house of Ahab destroyed, and now they had found their weapon. He rode toward Jezreel with a heart full of ambition and a mind set on vengeance, not justice. I knew what was coming. I had seen this before—the thirst for power disguised as righteousness.
But I would not cower.
I painted my eyes, adorned my hair, and stood at my window, not in desperation, but in defiance. If he had come to slay me, let him look upon my face and know that I did not fear him. Let him see that Jezebel would not beg, would not weep, would not shrink before a man who owed everything to the very throne he sought to destroy.
As he rode into the city, I spoke words he could not ignore:
"Is it peace, Jehu? You, the betrayer of your master?"
But men like Jehu do not answer with words. They answer with violence. Without provocation, without trial, without justice, he called to my own eunuchs—men I had clothed, fed, and protected—and they turned against me. I felt their hands upon me before I could react, before I could command them otherwise.
And then—I fell.
The world blurred as the sky turned to stone beneath me. Pain seared through my body, but I did not cry out. I would not give them the satisfaction. I, who had stood beside kings, who had ruled with wisdom and strength, who had loved, fought, and endured—I would not let them see me break.
As my blood stained the ground, I heard the hooves of Jehu’s horse. I heard his laughter. And then, silence.
They say the dogs devoured me, that my flesh was scattered so that none could bury me properly. Perhaps. But what they do not understand is this: Jezebel was never just a body. I was a force, a queen, a woman who refused to bow. My name still lingers, though they have tried to smear it with filth. They tell my story, even as they twist it against me.
But now, you have heard my story.
And now, perhaps, you will question the way they have told it.
(To be continued...)
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