liable to crack as the evening wore on. She settled for a pearlescent shimmer dusted across her collar bones. Her lips were painted vermillion, using one of her mother’s recipes learned from the Egyptians.
‘I had always thought it like the cool of a midnight sky,’ said a voice to her right, ‘but in truth it is more like the heat of a glorious sunset.’
‘I’m sorry?’ said Jezebel politely, turning. The accent was not like any she had heard before.
‘Tyrian purple,’ said a young man settling on the couch next to her. From Balazar’s dismissive description, Jezebel had imagined the Judeans to be as dull and ugly as their lands, but this fellow was as handsome as any of the young men of Tyre. His jaw was a little squarer and his eyes had a dark knowing about them that Jezebel found oddly cool in their attractive setting. From his unlined face, he might have been only a couple of years older than her, perhaps even eighteen, but his body was certainly a man’s. She blushed at how intently he studied her in return. His eyes caressed her shoulders, then took in the folds of fabric that draped across her body. ‘The cloth I’ve seen dyed with it in the Jerusalem markets has a rather bluer hue to it,’ he continued, ‘but your dress is quite rich and red in comparison.’
There was a moment’s silence before Jezebel realised he was expecting an answer, but when she tried to speak, no words would come. The Hebrew he spoke was guttural but soft. She coughed, her fingers covering her mouth, and the young man quickly reached for a bowl of wine and offered it to her.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, furious with herself for being so struck by his looks that she had forgotten her poise and her manners. She drank some wine, and swall owed hard. ‘I’m afraid that the colour you are describing isn’t true Tyrian purple, but tekhelet.’
‘I don’t know this word,’ he said, ‘what does it mean?’
Jezebel swallowed some more wine, its richness surely flushing her cheeks even more. ‘Tekhelet is the colour used for our ritual clothing.’
‘And that makes it different?’
Jezebel lowered her gaze. ‘I am quite sure one of the officials will be able to tell you about the technical processes if you wish to know.’
He leaned closer to her and she smelled the sweet almond oil on his hair. ‘It can be very boring,’ he whispered, ‘listening to a lot of officials droning on. But I’m sure the Princess Jezebel can make even a dead snail sound interesting.’
‘It seems you know more about me than I know about you,’ said Jezebel. ‘I’m afraid I don’t even know your name.’
The young man lowered his head and hesitantly offered his hand, palm up, in the traditional Phoenician greeting. Jezebel lowered her palm onto his in response, the calluses at the base of his fingers catching on her own smooth soft skin.
‘I apologise. A soldier’s hands are not as soft as a princess’s,’ he said. ‘I’m Jehu, the youngest in the Judean line. My father, Jehoshaphat, sits to your left. My grandfather Asa sits between your brother and your father.’
Jehoshaphat had turned towards the sound of his name, and she offered her hands for the greeting. The father’s jaw had the same hard contour as the son’s but his mouth lacked fullness and his eyes were hawkish. He glanced contemptuously at Jezebel’s hands, then turned his attention back to Balazar. King Asa was a small man with bright eyes and just a scattering of hairs across his liver-spotted scalp. Most of his fingers bore thick gold rings, and he threw a mischievous smile towards her, as if to say ‘Were I a younger man …’
Jezebel darted a glance at Jehu, but he made no apology for his father’s rudeness, or his grandfather’s lechery, only staring at the back of his father’s head. She fumbled for her golden platter to cover her embarrassment at being snubbed, selecting fruits and meats from the table.
Jehu began to do the same, hurriedly saying, ‘I have spent little time on the coast. I had not imagined Tyre would be so striking.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jezebel rather formally, staring at her plate. ‘I am sure there are many attractive towns and cities on the Judean coast.’
‘Perhaps. But I have never seen them for the Judean army have never had to defend our nation from armies of mermaids and seahorses.’
Jezebel glanced up in spite of herself, and found Jehu grinning shyly at her, his eyes gazing deep into hers. She smiled and broke his gaze, but he quickly spoke again.
‘Your officials were talking of a city called Mog’dor, where the Tyrians own great yards for turning the snails into dye, but I cannot imagine what such a place is like. Is it not far to the west, beyond the end of the Sea Road?’
‘But not beyond the end of the sea,’ said Jezebel allowing her eyes to be drawn back to his. ‘Where feet might fail, a boat will always sail.’
‘Give me a horse instead. You are not at the whim of the winds on a horse.’
‘I love to ride too,’ she answered, glad of something in common. ‘But a boat can carry far more cargo and will bring you more by return. The King’s Highway, the Sea Road, these roads will always stop where the sea begins. But the sea crosses land by way of rivers—’
‘You make it sound almost beautiful.’
‘The sea is beautiful.’
‘But I think only you could make it sound so.’
Jezebel blushed deeply but she held Jehu’s gaze as he offered her his plate of food to share, the light of the shell lamps glistening on his dark curly hair. She tentatively reached for the plate, her fingers settling on a bunch of grapes in the middle, and she smiled to herself as she picked them up.
Perhaps Astarte is watching after all, she thought.
Chapter Four
In the sharp morning light, Tyre looked almost more beautiful than at sunset, its white buildings sparkling. Up on the roof of the Palace the light breeze caught Jezebel’s dress and her headscarf fluttered behind her. Beset had stayed with her long after Rebecca had gone to bed last night, and they had spent considerable time choosing the outfit, giggling softly between them at how Jehu might admire the flattering cut of one against the pretty hues of another. Their efforts had been worth it, for Jehu had hardly taken his eyes off her since he and Jehoshaphat had followed Ithbaal up to the roof for the best vista of the city. Indeed he now grinned foolishly at her as he rubbed his palms vigorously on his bare arms. This morning he had shed his formal robes in favour of a rough tunic strapped with a leather belt and knife sheath. His strong calves were laced into leather riding boots, and he looked very much the warrior he claimed to be.
‘Are you cold?’ asked Jezebel.
‘I’m not used to the sea wind. It is cooler than when I’m galloping through the valleys.’
‘I prefer to ride along the beach.’
‘It isn’t good for a horse to run on such soft ground. They waste their effort and their hair gets clogged with sand.’
‘I agree with you, Jehu,’ said Ithbaal. ‘And I would advise you never to let Jezebel ride one of your horses for both of them will return muddy and exhausted.’
Jezebel smiled but avoided looking at Jehu. The young man was even more handsome in the sunshine, taller and broader than she had realised, like one of the heroic Temple statues with his feet wide, his arms crossed, and the black curls on his head kissed lightly by the breeze. So she turned away, containing her attraction, for the negotiations were the purpose of this visit and not merely the prelude to a suitable marriage. Ithbaal had watched her during the banquet last night with that glimmer of amusement she loved so much, and she had glowed to know she was making him proud. It didn’t harm, of course, that her dinner companion had been charming, and it made up for Jehoshaphat’s less engaging disposition.
‘Women should not ride,’ said Jehu’s father as he peered across the city’s