Love’s Sacred Song (31 page)

All your robes are fragrant with myrrh and aloes and cassia;

from palaces adorned with ivory

the music of the strings makes you glad.

Your sons will take the place of your fathers;

you will make them princes throughout the land.

I will perpetuate your memory through all generations;

therefore the nations will praise you for ever and ever.

Arielah finished the song as Ima and Bathsheba had ended it. Precisely. Abruptly. She waited for his response.

Silence.

The chamber was full of shadows cast by lamplight, so she couldn’t see his expression. But he said nothing. Did nothing. She had offered him her blessing, but she feared that somehow she’d offended him. Rising from her knees, she stepped over to take her place on the bed, and the shadow cleared from his face.

She saw his tears.

Jaw flexing, he was fighting for control. “Beloved, I’ve never heard anything so beautiful in my life.” He buried his face in her neck and sobbed. Then in one fluid motion, she was in his arms, and he covered her like a blanket. His kiss was gentle, his love the culmination of every breath she’d ever taken. He caressed her cheek, searched her eyes. “Did you write the song, or is it a northern tune?” His eyes held an awed delight she’d never seen. “I’ve never heard it before.”

Brushing his hair from his forehead, she engraved his expression on her heart. She would remember this moment forever. “It is our sacred song, my love.” She began her story of the mikvah and their imas’ shared tune. They laughed in wonder at Jehovah’s dominion.

His eyes danced. “I’ve been working on another shepherd’s verse for you.” Tracing his finger down her neck, her shoulder, her arm, he leaned over her. “You are a garden locked up, my bride, a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain. You are a bountiful orchard of pomegranates with choice fruits, with henna . . .” He kissed one finger. “With nard . . .” Kissed another fingertip. “Saffron.” A kiss. “Calamus.” A kiss. “And cinnamon.”

Each kiss sent fire racing through her.

“With every kind of incense tree, with myrrh and aloes and all the finest spices. You are a garden fountain, a well of flowing water streaming down from Lebanon.” He turned her hand over and began a string of kisses at her palm, working up her arm. “I long to be washed by your fountain.”

Without pause, she said, “Awake, north wind, and come, south wind! Blow on my garden, and let its fragrance fill your heart. You’ve given me your garden, Solomon. Now I give you mine. Come and taste its choice fruits.”

Tenderly, joyfully, they shared the firstfruits of the marriage bed.

Arielah lay beside Solomon, gazing at the ceiling of their bridal chamber in the afterglow of dawn’s ecstasy. Solomon’s voice was a gentle whisper. “I have enjoyed my garden, my bride. I have gathered my myrrh with my spice. I have eaten my honeycomb and my honey. I have drunk my wine and my milk. You, beloved, have quenched every desire of my heart.”

Tears formed, but she had determined not to cry. “Our seven days of yichud are over, my love. We must return to our wedding guests, but part of lasting love is creating yichud within our daily lives.”

Solomon placed a finger at the corner of her eye, tracing a path for the escape of her tear. He’d become sensitive to her slightest change in emotion. “Let’s just stay here. Our guests won’t miss us.”

She gathered his hand, kissed his palm. “We must join the musicians and dancers in entertaining our guests, but we can return to yichud every night.” She sounded so brave, but her heart was breaking. Fear threatened to rob her of breath. Would she have to leave the bridal chamber after their thirty days of marriage were over? Would he assign her a place among the other wives in his harem?

“I have never known a love like this,” Solomon said, looking more like a boy than a king. His tousled hair and short linen tunic showed his comfort in her presence. “Never have I trusted anyone so completely, Arielah. You have great power, my wife—power to break my heart if you so desire.”

“My only desire is Jehovah’s best for you.” Cautiously but determinedly, she ventured the truth once more. “I still desire your whole heart, and I’ll never settle for less.”

To her surprise—and delight—he didn’t refuse. But neither did he commit. Instead, he seemed lost in thought, his eyes distant. Arielah snuggled into his chest to enjoy their last few moments alone before rejoining their guests.

“Arielah,” he said, rolling over, coiling the linen sheets around them. He paused, lying on his back, and she looked down into his clear, content gaze. All worry, all burdens of his kingdom seemed far away. “For the first time in my life,” he said, “I understand how a man can be thoroughly satisfied by one woman. We will share this chamber from this day forward, Arielah. I need not ‘browse among the lilies’ any longer. You will be my only flower.”

Speechless, she searched his expression for some sign of mischief. If he was teasing, she would torture him slowly and let Benaiah help her! “You’re certain?” she asked, joyful tears dripping down on his cheeks.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything—except perhaps Jehovah’s wisdom,” he said.

She buried her head in his chest. “I love you. I love you,” she whispered.

He kissed her deeply and then held her face gently. “And I love you.” His eyes answered any lingering doubts his kiss left behind. “Now, let’s hurry and greet our guests so we can return to this chamber tonight!”

She giggled and slid off the mattress, then donned the linen robe Hannah had provided for her first walk to her private preparation chamber in the harem. Though she dreaded the experience, the promise of forever soothed the sting.

Solomon took her hand, and they emerged from their protective cocoon of yichud. A few steps into the king’s garden, and already Arielah’s joy wrestled with fear. He had promised her the desire of her heart—but was his commitment strong enough to withstand the weight of responsibility and Ahishar’s deception?
Lord Jehovah, only You can protect both of us now.

The sounds of celebration swelled. Stepping into Solomon’s private suites, they were greeted by Benaiah’s warm smile and the calculated grins of the Daughters of Jerusalem. Both women bowed.

“Shalom, Shiphrah and Sherah!” Solomon said, a little more joyfully than Arielah would have liked. He seemed to genuinely esteem them, trust them, and she dreaded the battles ahead.

“Shalom, dear king,” Shiphrah answered, stepping between the bride and groom. “Arielah’s beauty treatments begin today,” she shouted, whisking Arielah away. “We’ve already sent word for her little maid to join us in the harem. Sherah and I will make sure your bride returns to the festivities in gowns and jewels befitting a queen.”

Solomon’s chamber well behind them, Sherah spoke quietly as the three climbed a secluded stairway. “One of your guests left a message before returning to her new home in the City of David.” Exchanging a wicked grin with her sister, she said, “I’ve forgotten her name, but she said she was a childhood friend from Shunem.”

“Oh, I think her name was Marah,” Shiphrah said.

The twins laughed all the way to the harem, but Arielah refused to be baited. She would fix her thoughts on yichud and take comfort in Hannah’s faithful service.

•
 2 Chronicles 8:11 
•

Solomon brought Pharaoh’s daughter up from the City of David to the palace he had built for her.

E
very day for eight full cycles of the moon, the Daughters of Jerusalem had escorted Arielah to the harem, and every night Solomon had remained faithful to his promise. No more browsing in the lilies for Israel’s king. Their love had grown during evening meals and garden strolls. Occasionally they chatted about a court ruling or foreign policy, but most often they simply enjoyed the comfort of each other’s presence.

“Perhaps your maid should use the honey treatment on your cheeks,” Shiphrah said, wrinkling her nose. She seemed especially surly this morning. “I think I still see some damage from those awful freckles and peeling you suffered from your brothers’ abuse.” Sherah sniggered as she always did, and their march continued up the southeast stairs to Solomon’s second-story harem.

“I don’t see any freckles or scars, my lady,” Hannah whispered. “Why don’t you tell the king how they treat you?”

Arielah covered her mouth, keeping her voice low. “We need not burden the king with the bawling of twin Judean heifers.” She crossed her eyes and twisted her face.

Hannah giggled, eliciting a scowl from Shiphrah and Sherah. The moment Arielah made the childish gesture, she regretted her pettiness. Arielah had become like Hannah’s older sister when they were told to cease their questions about Abishag. Arielah took the role seriously and chided herself for reacting to wicked words with a spiteful act.

Arriving at the marble-arched harem entrance, Shiphrah addressed the Judean guards on the right. “Would one of you send word that we need to speak with Oliab?”

The rough-looking watchmen leered at the twins, and one ventured an answer. “Yes, my lady. Is there anything else we can help you with?” Sherah stepped forward, motioning for the guard to lean down to hear her whisper. He did so, and his eyes sparked. “Yes, my lady.”

Shiphrah and Sherah walked through the gate, the watchmen’s eyes on them. Sekhet’s Nubian soldiers, on the left side of the entrance, never moved, blinked—or even seemed to breathe.

Arielah and Hannah followed, entering a different world—the world of women. Since men were strictly forbidden in the harem, these walls possessed a unique feminine evil. Few rules applied. No one escaped unharmed. Each of the wives had a personal couch, some separated only by a curtain, others within private walled chambers. Arielah kept her head bowed, avoiding any provocation.

“Ima, it’s the goat queen!” a little voice shouted. “Nahaha! Nahaha!” Solomon’s firstborn son, Rehoboam, was only three years old, but his ima Naamah had taught him to make goat sounds when Arielah arrived for her daily anointing.

No wonder King David built a private home for Ima Bathsheba.
The queen mother, like Arielah, had been singled out for ridicule among the harem, and her private home had been her salvation. She’d visited Arielah a few times since the wedding feast; however, as she’d predicted, the Daughters’ control of the harem made her visits almost impossible.

“Here she comes,” one of the Edomite wives shouted. “Let’s all bow to the queen of goats.”

Arielah received the ridicule from other queens, but poor Hannah endured a double portion. Queens
and
their maids heaped insults on the quiet Shulammite behind her mistress. The daily processional never changed: the Daughters of Jerusalem, followed by Arielah and then Hannah. Like prisoners marched to their execution.

“Oh!” Hannah cried out, and Arielah turned in time to see a small pillowed image of Molech bounce off her maid’s head.

Fire rose in Arielah’s cheeks. “Who threw this?” she shouted, pointing at the doll, and the whole assembly roared with laughter. Even the ox-headed image of a man seemed to mock her from where it lay on the floor.

The harem was clearly segregated, each cluster defined by its gods. Those loyal to Molech had little patience for Chemosh followers, and those devoted to Asherah were scantily clad in sheer veils and little else. Solomon’s native wives—both northern and Judean—had grown accustomed to the foreign wives’ gods and were now simply angry that their son of David spent too much time with Jehoshaphat’s daughter. Despising Arielah seemed the only subject on which all wives could agree.

“Would you like to know what he whispered in my ear, little goatherd?” The sultry Moabitess taunted her with intimate details of past encounters with the king. Though Solomon had been faithful to Arielah alone since their wedding, she still ached at the thought of these women in her husband’s arms. Tears stung her eyes.

“What’s the matter, little shepherdess?” Sherah asked as they entered the stark chamber set aside for Arielah’s daily cleansing. “Are the other wives unkind to Jehoshaphat’s daughter?” She bit her bottom lip in a mocking pout.

Shiphrah pressed Arielah’s shoulders down, forcing her onto a waiting bench. “Why don’t we call for a scribe who can send a message to your abba, explaining that Judeans are simply unbearable? Jehoshaphat can rally northern farmers and field hands to war.” Her eyes became slits. “They’ll need to gather their best fish nets and winnowing forks for the battle.” The Daughters giggled with delight as Hannah poured perfumed oils into a bowl to begin the treatments.

Arielah stiffened her spine and her resolve. “The only message I will send to my abba is the joyous report when King Solomon finally discovers Ahishar’s scheme and executes
all
the Judeans plotting against our nation.” She heard Hannah gasp but didn’t temper her threats. “Someday Benaiah will gain the proof he needs to expose the Sons of Judah.”

A slow, wry smile crept across Shiphrah’s face. “Now, now, little shepherdess,” she said, exchanging a knowing grin with her twin, “keep your voice down. Someone might hear your threats and do you harm.”

Solomon waited in his private meeting chamber, summoned from the crowded throne hall like a naughty child at the whim of an angry ima. Hearing the clicking of sandals on the tiles outside his door, he glared at Ahishar. “This had better be important, steward! I can’t believe you’ve canceled the rest of today’s petitioners to deal with this . . . this . . .”

“Now, my lord,” Ahishar soothed before his guests arrived, “remember our alliance . . .”

The cedar double doors opened, and Queen Sekhet marched in, followed by her entourage of priestesses and Nubian guards. In the almost two years since he’d married Pharaoh’s daughter, he’d spoken with her three times, lain with her twice. She was cold, calculating, and the most terrifying woman he’d ever met.

“I demand my own palace,” she said without preface, her orange lion-mane wig emphasizing the dark sheen of her Egyptian skin.

“We’ve just started stonecutting and preparations for the temple,” Solomon said, trying to be reasonable. “We haven’t even laid a foundation for Jehovah’s palace, and you want me to stop and build you one instead?” She didn’t flinch, not a single eyelash quivered. “I’m not going to delay King David’s lifelong dream to bow to the silly demands of Pharaoh’s daughter!” His temper was rising, but he couldn’t help himself. Her indifference was infuriating. “And furthermore, why would I build a palace for
one
of my sixty queens?” He stepped closer, attempting to gain some advantage over this robust woman who almost matched his height—and probably his strength.

She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and took a step toward him, matching his posture.

He was awed by her composure. She was magnificent, and Solomon found himself suddenly more intrigued than annoyed. A grin worked at the corner of his mouth.
You are daunting!
He examined her high cheekbones and fathomless black eyes. Was that amusement he glimpsed?

Speaking before a smile dared break her icy calm, she said, “You will build a palace for one queen because you have only one Egyptian among your herd of bellowing cows.”

He laughed aloud, and her defenses showed serious cracks. But as he let his laughter dwindle, he saw her expression change again. “You show your Shulammite wife too much favor,” she said. “She has stayed too long in your bridal chamber.” The hint of her merriment vanished as quickly as it had come, and a shadow of sadness crept over her chiseled features. “I will have the respect a daughter of Pharaoh deserves.” She lifted her chin again, and any vulnerability was lost to the impenetrable walls of Sekhet, the powerful one.

Studying her, Solomon considered this exotic, fascinating woman. What was her life like in the harem? Her Nubian protectors were banned from the harem and could stand only at the entrance. She had her priestesses to attend her, but the Daughters of Jerusalem had reported Sekhet spoke with no other women. She hadn’t conceived a child in the two times they’d been together—as was the case with many of his queens. His silent contemplations must have roused her further.

“You must at least fulfill your responsibility to give me an heir!” she said, tears like diamonds suddenly falling down her dark cheeks. He didn’t even have time to explain before her words became almost desperate. “I will be the disgrace of Egypt if I do not produce an heir. Pharaoh Psusennes sends couriers to inquire of my success, and each time I must report my failure.”

He tried to hold her, but she pushed him away. He couldn’t bear watching her weep alone. Overpowering her in a firm embrace, he saw her Nubian guards advance to protect her, but Solomon’s Mighty Men held them at bay. “Shhh, Sekhet. Shhh.” Finally she relaxed into his arms, like a wild horse relenting to its first master. He whispered, soothing her. “You don’t always have to be the powerful one.”

Solomon caught Ahishar’s attention and silently signaled him to clear the chamber. This woman had suffered alone long enough. It was time for him to comfort his wife and fulfill the duties of a husband to which he had agreed when he accepted her in pledge from Egypt.
It is the way of kings, Arielah
, he grieved silently. And then he kissed away the salty drops from Sekhet’s cheeks. “You will have your palace—after I’ve finished God’s temple.” Kissing her tenderly, he said, “And you will have your heir—if Jehovah wills it.”

Arielah sat in her assigned chamber of Solomon’s harem, confused, trembling, and alone. It was as if the whole world continued with their day, but life stopped the moment the Daughters of Jerusalem whisked Hannah away without explanation. Arielah had no idea how long she waited alone. Without a window in this chamber, she couldn’t measure time, but the rumbling of her stomach told her midday had passed, and it was surely almost evening.
Lord Jehovah
, she prayed,
what do I do now?
Hopefully Solomon would miss her soon and send someone to find her.

She heard the incessant rumble of the harem change to an eerie quiet, and then the faint slapping of sandals approaching. The Daughters’ ominous words rang in her memory:
Someone might hear your threats and do you harm.
Trembling, she glanced around. What could she use for a weapon? The footsteps neared, and she held her breath.

“My lady?” Hannah’s round face appeared, and Arielah released a sigh. But her relief was short-lived when she saw the tray of food in her hands. “You must eat something, my lady. Elisheba sent some broth.”

“I don’t want broth, Hannah,” she said more sharply than intended. “I want to share my evening meal with my husband—as I always do. I want to know why you were taken from me, and I want to know why I’ve been kept a prisoner in this room all day!” She could hear the panic in her voice and hated it.

Hannah’s eyes swam with tears. She kept her head bowed and placed the tray on a table, offering no answer. Instead, a vaguely familiar voice spoke from the doorway. “I suppose I have been chosen to answer your questions, my queen.”

Arielah turned toward the voice. Gasped. “Abishag.” She whispered the name, not entirely certain the woman before her was real. Dressed in a plain blue linen gown bearing the embroidered symbol of David’s concubines, Abishag looked worn and weary, though she was only a year older than Arielah. Still, her beauty and grace radiated across the room.