Love’s Sacred Song (35 page)

Benaiah caught the steward before his knees gave way and dragged him off the dais to stand beside Oliab, the watchman. Solomon studied the two men. Oliab was burly and obviously humbled, honest and dubiously helpful. His palace high steward was weaselly and proud, deceptive and immeasurably destructive. These two men, utterly opposite, had worked together toward a common purpose—to destroy the nation and the woman he loved. How many more lurked in the shadows of Judah? Men in the spectrum between Ahishar and Oliab—family men, merchants, shepherds, the king’s own relatives and friends?

“Elihoreph!” the king shouted, and everyone in the courtroom jumped. “I will speak with you privately after this hearing to discover your methods of uncovering Ahishar’s guilt.” The chief secretary nodded regally, seeming too confident for a man who might be tried next. How had the secretary heard with his own ears, Solomon wondered? In what context had Ahishar confided such treason to Elihoreph?

“Oliab.” Solomon began his judgments. The watchman lifted his head, seemingly weary of life itself. “You have confessed in our hearing of your participation in attacking my queen.” Fresh rage bubbled up as he said the words, and the king almost reconsidered his planned ruling. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself of God’s wisdom and spoke evenly. “Because you seem to show some level of repentance in your testimony and aid at uncovering this band of zealots, I do not sentence you to death.”

The man closed his eyes, releasing two small tears down his round cheeks.

“You will, however, remain in the palace dungeon until Benaiah and his guards have squeezed every detail out of you concerning these Sons of Judah.”

“I will tell them all I know, my lord,” he said, his voice gravelly. “But I’m afraid I know very little. I received orders only from Ahishar and—”

Ahishar struck the man before Benaiah could restrain him, shocking everyone in the courtroom. “You will tell them nothing of our cause, you coward!”

“Commander! Shackle that prisoner!” Solomon shouted, leaping from his throne. “May the Lord deal with me severely if Ahishar doesn’t pay with his life for his treachery against Israel and Queen Arielah! Benaiah, find out what Ahishar knows of the Sons of Judah and then take him to the southeast side of the city. Strike him down beside the dung gate, where his soul can meet its end with the other refuse of our city!”

“Hello, my lamb.” Arielah could hear Abba’s voice, but she couldn’t make her lips respond. She couldn’t open her eyes. Frustration gripped her. Like bedeken during her wedding, she must use other senses to interpret her world.

“I can’t believe she’s lived a full day.” Hannah’s voice. “It’s only by Jehovah’s kindness that you arrived from Shunem in time to say good-bye.”

“When do you expect Jehosheba to arrive?” It was Queen Bathsheba. What was she doing here?

“Reu will arrive shortly with Jehosheba. My wife has never ridden a galloping camel before.”

“We will pray that Jehovah smiles a little longer on you, little one.” A light kiss on her forehead. The scent of henna and nard. The queen mother again.

Arielah heard the door open, and the scent of fresh bread and saffron entered the room. Ima Jehosheba. “Oh, Jehovah, help us!” she cried.

“Come now, Jehosheba. You must be strong for our girl.” Bathsheba’s voice gently soothed Ima.

Quiet sniffs and then footsteps. “Hannah, have you used the poultices of aloes wrapped in grape leaves?” Arielah could feel Ima’s ministering hands on her wounds.

“Yes, I knew how to prepare them because I used them on my ima when she was ill.”

“Hello, my lamb. Ima is here.” Arielah could feel Ima’s soothing touch on her head. “Jehovah smiled on us when he gave you to Arielah as her handmaid, Hannah. What other herbs have you used?”

There was a slight sniff. “The king’s physician won’t let me touch her anymore. He has taken charge of her care.”

Arielah could feel weight on the other side of her bed, and Abba spoke. “Jehosheba, my love, the physician said he could find no broken bones. However, there is little hope that she’ll survive because of the bleeding inside her. See?”

Someone pulled away her blankets, and she heard Ima cry out.
Oh, Ima, it’s all right. It doesn’t hurt badly.

Jehoshaphat continued speaking quietly. “The king’s physician said the blood from her ears is a sign of severe head injury, and the lacerations on her face will be—well, disfiguring. If she lives, he gives little hope for a normal life.”

Arielah could hear Ima crying softly. Oh, how she ached to comfort the woman who had cradled her when she was a child. Instead, Jehoshaphat gently gathered Arielah into his arms and rocked her like she was a babe. “Oh, my precious lamb, we knew the battle would come, but we had no idea the cost.” Though the pain of his embrace was excruciating, the love he poured out was soothing.

Again she heard the door open, and Abba tensed. The strong scent of frankincense filled the room, and Ima’s breathing quickened. Bathsheba’s voice was stern. “Why have you come?”

Jehoshaphat eased Arielah back onto her sleeping couch and stood, jiggling the bed and causing her to inwardly wince. “We’ve never met,” he said, his voice harsh and clipped, “but as you can see, our daughter is badly hurt. We don’t need you here. Please go.”

Arielah tried so hard to open her eyes, to see who her abba would address with such disdain.

“I come with remedies,” said the voice with a thick Egyptian accent. “Among my people, I represent the goddess Sekhmet. She is the patron goddess of physicians and healers.”

“The physician won’t let us touch her.” Arielah heard Hannah’s small voice.

“The physicians do not command a queen, little mouse.” The woman’s sneer was evident without seeing her face. “To my enemies, I am the lady of terror,” she said, “and to my friends, the lady of life.”

Arielah heard shuffling, footsteps. The room bloomed with the scent of spices and unguents she’d never smelled before. She felt Sekhet’s strong presence.

“Prince Jehoshaphat, I have come with Egyptian remedies beyond your Hebrew scope of knowledge.”

“If you are here to offer friendship and medicine,” Abba said, his voice growing kinder, “we welcome you, Sekhet. But we worship only one God, the living God, El Shaddai. It is He who will give life or take it.”

The room fell silent, and when Arielah became aware of those around her, she sensed that the light in the room had shifted. Had she dozed?

“Don’t eat it, silly girl!” She heard the coarse Egyptian accent and recognized Hannah’s timid sniff. “We won’t have enough left to treat your lady’s swollen eyes.”

“I was just cleaning off my finger.” Arielah felt her maid’s gentle touch and then a cool, wet paste smoothed over her eyes.

Ima’s reassuring touch cradled her hand. “Queen Sekhet, I’ve never heard of ground carob mixed with fermented honey.” A faint swipe across the concoction and Ima smacked her lips. “It really does taste quite good.” Ima’s gentle laughter soothed the tension in the room as always, and Arielah felt the warmth of her family enfolding even the imposing Egyptian queen.

“Jehosheba,” she heard Abba say, “I believe our girl is going to live through this.” A tear fell on her hand, and she wondered whose it was. “Now that Ahishar has been executed, perhaps the rest of the Sons of Judah will be discovered too.”

Ahishar executed?
Arielah tried to move again. Nothing. Tried to speak. Her voice would not cooperate.

“Perhaps Jehovah will somehow use Arielah’s pain to bring peace and healing to Israel,” Abba said, his voice weary.

There was a long silence, and Arielah’s frustration mounted. How many days had she been like this, lingering between death and life? Where was Solomon? Did he know of her injuries? Though her eyes were covered with carob and honey, she could feel a tear escape down her cheek.

“Shalom, my lamb.” Jehoshaphat’s voice was filled with wonder as he brushed away her tear. “Hold on. God’s light will shine in your eyes again soon.”

She heard Ima begin to hum a familiar tune, the song she always sang as she ground the wheat. Arielah gained strength basking in their love. Love, she well understood, was the strongest of all medicines. Suddenly she felt a gust of wind and heard her ivory-latticed shutters bang against the wall. Hannah’s sandals rushed across the floor.

No, don’t shut the window! The wind has come to visit me, wash me, heal me.

Awareness came that she might be able to speak if she rallied all her strength. Her mouth was as dry as chaff, but she formed the words. “Forgive him, Abba, he didn’t know . . . his betrayal would . . . do this.”

Jehoshaphat cried out, a guttural moan. Relief. Joy. Pain. He cradled her face in his hands, hovering over her. Ima Jehosheba showered her hands with kisses.

“My precious lamb, my lion of God,” Jehoshaphat said. “Even after the evil you’ve suffered, your heart remains loving.” His tears now bathed her face. “May your strength grow to complete the work your heart has begun.”

Arielah saw a shadow move toward the window. “Window,” she said.

“Hannah, keep that window open,” Jehosheba said, understanding as only an ima can. The breeze wafted over her, and God’s Spirit breathed life into her.

Arielah heard distant cries, sobbing that grew louder. Abba’s hands left her face, and she heard him walk a short distance. “Queen Sekhet, are you all right?” she heard him ask.

“Prince Jehoshaphat,” she hiccuped between her tears, “my remedies did not do this. I have never seen a force equal to this thing your family calls love. It is a most exquisite and frightful power.”

Arielah’s lips curved into a hesitant smile, careful not to split open her wounds. Sensing Ima’s hand still holding her own, she gave a weak squeeze. “Wish Solomon could see so clearly,” Arielah said. Wearied by the thought, she gave herself to the slumber that beckoned, letting the balm of love do its work.

•
 Song of Solomon 6:4–6 
•

[Lover] You are beautiful, my darling. . . . Turn your eyes from me; they overwhelm me. Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from Gilead. Your teeth are like a flock of sheep coming up from the washing.

S
olomon hadn’t slept in days. Every bone in his body ached for rest, but his mind still whirled, always in the direction of Arielah.

“She won’t make it through the day,” the palace physician had reported the morning after her attack. But when she regained consciousness three days later, the same man shook his head in wonder. “Her injuries are grave, but it appears Jehovah will spare her life.” Every day the physician reported her progress, and every day Solomon found a reason
not
to visit her chamber. Duty had been his most ready excuse. Sitting in judgment from dawn till dark, Solomon scanned the sea of hopeful faces in his throne hall and wondered how many of them were betrayers. Ahishar had taken the Sons of Judah’s secrets to the dung pile with his soul.

“Such are the rulings of Israel’s wise king on this second day of Nisan, the third year of King Solomon’s reign,” announced Elihoreph, Solomon’s new high steward. “You may return tomorrow to seek justice.” The petitioners stirred and became a knot at the back entrance.

“Well, my king,” Elihoreph said, casually perusing the crowd, “only a few more days and we’ll be choosing our Passover lamb.” He patted the king’s shoulders as if they were two shepherds appraising a flock.

Solomon stared at the hand on his shoulder, and the steward quickly removed it. Solomon was in no mood to build a relationship with this bowl-eared man. Though his one-time chief secretary had been cleared of conspiracy charges before last Sabbath, Solomon still replayed the scene of the man’s interrogation in his mind.

Solomon had ordered the throne hall emptied, leaving only himself, Benaiah, and Elihoreph in the imposing courtroom.

“How did you discover Ahishar was a traitor?” Benaiah began, standing over Elihoreph, who knelt before the king.

The chief secretary’s hands were cupped before him as if holding the answers to the king’s quest for truth. “I overheard Mahlon and Elisheba talking about Ahishar’s involvement with the Sons of Judah.”

“So you lied in my courtroom,” Solomon said. “You said you heard Ahishar with your own ears!”

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but no,” Elihoreph said all too calmly. “Remember my exact phrase. I testified that I heard the
words
with my own ears. I didn’t say I heard
Ahishar
speak them.”

Solomon tried to recall the man’s exact testimony. Since Elihoreph was chief recording secretary, the written transcript would no doubt reflect whatever words best served him. So Solomon asked a question to which there was no written record. “So tell me, Elihoreph, if you knew of Ahishar’s involvement in the conspiracy, why did you wait until your queen was beaten before alerting Benaiah to the danger?”

The man’s calm exterior cracked slightly. “When Mahlon and Elisheba realized I’d heard them talking, Mahlon begged me not to tell anyone for fear that Ahishar would make good on his threats to torture Elisheba’s son, Reu.” Elihoreph sniffed back some emotion. “What was I to do, my lord? I wasn’t sure whom I could trust among your leaders.”

The man seemed convincing, but Solomon wasn’t satisfied. “Bring Mahlon to my courtroom. I want to hear his version of the story.”

Elihoreph cast his first uneasy glance at Benaiah. “I . . . well, our friend Mahlon . . . he . . .”

“What?” Solomon thought surely he had caught the secretary in deceit.

“Despite my protective silence, Ahishar discovered that Mahlon had confided secrets to Elisheba, and . . .”

“And what?”

“Ahishar tortured Mahlon and had his tongue removed.” The secretary swallowed hard, and Solomon’s sense of shrewdness turned to regret. How could he proclaim the presence of God’s wisdom when his own high steward mutilated a scribe, attacked a queen, and only Jehovah knew what else—all without a hint of suspicion from Solomon?

“We can summon Mahlon to this courtroom,” Elihoreph offered, “but I’m afraid he’ll only nod when asked to testify.”

The king had no stomach for more interrogations. Benaiah brought in other witnesses who testified to Elihoreph’s unyielding loyalty to the king, so the chief secretary was cleared of involvement in Ahishar’s deceit and promoted to the high steward’s position. However, both Benaiah and Solomon remained cautious in his presence. They remained cautious in
everyone’s
presence.

Benaiah burst through the courtroom doors, startling Solomon back to the moment. His resolute march up the center aisle made Solomon groan. “What, Benaiah? I can tell by your face it’s bad news.”

The big man glared at Elihoreph. “I’d like to talk in your private chamber—alone.”

“All right, my friend,” Solomon said, hoisting himself off the throne. “Elihoreph, go to bed. Dream of beautiful women who love you dearly and give you fat babies that grow up to take care of you in your old age.”

The steward was utterly speechless. Precisely the point. Solomon followed Benaiah toward the hidden door behind his throne, bowing under the tapestries when the big man shoved them aside. His private meeting chamber was a bevy of activity, but a single nod ordered a cup of wine and cleared the chamber for the king and his commander.

“So what makes you pout like one of my wives, Benaiah?” Solomon asked, folding his legs beneath him on the goatskin rug by their customary ivory table.

Benaiah wasn’t amused. “I can’t find a second witness willing to testify against the others involved in Arielah’s assault.”

Solomon felt anger warming his neck and cheeks. “How hard can it be, Commander?” He tried to control his venom, but his voice began to quake. “You have Oliab, and he’s told you the names of the other watchmen that helped him. Get one of them to testify against the others. Make a deal. Promise one of them I’ll be lenient. Lie! I don’t care what you have to do to get them into my throne hall, but do your job
,
Benaiah!” He slammed his hand on the table, upsetting the cup of wine that a servant had placed in front of him. The red liquid dripped from his face, beard, robe, and hands.

Benaiah handed him a cloth he had tucked in his belt. With utter calm, he said, “The other attackers have vanished. We’ve searched their homes, asked their neighbors and families where they might be, but they’re gone. Oliab has testified that he knows of only two others involved in the plan . . .” He hesitated. “You’re not going to like what I have to say. Are you sure you want to hear it right now?” He motioned to the wine staining the king’s robe.

Wiping his face and hands, Solomon said, “Yes. Tell me.” Offering the wine-soaked cloth back to his friend, he met his gaze and dared him to distress him.

“Oliab swears it was the Daughters of Jerusalem who ordered him and his partners to attack Arielah.” The commander’s scar throbbed, and Solomon swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

“That is ridiculous.” He kept his voice subdued, emotionless. “They are young maidens who have lived and socialized in the palace most of their lives. How would they ever have occasion to communicate with men like Oliab and his friends?”

“They are beautiful young women surrounded by hungry Judean guards, men who would willingly carry messages for maidens trained in seduction by their ima Miriam.” Benaiah lifted an eyebrow, and Solomon recalled the questionable reputation of the girls’ ima. He’d heard some of Abba David’s advisors joke coarsely about the tailor Bethuel’s wife.

“But you have no proof—and no second witness against Shiphrah and Sherah either.” His voice sounded more hopeful than unbiased.

“No . . . and no.”

“My lord.” Elihoreph knocked but didn’t wait for an invitation before he fairly ran into the room.

“A door was intended to make people knock!” Solomon shouted. “Guard! Who let this fool walk into my chamber without permission?”

But before he could chew anyone’s ear off, Queen Sekhet appeared with only a single Nubian guard at her side. “I must see you now.” She stood feet apart, arms crossed—a warrior’s stance.

Solomon squeezed the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he addressed Queen Sekhet first. “You will not barge into my chamber and command me. Leave now and knock on my door, waiting
outside
for permission to enter.” He matched her stare, waiting for her to yield. Finally, with a menacing scowl, she turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind her.

“And you!” Solomon said to Elihoreph. “Your fear of my Egyptian queen does not excuse your impertinent entry to my chamber. You too must knock to gain permission.” When the steward started to speak, the king silenced him with a raised hand. “Permission is denied, Elihoreph. I dismissed you earlier. I do not want to see you again until sunrise unless the ark itself is on fire! Understood?”

Duly repentant, the steward bowed just as a loud pounding was heard on Solomon’s door. Elihoreph’s eyes bulged. “Do I have to walk past her to leave your chamber, my lord?” Terror was etched on his features. Solomon almost said yes just to watch him squirm.

“No, Elihoreph. You may leave through the throne hall door this time.” Glancing in Benaiah’s direction, he saw the stifled grin. As the steward left, Solomon waved aside his chamber servants. No doubt Sekhet would take off their arms if they opened the door too slowly. Hesitating with his hand on the lock, he threatened his commander, “You stop your laughing or I’ll aim her fury at you!”

Benaiah held up hands of surrender as Solomon opened the door.

Sekhet entered alone, her Nubian guard evidently dismissed for the night. “All your servants may leave. The commander may stay.” She walked directly to the table where Benaiah sat and lowered herself on the goatskin rug beside him.

Solomon’s weariness fled, as did his servants and guards. Shaking his head, he joined his friend and the Egyptian queen at the table. “Sekhet, my bride, we really must discuss the boundaries of your authority.”

Benaiah laughed out loud, but the lion-wigged woman appeared confused. “I am a queen, you are king, and they are servants. I see no problem with this.”

The commander scratched his beard and tilted his head as if to say,
Yes, Solomon, explain the problem to us.

“Is there a particular reason you barged into my chamber, Queen Sekhet?” Solomon’s weariness returned, sapping any patience for his Egyptian wife’s etiquette lesson.

“Why haven’t you visited Queen Arielah since her beating?”

The air suddenly grew tense, all amusement gone.

Solomon stared at his sandals. “Benaiah, you may go.”

“No,” Sekhet said. “He may stay.”

“Your boldness grows tiresome,
Queen Sekhet
.” Solomon pinned her with a stare. “I do not wish to discuss Arielah with both of you in the room.”

“And why is that?” Benaiah spoke softly, but the eyes that met Solomon’s were determined to have an answer.

“She has asked for you,” Sekhet added, placing her hand over his. Her sudden tenderness startled him.

“What is this? Did you two plan to ambush me?”

Sekhet glanced at Benaiah and offered a comrade’s nod. “Your commander and I have become acquainted in the time we’ve spent with Arielah and her family.” Returning her gaze to Solomon, she said, “I have seen love work a miracle in your queen’s life, my husband. You should see what your God has done.”

Shocked, he couldn’t speak. He’d avoided seeing Arielah for over two Sabbaths by staying busy, reassuring his other wives, making grand pronouncements about catching the offenders. All the while his guilty heart screamed,
You are to blame
. How could he face Arielah when the last time he’d seen her was through a broken door of anger and neglect? The two faces before him pleaded silently, but they didn’t know, didn’t understand the depths of his shame. How could he ever look into Arielah’s dove eyes when all he would see there was the reflection of his broken promises?

“Please leave, both of you.” He rose from the table and walked toward his sleeping chamber.

“Solo—” Benaiah stopped his familiar address. “My lord, she has already forgiven you. Just go to her.”

He stopped but didn’t face them.

“Be a man.” Sekhet’s voice was filled with venom. “Be a king.”

He didn’t answer. He stood alone, cold and unmoving, until he heard their retreating footsteps. And then the door clicked shut.

Swallowing his third fig, Solomon washed it down with goat’s milk and watched the Daughters of Jerusalem fairly float into his private chamber. Their flowing veils created an ethereal presence, and he wondered for the millionth time if he was making a mistake. “Welcome to my breakfast table,” he said brightly. “Please join me.” He motioned them to the two goatskin rugs beside his ivory table.

The twins bowed in unison, precision being one of their strengths. “We are honored,” Shiphrah said, daintily descending to her knees. “What service have we rendered that we should deserve the privilege of breaking the fast with our king?” A slight quiver niggled at the corner of her forced smile. Sherah knelt on her goatskin, eyes darting from her sister to the king, seeming equally unnerved.