The Judgment

by D. J. Niko

  She picked up the khopesh. In spite of its size, it was a heavy instrument, one that could exact damage. She ran a finger across its cutting edge and smarted at the sting as her skin was sliced open. She sucked the wound, tasting the metallic tang of her own blood.

  Fatigue weighed down her eyelids. She pushed up her gown and tucked the khopesh into the folds of her loincloth. She let herself collapse onto the carpet and drew her knees and elbows close to her body. Curled up like an unborn babe, she thought of her mother.

  Nicaule Tashere was born to the Pharaoh Psusennes II by one of his consorts and given to Solomon in marriage to ensure healthy relations between the two nations. Indeed, while Nicaule lived in Jerusalem, Egypt did not raise a hand toward Israel. While Psusennes was living, there was trade between the two nations and mutual aid in the form of labor. Upon his passing, Shoshenq, his successor, had different urges and political aspirations. While Psusennes was content with the Egyptian boundaries, Shoshenq, the progeny of tribal warriors, aimed to push them—at whatever cost.

  But what did he want with Nicaule? Was it merely his way of gathering all Egyptian royalty back to Tanis? Was it a promise to the dying pharaoh, a pledge to the man who had trained him to be his successor? Surely Shoshenq did not want Nicaule for himself; she was well past the prime of her seductive powers.

  Had her mother been younger, Basemath would have allowed for that possibility. In her youth, Nicaule was unlike anyone in the whole of Israel, her exquisite presence a combination of her loveliness, her Egyptian heritage, and her indomitable spirit. When she attended feasts alongside her husband, people diverted their eyes, such was her beauty. It was said she could hypnotize men.

  She certainly had that effect on Solomon. She was one of his many wives, but by far his favorite. Basemath had witnessed the power she had over him. After Solomon announced their eldest daughter was to marry, Nicaule had stormed out in anger. She had retreated to her own palace and would not reemerge, ignoring Solomon’s pleas.

  Basemath watched from the shadows on the night Solomon came to Nicaule’s door, begging her to let him in. His wife appeared in the doorway wearing a transparent gown. She stood behind a web of scarlet that kept the door from opening all the way. She told him, “Enter my chamber without breaking the scarlet thread. It is how a husband begs forgiveness of his wife in my homeland.”

  Solomon looked bewildered.

  “On your knees,” she’d said, pointing to the stone floor.

  Basemath was certain he would not do it, for he was the anointed king of Israel. Surely his pride would not allow such an act. But he desired his wife so much that he crouched like an animal on all fours and crawled into her chamber.

  Basemath grimaced at the recollection of the detestable demand and the clear message it had sent: Solomon’s spirit had weakened to the point of becoming slave to a woman, of beseeching corporal pleasure. Nicaule had manipulated him without regard for his soul, and he had given her permission to do it.

  There was much in her mother she did not want to forgive, but her own covenant with the Lord did not permit dishonoring a parent, no matter how questionable the actions. Whatever her mother stood for, she accepted it. But her own allegiance always and unconditionally belonged to her father.

  It was difficult for her to watch his decline. It had come little by little, but Basemath could see the signs even if he could not. The incident with the scarlet thread was only one case in which he should have reviled the perpetrator and walked away, keeping his spirit intact. Rather, he gave in to the rapture of the flesh.

  It wasn’t the only time that had happened. In his quest to maintain peaceful relations with surrounding nations, he had taken a number of foreign wives and had loved each of them with gusto. He let his wife Naamah the Ammonite worship her god, Molek, on a hill outside of Jerusalem’s walled compound. When the act was condemned by the kingdom’s holy men, Solomon explained Naamah was the mother of his heir, Rehoboam, and thus entitled to worship as she wished. He insisted his permissiveness did not corrupt his own soul, even as the priests warned him of being guilty by association.

  But Solomon believed he was above all that. Basemath would never forget the day she overheard a confrontation between her father and his high priest, Zadok. The holy man had related to the king a vision he’d had the previous night.

  “I have seen enemies at the gates of Jerusalem, my lord. There was a young man who chipped away the stone of the terraces using a stone hammer and a peg from the old tabernacle. His face was covered so I could not see. But he wore the garments of your people. I fear someone from within your ranks is conspiring against you.”

  Solomon scoffed. “It is nonsense. My men are loyal to me. I have given them all they could want . . . fair pay, status, honor. To some I have even given my daughters as brides. Why would any one of them forsake me?”

  Zadok issued a harsh rebuke. “Perhaps you trust too much. Perhaps you have grown too complacent and do not see what is crumbling around you.”

  “Dare you speak this way to the king who was placed upon the throne of Israel by God himself? The favor of the Almighty is with me always. It was the Lord’s promise to my father.” He raised his voice. “If anyone opposes me, let him come. I will crush him with the staff of divine power and watch him beg for mercy. No one challenges the rule of King Solomon.”

  Basemath reeled at the veracity of Zadok’s dream. Soon after, Jeroboam had emerged as the king’s adversary. Though he was indeed knocked down, he rose again, waving the peg and hammer of God. Had Solomon not been so haughty as to believe himself invincible, perhaps the outcome would have been different.

  Or perhaps not.

  She sighed and closed her eyes. She wanted so badly to be overcome by sleep. She wanted to not feel, if even for one moment, to be released from the shackles of her memory. She let the tears flow onto the fibers of the old carpet as the words of Jeroboam’s ultimatum melted into her mind.

  You can be exiled to Egypt to serve the pharaoh, or you can be executed in your homeland.

  When she opened her eyes again, she felt rested and lucid, though she was certain she hadn’t slept. She sat up and peered through the slit on the tent flap. The sky was the color of tekhelet, streaked with great plumes of violet and crimson that reached to the heavens like a prayer. A sliver of gold appeared between the crests of the mountains to the east, heralding the new day.

  The moment of her judgment was upon her.

  4

  Jerusalem, 965 BCE

  Zadok, the son of Ahitub, stood upon Mount Moriah, gazing at the city sprawled beneath his feet. He contemplated the foundation of the royal palace, a year in the making by twoscore stonemasons, the finest in Israel and Tyre. There was much work yet to be done, but its scale and substance already were to be feared.

  A bit farther down lay the citadel, the fort of protection that stood between the city’s treasures and the flat-roofed, square stone structures where the people dwelled. At the foot of the city walls flowed the life-giving Gihon Spring, which fed the arid desert and supported the inhabitants of the holiest place in all of Israel.

  It was a splendid sight, this Jerusalem his king was building. Never in the history of the Hebrews had there been a city of such magnitude, a city dedicated to Yahweh. Jerusalem was more than a fortress and the seat of power; it also was the site the Lord chose for the building of his house, a monumental task appointed to only the most worthy. Though it would take several years and an enormous amount of resources, the king was undaunted and launched into construction with fervor.

  This pleased Zadok, the high priest of the united kingdom of Israel and Judah under King Solomon and, prior to that, the trusted priest of King David. As a descendant of Eleazar, who was the third son of Aaron, Zadok traced his patrilineage to the brother of Moses and the nation’s first high priest. His line had been established by God himself since the exodus into the promised land, and he had given himself completely to his appointed duty, which was to hi
m more than a birthright: it was a privilege.

  Zadok felt a firm hand on his shoulder and turned his head. King Solomon stood to his left, his gaze fixed upon the city. He wore a white flaxen gown with long sleeves and a generously draped fringed skirt tied at the waist with a leather girdle. Over it a red woolen mantle was secured at the shoulder with a gold pin bearing the likeness of a lion’s head. His shoulder-length curls, gleaming beneath the midday sun like oiled onyx, were crowned by a pointed skullcap woven of yellow silk.

  He rubbed the short black beard that grew across his square jaw and encircled his fleshy lips. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” He turned to Zadok and regarded him with smiling eyes. “I wish my father had lived to see it.”

  “He would have been a proud father. His son is doing exactly as commanded of him.”

  Solomon looked over his shoulder to the construction taking place on the highest point of Mount Moriah. “So many years have passed since the Lord appeared to King David on this very mountain and said to him, ‘Build me a house.’ It pleases me to fulfill my father’s debt and bring honor to his name.”

  Zadok delighted in the king’s humble nature. Though Solomon was only twenty-three years of age and had scarcely completed his fifth year on the throne, he was not hotheaded or vainglorious, as were so many of his peers. He possessed a modesty that could stem only from authentic self-assurance. The youngest son of King David, born to his wife Bathsheba, was blessed with a regal quality, an aura of a kind. Even before he was a monarch, people were drawn to him and transfixed by his presence. It was as if he was destined for the role he had stepped into: leading God’s chosen people into a new era of greatness and prosperity.

  Zadok looked toward the construction site. “Everything is progressing well, then?”

  “Come. Walk with me.”

  The two ascended a series of rough-hewn stone steps placed along the hillside temporarily so the workers could transport with ease the multitude of building materials for the temple of the Lord. Upon completion of this most holy of structures, proper steps would be installed so every Israelite, even the eldest and most infirm, could comfortably make the journey to the Lord’s house.

  Zadok used his staff to steady himself. He was in his fifty-eighth year, and his physical ability had begun to deteriorate. Silver streaks had colored his waist-length black hair, which he pinned beneath a blue turban, and his gray beard hung to his chest. He ate little, for he considered gluttony a sin, and it was evident in his emaciated form. Despite his advancing age, he had the energy of a man much younger. He was determined to see the temple of Solomon completed and to venerate the Lord in its hallowed chambers. Long had he and his forebears prayed for that moment.

  On the highest peak of Mount Moriah, hundreds of men labored. The leaders barked urgent commands as sweating laborers grunted under the burden of the ashlars they hauled with pulleys. The stones had been cut and dressed by the finest stonemasons at the limestone quarry beneath the mount so that no hammer or chisel or other iron instrument would be used in the vicinity of the holy house. The outer walls had been erected to a height of thirty cubits, towering toward the heavens. Around the main structure, a series of chambers and a porch leading up to the entrance began to take shape.

  Zadok lowered his head before the edifice in construction and offered a silent prayer.

  “Come, old friend,” said Solomon. “Let us walk in the footsteps of our fathers.”

  The king and the priest walked toward the entrance and stood in front of the porch. The king said, “All those who come to the Lord’s temple will walk through this doorway. Here will stand two columns made of bronze, with molten bronze chapiters carved with lily work and pomegranates. I have found the most skilled bronze worker in all the land, a man from Naphtali who hails from a long line of sculptors. He is already at work on the columns and the brazen sea.” He turned away from the doorway and pointed to the empty space. “The sea will stand here. Ten were the commandments laid forth by the Lord, so ten will be the cubits measured from one brim to the other. It will rest on the backs of twelve oxen, each representing a tribe of Israel, which will be arranged in a circle and face the sky. And it will be filled with living water flowing from the spring.”

  “A magnificent way to take mikveh,” said Zadok. The ritual bath, intended to purify the priests before they entered the temple, was paramount to the Hebrews’ faith. Though Zadok’s own sensibility was far simpler, he marveled at the young king’s ingenuity in venerating their God in the most exalted way imaginable.

  Solomon turned again and walked toward the edifice, standing in the open doorway. He gestured toward the west side of the temple. “Behold the place that will be the oracle of the house. It will be constructed in perfect symmetry, twenty cubits on each side, and will rise ten cubits above the floor. Its floor and ceiling and every wall will be covered in gold, and beneath the gold will be planks of cedar pledged by Hiram, the king of Tyre, who was a friend to my father.

  “And when it is finished, the ark holding the Lord’s covenant with our people will be taken up from the old tabernacle and brought hither, as will all the treasures amassed by my father.” He looked to Zadok. “You will carry the ark to this temple, Zadok, old friend, and you will preside over the oracle for all your days. This is your charge and your destiny.”

  The priest bowed before the king. “My lord, I vow to protect the holy of holies and the tablets of law within it, as my fathers have done before me.”

  “This would please my father. You have been a loyal servant to him and to me.”

  Zadok had adored King David. Since David’s early days in Hebron, where he was anointed king of Judah, Zadok had been faithful to him as a high-ranking priest, second only to Abiathar of the house of Eli. While Abiathar betrayed David in his old age, supporting the treacherous Prince Adonijah for accession to the throne, Zadok remained steadfast, backing Prince Solomon, who was God’s chosen.

  On his deathbed, David at last had understood the difference between the two priests: one was acting from self-interest, the other from divine direction. He relieved Abiathar of his duties, naming Zadok to the post of high priest. He had served in that capacity since, his authority reinforced by Solomon, who was ever grateful to Zadok for helping him rise to the throne of Israel.

  From the day Solomon was anointed king at Gihon by Zadok’s own hand, he set about fulfilling the vision of his father and realizing all David could not, or was forbidden to. Solomon’s first charge was to crush his father’s old enemies and those who had brought shame to his house: Joab, the captain of the army, who had shed innocent blood in the time of peace, and Shimei of the house of Saul, who had cursed David but later begged his forgiveness.

  Ordering the deaths of these men was Solomon’s initiation into manhood. Zadok had stood by the eighteen-year-old king through these executions and watched him transform from a fawn with shaking legs to a strong buck.

  It had taken all his strength to call for the death of his own brother.

  On the day Solomon had been made king, one of the guards came to Zadok in a panic, saying, “Adonijah has gone into the tabernacle. He hides behind the altar in fear for his life. He believes the king will have him slain.”

  Zadok nodded his thanks to the guard. “I will speak to the king.”

  The priest made haste for the throne room, where Solomon sat in solitude, his thin limbs draped awkwardly over David’s ruling chair, as if trying to own it. Zadok bowed before him. “My lord, I bring tidings of your brother.”

  Solomon sat up. “Say what you will.”

  “Adonijah, son of Haggith, has taken hold of the horns on the altar and waits for your pardon, my lord. What do you command?”

  The king looked off into the distance as he weighed his decision. “He has sinned against my father.”

  “He has, my lord.”

  “The throne may have been rightfully his, but he proclaimed himself king without asking for my father’s blessing. That is a disg
race.”

  “It is, my lord.”

  Solomon rested his chin on his fist. “He knows of his trespasses and has run to the altar. So he admits his guilt.” He fell silent for several breaths. “What would my father do, Zadok?”

  “I advise you to search your own heart and let the decision be yours. You are king now. Being king means having to make difficult choices.”

  “Very well.” The newly anointed monarch thought for a while before speaking. “My decision is to let him live. If he proves himself a good man, he shall always have my protection. But if he strays, he shall die. Give him these instructions, and tell him he is free to go to his house.”

  That was Zadok’s first glimpse into Solomon’s heart. Though the hair on his face was still soft, he had the wisdom to grant a second chance and give a man the opportunity to show his character. Once in a while, wicked men would have a change of heart and follow the righteous path, but more often they would craft their own demise. Zadok was certain Adonijah would interpret Solomon’s decree as weakness and dig for himself a deep grave.

  And so it happened.

  At the end of fall that year, after David had breathed his last, Bathsheba requested audience with her son. Zadok brought her into the throne room and waited in the shadows as she put forth her request.

  Solomon rose from the throne and stepped down to meet his mother. He took her hands and bowed. “My dear mother, what brings you to the room of judgment?”

  “My lord, King Solomon, I have something to ask of you.”

  The king guided her toward a chair to the right of his throne. They both sat facing each other. “Tell me, Mother. What is it you ask?”

  “I ask not for myself. I come as a messenger for your brother Adonijah. He sends me here this day.”