Love’s Sacred Song

by Mesu Andrews

  Allowing her maid’s words to calm her, Bathsheba took a deep breath and donned her robe and slippers. “All right, Dalit. When the guards arrive, have them escort Prince Adonijah to my chamber.”

  The woman bowed quickly and left just as Bathsheba considered summoning Nathan the prophet. It had been his plan that thwarted Adonijah’s coup before. But because of the late hour, she decided to wait and see what the prince wanted before bothering the man of God.

  Moments later, Adonijah arrived, and Bathsheba marveled that her beloved David’s features rested on such a hateful young man. Adonijah was only a dozen years younger than Bathsheba herself, and he was truly one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. But he was spoiled and selfish, and David had never corrected his wayward behavior. So he pranced about the palace as if the world owed him its praise.

  “Do you come peacefully?” she said in her most regal voice.

  Adonijah’s face softened and he looked . . . well, almost kind. “Yes, Queen Mother. Of course I come peacefully.”

  Bathsheba almost wept with relief. But could he be trusted? As she studied him further, she noticed his eyes bore dark circles and he appeared thinner than he had days ago, when he’d attempted to steal Solomon’s throne. Tonight he looked almost like the adolescent boy she’d known when she first came to the palace. Her heart softened.

  Realizing she hadn’t invited him to sit down, she said, “Would you like some refreshment—honeyed spring water, perhaps?” She moved toward her couch and directed Adonijah to an ivory stool opposite her.

  “No thank you, my lady. I come with one humble request. I’m embarrassed, really, but my heart won’t let me sleep, and I haven’t eaten since I left the palace several days ago.”

  “All right, Adonijah. You may ask it.”

  “As you know, the kingdom was mine and all Israel looked to me as their king, but things changed, and the kingdom is now in Solomon’s capable hands.” He paused and then added, “As was the Lord’s wish.” He began wringing his hands. “I only have one request to make. Please, Queen Mother, please don’t refuse me. I’ve already lost so much.”

  Bathsheba shifted uncomfortably on her couch at his uncharacteristic emotional outburst. “Adonijah, I cannot refuse or allow it if I don’t know what you want. Now, what is your request?”

  “Please ask your son to give me Abishag the Shulammite as my wife. I have loved her since I first laid eyes on her.” Tears welled on his lower lashes. “I know King Solomon respects you and will listen to your counsel.”

  Bathsheba stared at Adonijah, her mind whirring like a spindle. If Abishag married Adonijah, Solomon would no longer need to resist her as a temptation. He would be better able to concentrate on kingdom duties and perhaps even find a lovely bride with whom he could build a true relationship.

  Focusing again on Adonijah, she noted his tears. They seemed sincere, and he certainly appeared to be tormented. She had last seen him on the day of the failed coup, after being dragged into Solomon’s courtroom. On that day, he still exuded an air of pompous superiority, though he was obviously defeated. Solomon spared his life on the condition of future allegiance.

  Eyes narrowing to slits, Bathsheba asked, “Do you want Abishag because you hope to use her as leverage for another coup since she was David’s concubine?”

  He seemed genuinely stricken. “No, my lady. As I said, the kingdom is now in Solomon’s hands. I love the girl.” He bowed. “As Abba loved you.”

  The words pierced her. “You know nothing of your abba’s love for me,” she said coolly, remembering the battles in the harem with Adonijah’s ima, Haggith. No doubt he’d grown up with an earful of complaints about the favored wife before him. “I will speak to Solomon on your behalf before tomorrow’s burial procession, Adonijah.” He looked up with a hopeful grin, but she continued before he dared thank her. “Don’t make me regret helping you. I will ask this of my son, but you must remember whom God has chosen as the rightful ruler of Israel.”

  Adonijah’s smile never dimmed. “I promise, my lady. I will never forget who the rightful ruler of Israel is.”

  Arielah tossed and turned on her straw mattress, unable to sleep in the eerie absence of her brothers’ snoring. She and Ima were alone in their home. Perhaps for the first time ever. Arielah replayed the awful scene in the courtyard when Kemmuel dishonored their abba and Abba banished both sons to the sheepfolds. Her face twisted at the memory. Why do you insist on hurting him, Kemmuel? The question haunted her.

  Using both hands to rub away the tension in her forehead, she turned her thoughts toward Jerusalem. Abba Jehoshaphat and Reu, the royal messenger, left Shunem shortly after the moon’s zenith. Both men had been exhausted, but they were determined to honor King David and arrive in Jerusalem for the burial procession. Reu thought they could get to the city by sunrise, but Abba knew the northern elders couldn’t travel as quickly as a single courier. He reminded them all that if they arrived too late to join the procession, they could still offer condolences by leaving remembrance stones at the royal tomb.

  Glancing again out the small window above her sleeping mat, Arielah saw the first glow of sunrise. Finally! she thought. If I go to the well early, I’ll miss the old gossips, and perhaps I can return to the house before Kemmuel and Igal find me. She rose quietly and slipped on her woolen robe and leather sandals. When she emerged from behind the cooking stones, she nearly bumped noses with Ima Jehosheba.

  “Oh!” Ima stepped back, eyes wide. “Arielah, I was trying to be so quiet. Did I wake you?”

  Giggling, she fell into her ima’s arms. “No, I don’t think I’ve slept all night. It’s too quiet.” Pulling away, she saw tears welling in Ima’s eyes. A nod said she missed her sons’ thunderous snoring too. “I’ll go fetch some water from the well and return shortly.”

  Ima swiped at her eyes. “Yes,” she said, “but go quickly. Your brothers will have seen your abba leave last night. They’ll know he isn’t here to protect you.”

  Arielah reached for the large water jar to balance on her head and carried the smaller pitcher in her hand. Ima opened the door and followed her to the courtyard gate. Glancing toward the well, Ima said, “I see old Ruth is already at the well. Stay in sight of other women and your brothers will leave you alone.” She opened the gate and let her daughter pass.

  Arielah pecked her cheek with a kiss and winked. As the sky grew brighter, women descended on Shunem’s well like flies on date cakes. For most, it was the sweetest part of their day, an oasis of gossip, grins, and girl talk. For Arielah, it was pure torture.

  “What news?” Edna the matchmaker shrieked when she saw Arielah approaching. “Surely your abba said something of King David’s last hours. And that messenger!” she continued without giving Arielah a chance to reply. “He was barely sprouting a beard. I’ll bet he’s not married yet. I wonder if we could make a match for him here in Shunem. Although I realize we normally try to match within our own tribes. I wonder if he’s Judean—”

  “Edna!” old Ruth shouted. The women encircling the well fell silent, and Edna looked like a camel chewing its cud.

  Arielah stifled a giggle, and Ruth offered a kind smile. “Good morning, dear.”

  “Good morning,” Arielah said, stepping forward to kiss Ruth’s feathery, wrinkled cheek. “How are you feeling today, my friend?”

  The old woman waved her hand as if shooing flies. “Never ask an old woman that question, my dear. She might answer you.” She winked one hooded eye and returned her attention to her matchmaking friend. “Edna, let’s not ask Arielah to discuss politics this early in the morning. Let’s talk about something far more interesting.”

  Women around the well lifted questioning brows.

  “Men,” Ruth said. “Let’s talk about men.”

  Raucous laughter echoed in the well, resounding as if an entire town had gathered for entertainment.

  Once again Edna turned her attention to Arielah. “All right, let’s talk about men,” she s
aid, a twinkle in her eye. “When is your abba going to pay me a visit, Arielah? You’re not getting any younger, you know. The time for your match is well past due.”

  Arielah’s cheeks flamed as the women began offering suggestions for Arielah’s potential husband. This is why I hate gathering water at the well. She smiled and nodded, trying to act interested, while the whole time her heart ached for a young prince who was now Israel’s king.

  8

  • 1 KINGS 2:23 •

  Then King Solomon swore by the LORD: “May God deal with me, be it ever so severely, if Adonijah does not pay with his life for this request!”

  Solomon had been awake since the first shaft of dawn’s light shone through his abba’s garden doorway. Would it ever feel like his garden, his personal chamber? The servants had cleaned, perfumed, and fanned every nook and cranny to clear away the scent of Abba David’s long illness, but they couldn’t wash away the memories.

  The king’s private garden, its archway just a few cubits from Solomon’s sleeping couch, once held the wild beasts of King David’s hunts. When his abba fell ill, Solomon ordered that the caged lions and panthers be taken away, jokingly threatening to lead the hunt if they escaped. The advisors laughed with him at the absurdity of Solomon wielding a weapon, but Benaiah’s stern gaze chided the young regent’s self-scorn. Though Solomon had endured the same military drills as David’s other sons, the prince whose name embodied peace never excelled at war.

  “Good morning, my lord.” Benaiah’s deep voice resonated from the captain’s private entrance. His brow furrowed in concern. “You look awful, Solomon.”

  “Good morning, my lord,” came Ahishar’s nasally greeting from the double cedar doors. “My, my, you look well rested. Ready to tackle this morning’s difficult tasks, your majesty?”

  A wry smile creased Solomon’s lips. The two greetings summarized the difference in his closest advisors. Benaiah’s comfortable honesty, brutal yet trustworthy. Ahishar’s fawning flattery, ever dutiful and efficient.

  “Come, let’s break our fast together,” he said, inviting them both to the small ivory table in his meeting chamber. “I’d like to share what Jehovah has whispered to my soul.”

  Again Solomon observed with interest the difference in each man’s response. Benaiah moved to his familiar place at the table, his expression filled with anticipation, while Ahishar fumbled nervously with the clay tablet and stylus in his hand.

  “My lord,” Ahishar began hesitantly, “I have so much to accomplish before you initiate the official grieving period. Though I would love to break my fast with you, I—”

  “Sit down, Ahishar.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The steward folded his wiry legs beneath him and plopped down on a goatskin rug.

  Chamber servants hurried from Solomon’s private suite and out the garden door. They would wind through the back stairway to the kitchen, retrieving Solomon’s usual breakfast of goat’s milk, bread, and cheese—and figs, of course. He loved figs. Studying the Mighty Men whom Benaiah had stationed in his chamber last night, he asked his captain, “What in creation do they eat? Their biceps are as big as my thighs.”

  Benaiah’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “They eat high stewards who argue with kings.”

  The comment drew a sneer from Ahishar and a chuckle from Solomon. “All right, you two,” the king said, again playing peacemaker between his clever officials. “I’ve been up most of the night contemplating King David’s final words to me.” His words sobered Benaiah and Ahishar, who now offered their full attention. “I keep recounting Abba’s words, ‘Establish your throne and then seek peace, for yourself and for Israel.’ I feel as though I must deal swiftly with Joab and Shimei, pronounce judgment before I institute the thirty-day grieving period.”

  Ahishar and Benaiah exchanged concerned glances. Benaiah spoke first, compassion shadowing his features. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

  Solomon swallowed hard and watched Benaiah do the same. “I fell asleep just before dawn, but the nightmares returned.” Solomon averted his gaze, studying the shabby sackcloth covering his feet.

  “You’ve been working night and day since your abba made you his successor.” Benaiah’s giant hand clamped down on Solomon’s shoulder. “The mourning period will give us all some much-needed time for reflection and rest. Are you sure these matters of state can’t wait until your mind is clearer?”

  “Perhaps,” Solomon said, then searched both advisors’ faces. “I spent most of the night staring at my chamber doors, imagining an invasion of hostile nations taking over my kingdom before I’ve even had a chance to rule. And it’s not just foreign invasion I dread. The messengers we dispatched to the northern tribes to announce Abba David’s death returned with reports of a clandestine elders’ meeting in Shunem.”

  Ahishar gasped, but Benaiah remained steady, having been the one to share the report with Solomon.

  “So tell me,” the king continued, “why did the northern leaders gather, Benaiah? Are they preparing for civil war?” His voice had risen to a shrill whine, like a frightened boy.

  Benaiah remained silent, but Ahishar looked panicked. Solomon couldn’t tell if he feared war or the delay in his morning schedule, and the thought gave the king a moment to regain control. “How can we hope for peace with neighboring nations—or even peace with our own northern tribes—if I don’t establish the peace of my abba’s dying wish?”

  Tears brimmed on Benaiah’s lashes. “You must do what Jehovah whispers to your spirit, King Solomon. Pronounce judgment on the traitors, and I will be faithful to mete out their punishment.”

  “But, my lord!” Ahishar’s voice erupted. “I don’t understand how we can postpone the burial procession to the royal tomb. Surely you have considered the effect of the warm spring sun on King David’s wrapped body.” The steward looked stricken, alternating pleading glances from captain to king.

  Solomon swallowed hard. He was trying not to think of his abba’s body wrapped in the myrrh and spices of a burial shroud. Pinning his steward with a sharp stare, he said, “Send orders that the servants add more spices to dispel the odor. I will obey my abba’s final wishes before I say my last good-bye.”

  Ahishar straightened his shoulders and righted his posture. Looking as if he might bite off his tongue, he offered no further argument. “Yes, my lord.”

  The servants arrived with the customary meal, and all three ate in relative silence, the droning of mourners now the routine setting of every thought, word, and deed.

  Solomon exited his private chamber through the veiled corner door leading into the great throne hall. When he emerged from behind two heavy tapestries, trumpets blared and servants bowed. Solomon ascended the stairs to his throne as usual, ready to quiet the customary applause. But the sound of trumpets dwindled; the routine ovation faded.

  Every sound was shrouded by the eerie echoes of mourning.

  Scanning the sea of grief before him, Solomon was touched and humbled. He extended grateful hands to his people, his throat too tight to speak. As one, the gathered Israelites bowed to their new king, and Solomon could hold back his tears no longer.

  Suddenly distracted by a commotion on his right, he glanced toward the archway between the throne hall and courtyard. There stood Ima Bathsheba, waiting to be recognized. “Come, Ima. Join me,” he said, wiping his cheeks and beckoning her to the dais.

  She glided across the floor as if carried on a cloud. She was stunning. Even after the torturous days of Abba’s illness, even in a grieving robe and slippers, she was breathtaking, and for the first time, Solomon saw Ima as a woman.

  He recognized the distinctive beauty that had won his abba’s love. She had never dressed like the other wives with seductive makeup, ornate robes, and heavy jewelry. Ima Bathsheba was a farmer’s daughter, showcasing her supple olive skin and natural glow. The shepherd king of Israel had cherished his earthy queen. Abba David had shared a special bond with Ima, and Solomon hoped to one day enjoy a
love with a woman just as rare.

  Gliding up the three-stepped dais, the queen mother met him on the platform and touched her forehead to his hand—a sign of obeisance to her new king. “Solomon, my son,” she whispered, “I have seen the burden of Israel weigh heavy on your shoulders—just as I saw it press down on your abba.”

  He wiped a tear from her cheek. “It’s all right, Ima. Benaiah is a good friend. He’ll help me.” The revelation of her humanity was startling. He’d been consumed with his loss and fears about ruling this nation. What about her feelings? He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin on her hand. “Don’t shed tears for me, Ima. I’m not a child anymore. I am the king of Israel. You can’t rush in and kiss my skinned knees.”

  Before he realized what she was doing, she pulled her hand from his grasp and knelt before him.

  “No, Ima! What are—Ima, stand up!” He had never seen her bow to Abba, and she would certainly never bow to him!

  But as he reached for her elbow, she gently refused his efforts. A tender smile framed her words. “I know better than anyone that you are the king of Israel. But first and foremost”—her chin quivered—“you are my son. And I will always help you if I see a way to be useful.”

  Solomon didn’t know whether to chuckle, cry, or hug her. The determined set of her jaw, the sparkle in her eye—yes, this was the headstrong ima he knew. She’d spent her life making decisions for him and then ensuring those in power followed through. Truly, if Ima and Nathan hadn’t responded so quickly to Adonijah’s coup, Solomon would have lost the throne while Abba lay dying. She had gained his respect long ago. Today she deserved his honor.