Love’s Sacred Song

by Mesu Andrews

  • 1 KINGS 4:7 •

  Solomon also had twelve district governors over all Israel, who supplied provisions for the king and the royal household. Each one had to provide supplies for one month in the year.

  The king requests your company at his table to break the fast.” The messenger’s high-pitched voice propelled Jehoshaphat from a dead sleep, and the incessant knocking nearly rattled the door from its hinges.

  “What? Where am I? Who’s there?” Blurry-eyed, Jehoshaphat searched his strange surroundings.

  A lighthearted voice repeated the invitation. “The king requests . . .”

  “Reu, my friend, is that you?” Jehoshaphat stumbled out of bed. “I wondered if I might see you during my stay at the palace.” The king’s messenger, who had become so dear to Jehoshaphat’s family, had found him. Fumbling with the iron lock above the handle, Shunem’s judge tugged at the cedar door. “Oh, I don’t know why I locked this cursed thing.” He heard Reu’s light chuckle on the other side. “I can’t get it unlatched!”

  “My lord, if you’ll just pull up on the—”

  Jehoshaphat flung open the door and bowed as if he were the most hospitable of servants. “Please, my friend, come in.”

  Reu chuckled again, but Jehoshaphat thought he noted a tinge of sadness on his friend’s face. “I cannot stay long, my lord. I’ve brought a refreshing cup of honeyed water before you break your fast with the king.” Stepping over the threshold, Reu tried to steady the goblet on the silver tray in his shaking hands. He turned and locked the door behind him.

  Seeing the young man’s apprehension, Jehoshaphat fought the dread he’d felt since yesterday’s silent exchange with Ahishar in the throne hall. “How did you find me so quickly, my friend? Who told you I was here?”

  Reu kept his voice barely above a whisper. “My ima Elisheba is the head cook, and her kitchen has always been the center of palace gossip. No detail—great or small—escapes her notice, my lord.” He paused, looking left and right as if a conspirator might peek out from beneath the goatskin rug. “And believe me, you are a big detail.” Reu lifted the silver goblet to his lips and drank deeply of Jehoshaphat’s morning refreshment.

  Jehoshaphat grinned at his friend’s absentminded gesture. “And why am I a big detail?”

  Reu’s eyes grew large as he gulped and then wiped the sweet nectar from his lips. “Because you arrived in Jerusalem a day early!” he said, setting down the goblet.

  Thoroughly confused, Jehoshaphat asked, “How could I be a day early when the king didn’t know I was coming?”

  “Please, my lord, sit down.” Reu rushed the few steps from the door to a cushioned couch. “I will tell you everything, but I must hurry before your steward arrives to escort you to the king’s chamber.” Sitting down heavily beside the judge, Reu took a deep breath and began. “I am one of twelve couriers who were commissioned last night to disperse the king’s edicts of reform to twelve new districts in Israel. The royal command erases the tribal lines established by Moses, imposes a labor tax on each district to supply food for the king’s household one moon cycle per year, and mandates an Israelite workforce to assist Sidonian lumbermen with the felling of cedars in Lebanon.”

  “I heard of some of these reforms in the market yesterday,” Jehoshaphat said while Reu gulped another mouthful of honeyed water. “But I don’t understand what they have to do with me.” He paused, a sudden realization squeezing his heart. “Reu, you shouldn’t be telling me this.” He glanced at his locked chamber door and prayed no one was listening on the other side. “What if someone hears you?”

  His friend’s expression was undecipherable. “I’m faithfully discharging my duty,” he said. “I’m delivering my decree to the governor of King Solomon’s tenth district.”

  Silence. Gut-wrenching silence as the two locked eyes and measured the weight of his statement.

  “There’s more,” Reu said in barely a whisper. Jehoshaphat nodded, and his friend continued. “An ancient sect of Judean zealots called the Sons of Judah has set a plan into motion that will rend Israel in two, making Judah the crown and the northern tribes her slaves. They have infiltrated the king’s council and the Judean military . . .” He paused, his eyes misting. “They have even placed two virgins in the king’s harem, the Daughters of Jerusalem, to control the political influence of Solomon’s foreign wives.”

  At the mention of the king’s harem, Jehoshaphat felt his heart race. “Arielah.” The whisper of her name brought tears. “She’ll be walking into a boiling pot of intrigue far greater than I’d imagined.”

  Reu nodded sadly. “And she’ll be fighting the second most powerful man in the kingdom.” The normally rosy-cheeked, jovial courier turned a vengeful, hard stare on Jehoshaphat. “Ahishar is the leader of the rebellion and found a way to dispose of Prince Adonijah. He’ll stop at nothing to steal Solomon’s throne.”

  Shunem’s judge felt as if every drop of blood had rushed from his face. “Are you sure, Reu? How can your ima be certain of all this?”

  “Do you remember when I told you that my abba was killed in David’s army and another good man helped Ima Elisheba raise me?”

  Jehoshaphat nodded.

  “It was Ahishar’s scribe, Mahlon, who was like an abba to me, and Ahishar cut out his tongue because he told my ima about the Sons of Judah.”

  Jehoshaphat’s stomach rolled. “Jehovah, help us all,” he whispered, wiping his face as if he could wipe away the sordidness of the details. “How has your ima escaped Ahishar’s wrath if he knows she’s aware of the Sons of Judah?”

  The young man’s eyes welled with tears. “Ahishar has told both my ima and Mahlon that if information goes any further, he will have me arrested and tortured.”

  “Oh, Reu!” Jehoshaphat’s heart pounded. “What a nightmare.” He pulled the young courier into a ferocious embrace. Holding the boy tightly, he suddenly connected Reu’s relationships. “I believe I met your friend at the palace entrance. Is he the scribe who works with the one-eyed guard to assemble the list of court petitioners?”

  Reu sat back and wiped his face on his sleeve. “He still serves Ahishar, recording names on a clay tablet and then transferring them to the papyrus scroll used in court. Ahishar keeps him close since Mahlon knows so many of the high steward’s secrets.”

  Jehoshaphat ran his fingers through his hair, releasing a long, slow sigh. “Well, my friend, we—”

  A knock on the door startled them both. “Just a moment,” Jehoshaphat shouted. Turning to Reu, he whispered, “Pray, my friend. Pray that Jehovah grants me wisdom and favor as I meet with our king.” His heart ached for Arielah. Should he still offer his precious lamb when the sacrifice had become so dangerous? “How can I get word to you if I must see you before I leave Jerusalem?”

  Another knock. “My lord Jehoshaphat,” came a young male voice on the other side of the door. “Please, we must hurry. The king awaits your meeting in his private chamber.”

  “Send word through a messenger to my ima’s kitchen if you need me, my lord,” Reu said. With a sad smile, he added, “The governor to which I was delivering my news already knows his position as one of the king’s new princes. I suspect I’ll have the day at leisure.” Opening the door, Reu greeted the chamber steward. “Be kind to him, Yoshim. This man is a good friend.”

  Jehoshaphat walked beside the quiet servant boy, Yoshim, and realized he was gaping again at the palace grandeur. “Don’t lose me!” he teased. “I could wander for weeks and never find my chamber.” The servant cast a coy smile over his shoulder and then ducked his head, continuing down a long marble hallway.

  Approaching the mosaic entryway of double doors, Jehoshaphat admired the thumb-sized pieces of stone arranged in lovely patterns. Intricate designs of palm trees, pomegranates, and cherubs were etched on the doors and door frames, and stone lions resting on their haunches stood like sentries on both sides. Next to each lion, the king’s elite soldiers guarded the door—each man twice the size o
f other Israelites. Yoshim stepped confidently between them as though they were statues themselves. Rising up on tiptoes, he lifted the large round circlet of iron and let it fall once—clang! Then again—clang!

  After a rush of hurried footsteps, the doors opened wide. King Solomon stood framed in the doorway. “Come, Jehoshaphat, you are welcome at my table.”

  Shunem’s judge was again awed at the luxury of a king’s world. Directly before him was a large olive-wood table that could have accommodated twenty people, raised two handbreadths off the floor by four beautifully carved legs. Jehoshaphat was accustomed to the table in his own home—a piece of leather placed on the floor and then folded after each meal to provide space to walk in the common room.

  Solomon guided his guest past the splendid table and settled beside a small ivory table in the corner. Ahishar stood waiting, his expression forcibly pleasant. Four goatskin rugs circled the table, revealing the imminent arrival of one more guest.

  “I thought we’d eat here,” the king said, inviting Jehoshaphat to be seated.

  Just as they folded their legs to take their places, Benaiah burst through the door. “Please forgive me, my lords. I’m sorry to delay our meal.”

  King Solomon glared a silent reprimand at his captain and then turned a forced smile on his guest. “Jehoshaphat, soon to be my prince of Shunem, I’d like to introduce the commander of Israel’s army.”

  Jehoshaphat was still pondering the “prince of Shunem” comment as Solomon continued. “Benaiah has been my most trusted advisor since Abba’s death.”

  Ahishar tried to hide a wince, no doubt envious of the captain’s favored status.

  Discerning tension between the king’s two advisors, Jehoshaphat offered his hand to the captain. “It is an honor to finally meet you. When I saw you in court yesterday, I had hoped a man of your size was friendly!”

  Locking his hand against Jehoshaphat’s wrist, Benaiah nodded briefly, released his grip, and cast a suspicious glance at Ahishar. “And when I saw you in court yesterday, Jehoshaphat, I hoped our palace steward had not breached confidentiality and leaked the king’s decision to a member of our northern tribes.”

  “I’ll not have him speak to me this way in front of—” Ahishar shouted.

  “Enough!” Solomon said, lifting his hands to silence his advisors. After sufficiently chastising them with a stare, the king returned his attention to Jehoshaphat. “I apologize for my friends’ outbursts, but we were all a little surprised to see one of my district princes arrive in the throne hall hours before I confided your new position to my council and a full day before I sent a courier to Shunem with the news.”

  Jehoshaphat finally grasped the title “prince of Shunem.” King Solomon had used prince and governor interchangeably, a label for his new district administrators. Shunem’s judge had been confused and concerned, even though he’d heard the news this morning from a friend. He could only guess how the northern tribesmen would feel when they received royal decrees from impersonal couriers.

  “I must confess, my king,” Jehoshaphat began, adjusting his position on the curly white rug, “I had no idea that I was to become a governor or prince, and my visit to your courtroom was planned on the night King David died.” The three men at the table exchanged puzzled glances, obviously gauging their trust of this northern visitor. “I assure you, my knowledge of the redistricting was based on a rumor I heard in the market yesterday from a particularly unpleasant Judean.”

  “A rumor?” the king and commander asked at the same time, both raising an eyebrow.

  Benaiah’s skepticism was much more intimidating, stretching the long scar on the left side of his face. “You asked for an audience with the king based on nothing more than a rumor?”

  The room had fallen utterly silent.

  “Well, I . . . I heard of other reforms the king was considering, and I thought, well . . .”

  The commander stood, and Jehoshaphat’s heart leapt to his throat. Would he be arrested? Tortured?

  And then erupted one of the deepest belly laughs Jehoshaphat had ever heard. “Stand up, my lord,” Benaiah said to him. “Let me shake the hand of the cleverest official I’ve ever met!”

  Tension drained from the room like water from an overturned jar. Grins and good-natured shoves opened the men’s hearts to speak on level terms.

  “So you had no idea I planned to name you as prince of my tenth district?” Solomon asked.

  “No, my lord,” Jehoshaphat said. “Not until the courier you assigned pounded on my door this morning.” Again, laughter soothed the souls of the cautious leaders.

  Solomon clapped Jehoshaphat’s shoulder soundly. “Let’s get started on our meal. I’m starving. Your steward awaits your request, Prince Jehoshaphat.”

  “Well, Yoshim,” Jehoshaphat said, “I’ll have whatever the king is having. That is, unless you have a better suggestion, my friend.”

  Solomon’s warm smile faded, and Ahishar’s expression glowed. Jehoshaphat realized he’d erred but wasn’t sure how.

  “Why is a northern tribesman on such friendly terms with a palace servant?” Ahishar asked. “I train the chamber stewards to be invisible, Prince Jehoshaphat, neither seen nor heard by those they serve. So how would you know the young man’s name is Yoshim?” When Jehoshaphat drew a breath to explain that Reu had addressed the boy by name, Ahishar demanded more answers. “And how did a royal courier know to deliver his message to you at the palace this morning? Do you have spies among us, Jehoshaphat? Are there vengeful Shulammites who conspire to harm the king in retribution for Abishag’s treatment?” He leaned forward, challenging. “Ask Benaiah what we do with traitors in Jerusalem.”

  Before Jehoshaphat could dispel Ahishar’s accusations, Benaiah released a burst of air from between pursed lips, and his imposing scar began to dance. Yoshim’s eyes grew as round as the lemons on the table. But Solomon’s face was a blank clay tablet, as he awaited Jehoshaphat’s reply to etch his opinion.

  Ahishar’s aim was clear. Reu’s warnings were proving true. The high steward was seeking to drive a wedge between Solomon and his northern brothers in hopes of civil war. Jehoshaphat didn’t yet understand how Ahishar planned to use the king’s harem, but he knew without a doubt that offering Arielah as a treaty bride would risk her life.

  Calmly Jehoshaphat directed his reply to the king. “Yoshim and I met just this morning, and if it weren’t for Yoshim and the royal courier, Reu, I might never have successfully unbolted my door, nor would I ever find my way back to my chamber.” His easy manner and attempt at humor softened the king’s features. Jehoshaphat would gain nothing by growing defensive or accusing Ahishar without proof. The king must judge his new prince for himself. “So what does a king eat for breakfast?”

  “I’m rather predictable,” Solomon said with a lingering gaze. “I have a propensity for goat’s milk, bread, and cheese.” Reaching for a dried fig, he began rolling it under his hand on the table. “And figs, fresh, dried, or candied—doesn’t matter. I love figs, and I eat the same thing every morning.”

  “Well, then,” Jehoshaphat said, “I’ll have goat’s milk, bread, and cheese.” He reached for a fig and popped it in his mouth. “And figs.”

  Solomon offered a slight nod, tossed a fig in the air, and caught it in his mouth. Jehoshaphat applauded. Even Benaiah’s jaw relaxed, and a slight grin cracked his hard exterior. Yoshim and the other servants hurried toward a door at the far corner of the king’s chamber, and Jehoshaphat tried to guess what they would report to Reu’s ima, the palace cook.

  “So, tell me,” Solomon said when the four men had settled into silence, “if you didn’t know of my reforms when you came to Jerusalem, what prompted your journey?” His brow furrowed. “Did I hear you say you planned the journey the night of my abba’s death?”

  “Yes, my lord.” Jehoshaphat’s heart pounded as he prayed, Jehovah, give me wisdom. How much do I reveal? Do I offer my lamb for our nation’s peace? Raising his eyes, he search
ed the faces of the men seated with him. “May I ask each of you a question before I answer?”

  Solomon smiled, offered a forbearing nod.

  “I understand that you have a son. Rehoboam, is it?” he asked Solomon.

  “Yes, he is my firstborn.”

  The king was noticeably aloof, but Jehoshaphat moved on. “And what about you, Ahishar? Do you have children?”

  “No. I never married,” he said as if thoroughly bored. “I have dedicated my life to serving my kings.”

  “What about you, Benaiah?”

  The commander appeared quite uncomfortable, glancing first at the king and then back at Jehoshaphat. “Yes,” he said barely above a whisper. “I once had a son.”

  “What?” Solomon’s remoteness disappeared. “Benaiah, I didn’t know you were ever married.”

  Bathed in silent prayer, Jehoshaphat pressed on. “Would you mind sharing what happened to your son, Captain?”

  “How do you know about my son?” Benaiah leaned dangerously close, his scar dancing.

  Jehoshaphat drew a calming breath. “I had no idea you once had a son, but I’ve been praying that Jehovah would guide my conversation, Captain.” The two locked gazes. Measuring. Waiting. “Perhaps what you have to say will impact the proposal I will present to the king.”

  With one last twitch of his left eyebrow, the big man spoke. “I was a young commander in King David’s army when my wife died giving birth to our son. His name was Ammizabad. When he became of age, David placed me over the Mighty Men, and I put my son in charge of my army division. He was killed the next day when the Edomites rioted.” Turning to Solomon, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, my king, but you were too young to remember those days. I didn’t think the past mattered to my current post.”

  “Well, this is all very moving.” Ahishar’s nasally whine split the air. “But what does it have to do with the night of King David’s death and Jehoshaphat’s more-than-coincidental arrival in Jerusalem?”