Love’s Sacred Song

by Mesu Andrews

  Graciously, Jehoshaphat smiled and stepped away from his daughter. The girl’s brow furrowed, and a spark lit her eyes. Solomon offered his most charming smile, and the spark kindled to a beautiful glow. Those eyes! Beautiful dove’s eyes.

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Solomon began a slow stroll around Arielah. From the top of her head to the tips of her slippers, he inspected his treaty bride. Adequate. We’ll give her my ima’s chamber, he thought. That should provide sufficient honor to appease the northern tribes. As a shepherdess, she would no doubt enjoy the private garden outside her door. He continued to consider other negotiations that might sweeten the agreement for his new friend Jehoshaphat.

  He completed the circle and raised his eyes to assess her face once more. Instead of the quiet submission he expected, this girl boldly returned his gaze. In fact, she seemed to peer directly into his soul. It was unnerving. He suddenly felt as though he was the one being judged. When he tried to look away, her eyes held him. Something about her radiated a beauty unlike any he’d ever seen. Say something—you’re considering a wife, not a horse for your stable. Solomon offered his hand and inclined his head, inviting her acceptance.

  She smiled, took his hand, and chose that moment to speak her first words. “I believe loving you will be more delightful than wine.” Her voice was soft yet clear, like a trickling stream. Her tone alluring, but not lewd or coarse. “Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes, and your name, Solomon”—she closed her eyes and spoke it slowly—“is like perfume poured out.”

  Her words enfolded him, creating warmth and security, eliciting peace in his innermost being.

  Glancing over her shoulder at the Daughters of Jerusalem, she whispered playfully, “No wonder the maidens love you!”

  Breathless at her boldness and delighted by her candor, Solomon gaped. And for just a moment, the king of Israel was speechless. Finally, absorbing the utter charm before him, he laughed with a freedom and joy that bubbled up from the depths of his soul.

  And Arielah laughed with him.

  He reached for her other hand and saw a lively sparkle in her eyes, matching his mischievous heart. She might not equal the beauty of Abishag or the splendor of the Daughters of Jerusalem, but this spirited Shulammite intrigued him. He was smitten. And for some reason, he thought of Ima Bathsheba. She would like this girl too.

  “Say your name for me,” he whispered.

  “I am Arielah, lion of God.”

  “Indeed you are.”

  More words were unnecessary as the two locked eyes in a whimsical game of hide-and-seek. Totally captivated, they had entered a quiet place of their own amid the sea of dignitaries and townspeople. Never had Solomon met a woman so honest, so unpretentious, and so enchanting. Never had a woman spoken so little with her lips and so much with her eyes and heart. She was a refreshing change from the seriousness of the palace, and from just these few moments he knew his life had been forever changed.

  Then, without warning, she looked away, casting a glance behind her at the crowd and the Daughters of Jerusalem waiting with them. When she met his eyes again, he noticed a change in her countenance. The mingling of sorrow in her smile squeezed his heart with emotions he didn’t understand. Suddenly there were many things he didn’t understand.

  This afternoon’s meeting was to be a political arrangement, not a matter of the heart. Oh, but you . . . He stared at her unabashedly. You are so much more. She was exquisite, breathtaking, and his heart was attracted to Arielah not because of the linen and jewels his messenger had delivered this morning. This girl possessed a loveliness rooted deep inside.

  The mischief was returning to her eyes. “May I speak even more boldly, my lord?”

  More boldly? Solomon’s passions stirred, and he marveled at her audacity. “Of course, my Shulammite. You may speak as boldly as you like.”

  She touched his cheek, and the motion drew him close. “May I whisper?” she asked.

  Solomon chuckled. This enchanting young creature was bold but bashful? “Of course, if you wish.”

  Arielah rose up on her toes and placed her delicate hands on his arms to steady herself. The warmth of her touch set his body aflame. “You are Solomon, king of Israel, son of David—correct?” She fell back on her heels with a grin and waited for his reply.

  Hmmm. A game. “I am.”

  Then again on her toes with a whisper in his ear. “As king, you can marry when and whom you please—correct?” Back on her heels again to meet his gaze.

  “I can.” He smiled, hunger for her growing with each warm whisper.

  She hesitated a moment before she rose again to breathe softly into his ear. “Then make me your bride today, my king. I have dreamed of becoming your wife since I was a child. Let the king unite God’s people now, before the sun sets.”

  Solomon stood motionless, lost in her gaze, enthralled by her nearness, wrapped in the simplicity of her love. This was no game. He saw the sincerity of the request in her eyes. With every sensation that made him a man, he wanted to say yes. With every duty that made him a king, he must say no. He had given his word to Jehoshaphat, and this betrothal period was intended to provide time for Jehoshaphat to travel through the northern districts, unraveling the knotted tensions. After hostilities waned, Solomon would return to Shunem and lead the wedding processional back to Jerusalem, where he and Arielah would be married. Surely Jehoshaphat had explained the conditions of the treaty to his daughter.

  Gazing into Arielah’s dove-like eyes, he wanted to forget he was king. But wait. I am the king of Israel. The realization stirred a new thought. Why can’t I marry her today? His mind began to spin with possibilities. Perhaps he could be bold like his abba, take what he wanted when he wanted it.

  Ima Bathsheba. He saw her face. But God forgave Abba’s impulsiveness, and David remained king even after he sinned. Solomon wouldn’t be breaking any laws by marrying Arielah now. Certainly he had promised to follow the betrothal traditions, but breaking his word was different than breaking the law of Moses.

  “We’ve had such a long journey,” Shiphrah said, her voice intruding on his thoughts, “and we need to prepare ourselves for tonight’s banquet.” Solomon stared into the vibrant brown eyes of his companions and was suddenly awakened from Arielah’s dream world. Shiphrah and Sherah had wandered from the crowd and now stood beside him, brows furrowed, impatient red lips pouting.

  Looking past Arielah’s shoulder, Solomon focused on the Shulammites and realized how intently the whole town had been examining his every movement, expression, and word. He had almost given them a reason to revolt. He had almost let his emotions rule the nation. Returning his gaze to Arielah, he found her still awaiting his reply.

  Her vulnerability left him speechless, but he couldn’t do as she asked. So he did what seemed best.

  He laughed.

  “People of Shunem,” he said grandly, reaching for Arielah’s hand. “Jehoshaphat’s daughter delights a king’s heart.” He led her toward the waiting crowd, choosing to face the Shulammites rather than deny her unmasked emotions. He’d taken the coward’s way out by ignoring her request, but he couldn’t simply marry a northern maiden without a betrothal period. Just because his foreign and Judean wives came to his harem that way didn’t mean the conservative northern tribes would tolerate it. He and Jehoshaphat had reached an agreement, and tonight a wedding treaty would be signed. Solomon would keep his word and be remembered as a wise king—even if he wasn’t a warrior like Abba David.

  Arielah fought the tears that threatened to undo her. She saw a moment of decision flash in Solomon’s eyes. And she saw the door of his heart slam shut at Shiphrah’s precisely placed intrusion. Her wedding proposal had been an attempt to gain the upper hand on the Daughters of Jerusalem. If Solomon had agreed to marry her before leaving Shunem’s soil, she might have been able to counter the women’s conniving in the harem. Now she must pray Solomon would be wise enough to uncover whatever deception Ahishar had planned duri
ng their betrothal.

  “Be patient, my little shepherdess.” Solomon leaned close and whispered as a cheer arose from the Shulammites. “I will one day take you to the bridal chamber.”

  Arielah blushed, averting her eyes. He had interpreted her request as a lusty game of teasing. And why wouldn’t he? The love Arielah longed to share was as foreign to Solomon as a beggar’s mat. The only love he knew came from a crowded harem, where women whispered enticing phrases to win his favor. The reality of their differences staggered her.

  Frozen by humiliation, she stood motionless and mute. Shiphrah must have glimpsed her awkwardness and stepped between the couple. “We rejoice and delight in you,” she said, mimicking Arielah’s initial greeting.

  “And we will praise your love more than wine.” Sherah joined the teasing, and both maidens dissolved into a fit of giggles.

  “Truly, Arielah,” Shiphrah said, stealing her hand away from the king. “We must teach you more worthy phrases by which to woo a king.”

  Arielah’s cheeks burned. They had treated the gemstones of her heart as if they were clumps of dirt on a farmer’s plow.

  “Shiphrah, Sherah, be quiet,” Solomon whispered between clenched teeth, and Arielah’s heart soared at the thought of his defense. But just as quickly her hopes sank when he nodded to the Shulammite crowd. “They’ll hear you.” His neck grew pink. “Prince Jehoshaphat, I apologize for the Daughters of Jerusalem. They have been commissioned to help acquaint all my wives with the ways of the court . . .” His voice trailed off, and tension grew as silence lingered.

  The crowd, though they had not heard the interchange, must have sensed Jehoshaphat’s anger. Restless whispers began to stir. Arielah watched fear shadow Solomon’s expression, and she saw him glance at his commander.

  “Of course, they are right to want what’s best for you.” Arielah had spoken the words before she realized it. Pushing past the flowing veils and perfumed bodies, she regained her place at Solomon’s side. “They are right to adore you.” Her words were meant to console, to reassure, but she saw him wince. A smudge of self-loathing rested beneath the gold crown on his furrowed brow. Everything within her screamed, You are worthy of love, Solomon! But it wasn’t Solomon she should rebuke.

  Turning to the Daughters of Jerusalem, she met their snide grins with a heated command. “Stop staring at me.”

  The words snapped the maidens to attention.

  “My face may have been darkened by the sun,” she continued, gaining fury with every breath, “but I possess a beauty you know nothing of. While you two soaked in your perfumes and lotions, my brothers’ hatred sent me to work in the vineyards.” Opening her hands, she presented her scabbed palms. “As you can see, my own vineyard has been neglected, but the fruit of my labor is a clear conscience and a loving heart. Without these wounds, I might be just as ugly as you.”

  Arielah heard the crowd gasp and felt Solomon’s hands grab her wrists. The breeze seemed to hold its breath while the king inspected her hands. When he finally looked into her eyes, she no longer saw self-loathing. She saw rage.

  19

  • SONG OF SOLOMON 1:7–9 •

  [Beloved] Tell me, you whom I love, where you . . . rest your sheep at midday. Why should I be like a veiled woman beside the flocks of your friends?

  [Friends] If you do not know, most beautiful of women . . . graze your young goats by the tents of the shepherds.

  [Lover] I liken you, my darling, to a mare harnessed to one of the chariots of Pharaoh.

  Trembling, Solomon looked into Arielah’s pained expression. Assessing the nervous chatter among the Shulammites, he realized they were no longer the central fire of rebellion he feared. They would become spectators in his improvised courtroom. Someone would pay for Arielah’s wounds.

  Returning his attention to her dove-like eyes, he saw pain and then realized he was squeezing her wrists like a vice. “Oh!” He eased his grasp, cradled her hands. A hundred questions raced through his mind. Were the brothers of age to bear the punishment? Did Jehoshaphat know his sons mistreated her? Did they abuse Arielah in other ways?

  “No one will ever harm you again,” he whispered, tracing the peeling skin on her palms. With a gentle squeeze, he released her hands. Turning to his commander, Solomon kept his voice calm, though rage bubbled beneath the surface. “Benaiah!”

  “Yes, my lord.” The big man stepped forward, bowing before his king.

  “Please take your place between Jehoshaphat and his wife.” The commander seemed uncertain but obeyed. Solomon remembered Benaiah’s loyal execution of General Joab at the altar and wondered if his loyalty extended beyond his friendship with Jehoshaphat. If Shunem’s prince had contributed to Arielah’s injuries—even by simply ignoring the abuse—Solomon would order his arrest.

  Arielah cast a puzzled glance in his direction. Clearly unsettled, she lifted frightened eyes for reassurance.

  “Please, Arielah,” Solomon said, gently guiding her. “Step over here, on my right side.” A protective fury had seized him unlike anything he’d ever known. Moving her tenderly, he separated Arielah a few more paces from her relatives. He knew from their recent bride negotiations that Jehoshaphat and his daughter were especially close. Lord Jehovah, please let this man be innocent of all charges.

  The spontaneous courtroom now arranged, Solomon raised his voice for the crowd. “As king of Israel, I hear all manner of complaints. Today I will judge those responsible for Arielah’s wounds, those who have harmed my treaty bride.”

  The crowd drew a collective breath, but Jehoshaphat’s expression remained unchanged. A knot the size of Mount Hermon tightened in Solomon’s gut. Surely if he were innocent, he would say so now. Hearing nothing, Solomon continued. “Arielah has accused her brothers of a crime, but ultimately the sins of a household rest on the abba.” Fighting for control, he asked, “Jehoshaphat, prince of Shunem, did you know of the abuses committed against your daughter by those in your own household?”

  An angry buzz spread through the crowd, heckles and jeers randomly shouted out. Like a little boy striking a beehive, Solomon had angered the swarm. A wave of fear swept over him, but he would not succumb to weakness when justice required a response.

  “My lord, please.” Benaiah stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Solomon whispered through clenched teeth, “If they condone this atrocity, they don’t deserve to call themselves Israelites.”

  Benaiah released a heavy sigh, but to his credit, he prepared to defend without further argument. Solomon stepped in front of Arielah, completing the circle of guards around her.

  The crowd began to swell, and Arielah grasped Solomon’s robe. “Please, stop!”

  “No!” Jehoshaphat shouted, his hands raised to the crowd. “No, my friends. There is no cause for anger.” The Shulammites settled enough to hear their respected judge speak. “Today is intended to be a day of rejoicing, and our good king deserves an answer. How can he know if we do not tell him?” The crowd quieted further, and Jehoshaphat returned his gaze to Solomon. “Yes, my lord, I knew.”

  The knot in Solomon’s stomach unraveled, as did his faith in this godly man. “Why, Jehoshaphat?” he asked, closing his eyes against the realization of what he must now do. “How could you allow Arielah to endure such pain from those who are supposed to love her?”

  “Solomon . . .”

  Startled at hearing his familiar name, the king looked into Jehoshaphat’s tear-filled eyes.

  “I did not know the extent of my sons’ cruelty toward Arielah.”

  “You didn’t know?” he asked. “But the wounds on her hands and face, Jehoshaphat. How could you not . . . ?” He allowed his skepticism to finish the question.

  “By the time I returned from our meeting in Jerusalem, my sons’ brutality had reached new depths.” He paused, and the truth began to settle into Solomon’s consciousness. “The law required that we punish our rebellious sons.” A single blink sent rivers of tears into hi
s beard. “We obeyed the law.”

  Finally absorbing the extent of this family’s suffering, Solomon turned to Arielah and saw tears streaming down her cheeks. Like a dagger, the memory of Benaiah’s report pierced him: Jehoshaphat’s son had been stoned. Solomon had assumed the crime was murder. Oh, Jehovah! What have I done?

  “Their son was stoned for his rebellion,” Benaiah whispered, confirming the king’s thoughts.

  The crowd had grown utterly silent, and Solomon took a deep breath, lifted his shoulders, and spoke for all to hear. “Jehoshaphat, I have wrongly accused you. Can you ever forgive me?” When he turned to Jehoshaphat to offer his hand, the judge’s hand was already waiting.

  “You are already forgiven, my king.” The warmth in the man’s voice and expression instantly relieved Solomon’s fears and almost as quickly drained the tension from the crowd and the king’s guards. Cradling Solomon’s hand in his, Jehoshaphat continued his public praise. “Your passion for my daughter’s protection is a noble trait, King Solomon. You were her champion today. You defended her bravely, and I pray you never have to be her champion again.”

  Approving words rippled across the crowd, and even Benaiah’s elite Cherethite and Pelethite guards ventured amiable grins.

  Solomon was overwhelmed. “How can you forgive so freely, Jehoshaphat?” he whispered, drawing the man closer with the grip he held on his wrist.

  “It was Arielah who taught me of forgiveness when she showed mercy to our younger son Igal on the day of judgment.” Inclining his head, he directed Solomon’s attention to a large man standing just behind Jehosheba. He resembled Jehoshaphat, but his eyes were downcast.

  Solomon released his hand and struggled to keep a level tone. “One of your sons was spared?” He could feel the color of fury rising on his neck. “I do not see mercy as an option in the law, Jehoshaphat.”