Love’s Sacred Song

by Mesu Andrews

  “Ahhh!” he said, rolling to his back. But this time a low, playful chuckle rumbled in his throat. “All this talk about love is making me hungry again.”

  Arielah’s heart sang. It’s a good thing he’s going back to Jerusalem, she thought. I’m not sure I could remain pure for a whole year if we lounged in the meadow every day. Rolling on her back beside him, she dramatically rested her hand on her forehead. “Strengthen me with raisins. Refresh me with apples, for I am faint with love.” Watching the clouds float by, she was lost in the sound of her own laughter until she realized the king had drawn closer.

  “Arielah,” he whispered to the melody of her laughter. In one fluid motion he covered her small form, his lips upon hers, his desire beyond reason. Did she not realize her touch would fan his embers into flames?

  “No!” she said breathlessly. “Wait! We must wait!” She pushed against his chest, struggled, and turned her face away.

  He rolled to the rug beside her. “No?” he gasped. “Wait?” His mind seemed incapable of more than one-word phrases.

  “We are betrothed,” she said, sitting up and straightening her robe and head covering.

  “Betrothed?” Again, one word! Solomon shook his head to clear it.

  “It is a stoning offense to lay with a betrothed woman, my lord.” Arielah’s eyes were pleading as she spoke. “If only you had listened yesterday, before the treaty was signed . . . when I asked you to take me to your chamber . . .”

  “How dare you instruct me in matters of the law!” Solomon sprang to his feet. “I am the king of Israel, and I will take a maiden to my chamber when I choose. I will take a dozen wives if I wish it!”

  Suddenly the little Shulammite was on her feet, fury on her stormy features. “I am not yet one of your wives!”

  “Indeed you are not!” came Shiphrah’s shrill voice. “And with a temperament like that, we can only assume you never will be!”

  Sherah, quick as an Egyptian cat, appeared at Solomon’s left side. “Come, my king, we’ll leave these impudent goatherds to their mountain haunts.”

  Before Solomon could draw a breath, Arielah stepped to within a handbreadth of Sherah’s face. “Listen to me, Daughters of Jerusalem. I promise you by the gazelles and does of the field: I will come to Solomon as a pure and holy bride. True love is willing to sacrifice, willing to wait, willing to be blessed in Jehovah’s time—and not before!”

  “Enough!” Solomon shouted. “I’ve heard enough of your sacrificial love and shepherd’s verse! You promise love, yet you deny me passion. Away from me, woman!” Arielah reached out for him, but Solomon pulled away. All her fine talk had brought nothing but frustration.

  The Daughters of Jerusalem walked in stride beside him, glaring daggers back at Arielah. “Shall we send a messenger to tell Prince Jehoshaphat his treaty bride is unsuitable?” Shiphrah asked, brushing blades of grass from the king’s robe.

  “No.” He ground out the word. He couldn’t risk breaking the northern treaty—or the possibility of never seeing the girl again.

  Shiphrah said no more.

  Solomon rounded the corner of his tent and found Benaiah talking with a group of soldiers. “Prepare a detachment of men to accompany my carriage immediately!”

  Benaiah’s face registered confusion, concern. “My lord, the festivities tonight . . . will you return in time for the—”

  “I may never return to this forsaken place!”

  Benaiah glanced toward the meadow. Solomon followed his gaze.

  Arielah was running toward home, their meal scraps a shambles on the rug beneath the fir tree. Like this cursed treaty arrangement. Solomon’s heart twisted in his chest. “Prepare the whole caravan to return to Jerusalem!” he shouted. “The Daughters of Jerusalem and I will leave now in my carriage with a small escort!” Benaiah offered a curt bow, and Solomon issued the remainder of his instructions. “Make sure the rest of the caravan leaves Shunem before nightfall. My carriage and escort will travel slowly enough for the procession to catch up by morning.”

  Solomon didn’t wait for Benaiah’s response. He knew his commander would think it unwise to travel through the wilderness at night. Perhaps God’s gift of wisdom only applies to matters of nations, not matters of the heart.

  Solomon stalked away, using all his strength to hold his shoulders upright. Within moments, the king sat in his fine coach on a bench opposite the Daughters of Jerusalem, watching the fading image of Shunem’s green meadow through the window.

  “Well, at least you never have to return to this dusty little badger-hole town,” Shiphrah said, fanning herself.

  “Silence,” Solomon growled. She obeyed. But his yearning was not so easily quieted. How did a simple shepherd girl reduce him to this jumble of emotions? Anger. Sorrow. Aching like he’d never known. She was supposed to have been an arrangement, a bargain. How dare she refuse him? And how dare she even suggest being his only woman. That’s what she meant when she said she wanted his whole heart, wasn’t it?

  His deep sigh drew the Daughters’ attention, but to their credit, they remained silent. Solomon’s brooding continued on the long, bumpy journey to Jerusalem. Perhaps a few new wives will help me forget the dove-gray eyes of Israel’s treaty bride.

  21

  • 1 KINGS 5:13–18 •

  King Solomon conscripted laborers from all Israel—thirty thousand men. He sent them off to Lebanon in shifts of ten thousand a month, so that they spent one month in Lebanon and two months at home. . . . Solomon had seventy thousand carriers and eighty thousand stonecutters in the hills, as well as thirty-three hundred foremen. . . . At the king’s command they removed from the quarry large blocks of quality stone to provide a foundation of dressed stone for the temple. The craftsmen of Solomon and Hiram and the men of Gebal cut and prepared the timber and stone for the building of the temple.

  I see it, my lord!” Reu shouted excitedly, bouncing on the center camel. “Jerusalem, like a crown on that hill! I can almost smell Ima’s raisin cakes from here.”

  Jehoshaphat laughed. “After nine new moons, you’ve wasted away to a shadow of the man you were before.” He leaned forward, straining to see Benaiah on the other side of Reu.

  “If we let his ima feed him from the palace kitchens,” the commander joined the teasing, “he’ll become three times the man he was before!”

  Others in their procession joined the banter, and Jehoshaphat drank in the sound. It was a welcome relief from the panicked shouts they’d exchanged at Shiloh two days ago. Their relations with central Israel’s wilderness towns had been deteriorating as families bore the burden of grain and livestock taxes while their men were away meeting the king’s construction demands. Grumbling ignited from tension to violence in Shiloh, and one of Jehoshaphat’s guards was injured. Word must have reached Jerusalem because Benaiah arrived the next day with his elite guard to escort Jehoshaphat and his retinue. The king wanted an update on the goodwill tour, and he wanted it from Jehoshaphat.

  “Reu, my friend,” Shunem’s prince said, “your ima will need to fatten you up quickly. We’ll stay in Jerusalem for tomorrow’s Sabbath, but we must leave the next day if we hope to keep pace and reach all northern villages within the year’s betrothal period.” Smiling at Benaiah, he added, “I don’t want Solomon to wait longer than necessary for Israel’s treaty bride.”

  The commander’s smile faded. His gaze wandered. Silence fell.

  “What, Benaiah?” Jehoshaphat spoke quietly now. “What are you not telling me?”

  Reu sat between them looking distinctly uncomfortable, trying to slow his cantankerous camel, Delilah, so the two elders could ride ahead and converse side by side. But the stubborn beast wouldn’t slow down. She seemed as anxious to hear Benaiah’s news as Jehoshaphat.

  Something akin to guilt shadowed Benaiah’s face. “Solomon has married over twenty royal wives since he left Shunem.”

  “What?” Jehoshaphat’s stomach rolled. “How? No Israelite would allow his daughter t
o forego a betrothal period—”

  “Judean families don’t require a betrothal period in a royal match.” Benaiah sighed. “But these are not Israelite or Judean wives.” The joyful sounds of the guards ceased, and only the clop of camel hooves remained.

  “King Solomon has taken twenty foreign wives?” Jehoshaphat’s words were barely a whisper.

  The commander nodded and rubbed his face with his massive paws.

  “What about God’s command that Israel’s king refrain from taking many wives, Benaiah?”

  The big man didn’t respond.

  “What about God’s command that Israelites not intermarry with the surrounding nations lest their wives lead our men’s hearts to worship other gods?”

  Benaiah’s head snapped to attention, fear streaking across his features.

  Jehoshaphat’s heart nearly stopped. “Tell me Solomon has not begun worshiping other gods.”

  “No.” Benaiah’s answer was quick and firm. He looked back at his Pelethite and Cherethite guards and spoke so all could hear. “No, King Solomon does not worship his wives’ gods.”

  When Jehoshaphat drew a breath to press further, the commander gave an almost imperceptible warning glance. He obviously had more to say but didn’t want to have the conversation here.

  “Twenty wives?” Reu asked, seeming to have missed the significant interchange. “How could one man marry twenty women in less than nine new moons?”

  Benaiah cleared his throat, ignoring the young messenger’s valid question. “His marriages are the fruit of Solomon’s growing fame. Kings and ambassadors, astronomers and physicians travel from places beyond our maps to seek his wisdom. When he astounds them with knowledge beyond any earthly revelation, they offer him their daughters as gifts.”

  Jehoshaphat squeezed the bridge of his nose, shook his head, and tried to process the dichotomy of this bright young king. “Forgive me if this sounds crude, but our king seems to be profiting from Yahweh’s gift, and if that be true, I fear for him, my friend.”

  Benaiah began shaking his head before Jehoshaphat finished the thought. “No, no. Our king doesn’t steal Jehovah’s glory. He reveals knowledge that only El Shaddai could give and then speaks of the Creator of all things to these idolatrous nations. By the time the ambassadors leave, they know of Solomon’s God and have agreed to allow their daughters to learn of Yahweh.”

  “So these women give up their pagan gods when they enter Solomon’s household?” Jehoshaphat felt a glimmer of hope until he saw his question elicit another warning glance from Benaiah.

  “I didn’t say they gave up their native gods,” he whispered—and then said no more. He didn’t need to. Jehoshaphat saw the truth written on his face.

  Arriving at Jerusalem’s eastern gate, Benaiah tapped his camel into the lead, and a watchman saluted. “Greetings, Commander! The king is expecting you.”

  “Thank you, Oliab. Make sure Prince Jehoshaphat’s men and pack animals are directed to the king’s stables.”

  Benaiah continued through the gate, but Jehoshaphat heard the watchman mumble, “I’ll not lift a hand to serve a northern Israelite dog.” Reu’s eyes rounded in disbelief, but it seemed no one else heard. Jehoshaphat ignored the rude watchman and followed Benaiah’s mount toward the palace.

  Casting a last glance over his shoulder, he noticed his capable young aide meeting with some resistance from the guard at the gate. Reu would undoubtedly employ his usual jovial manner to settle matters. Jehovah, give me a gracious heart like Reu’s to address my king with kinship.

  Arielah, like all Israelite maidens, hoped for an occasional endearing message from her bridegroom sent through his appointed friend. But too many Sabbaths passed and nine new moons came and went without a single word from Benaiah. Climbing the rugged rocks and hills of Mount Moreh, Arielah wondered if her betrothal had been a dream—ending with the nightmare in the meadow. The lush green carpet where she and Solomon had shared their meal had been parched by summer’s sun and now lay wrapped in winter’s colorless shroud. Rain chilled Arielah to the bone, and the gray, damp days before springtime mirrored her withered spirit.

  She found that tending the family flocks soothed her hurting heart, and caring for living things sustained her. Leading Abba’s sheep up the northern heights of Mount Moreh, Arielah scavenged the last green shoots of vegetation and rested on a hollowed-out boulder to examine her scraped arms and legs. Shepherding was demanding work, but the pain in her heart overshadowed all else.

  “Solomon,” she said to an especially stubborn ram named for her silent king, “will you return and honor the treaty bride agreement?” The animal replied with a blank stare. “Hmmm, funny. That’s what King Solomon says.”

  Leading her flock to a small cluster of greenery, she sat on another smooth stone and directed her next question to the nearest ewe. “Was his heart truly stirred, or did I just imagine the emotion in his eyes?” This sheep bleated her response, and Arielah giggled. “I knew a woman would understand.”

  The sun was quickly melting behind the western horizon, so Arielah journeyed down the southern hills toward home. Leading her flock beside a mountain stream, she felt Jehovah’s promise in the warming air. Oh, that a king could be as reliable as the seasons.

  No doubt, some of her melancholy came from missing Abba. He and Reu had begun their goodwill tour soon after Solomon left Shunem. They started their campaign in the heavily populated areas of Galilee, the nearness of those villages making it possible to visit home often. But four moons had passed since Abba and Reu ventured into the wilderness region of central Israel, and they hadn’t returned home since. Abba sent occasional messengers with word that the harsh wilderness towns posed more resistance to Solomon’s reforms. Traveling merchants brought reports of a riot in Shiloh a few days before last Sabbath. No word had come from Abba since, and each night after Ima’s bedchamber door closed, Arielah heard her quiet whimpers.

  Nudging the last woolen rump into the sheepfold, she glanced up to see Igal approaching. Studying the whistling, jovial young man before her, she marveled at the effects of mercy on one so willing to embrace it. She secured the gate’s lock and was about to offer a greeting when Igal said, “Come quickly, little sister! Ima needs your help with the evening meal.”

  Odd, Arielah thought. Ima usually takes care of all the cooking. But she nodded with a sigh and assumed Ima must have had an unusually busy day. Grieving had slowed Ima Jehosheba’s hands, and she hadn’t quite caught up since their Sabbath rest three days ago. Igal nudged her toward home as if she were one of Abba’s ewes. Shepherding her through their courtyard gate, he swung open their heavy front door.

  “Hello, my lamb,” Abba said, sitting on a goatskin by their leather table mat.

  A gasp, and her mouth gaped. Overwhelmed. Overjoyed. She couldn’t move or utter a sound. Finally, rushing to Abba’s side, she fell to her knees and released the tears she’d held captive so long.

  “Shhh, my lamb,” he whispered. “Jehovah is at work even when we cannot see it.”

  “I haven’t heard anything from Solomon or the friend of the bridegroom. Has he changed his mind? What about the treaty? I love him, Abba.” He held her as she poured out her heart.

  An unfamiliar sniff sounded from the corner behind the door, and Arielah darted to her feet. “Benaiah!” She cringed, her cheeks warming, wondering how much he’d heard. “What are you doing here?” Turning back to her abba, she questioned him with a glance.

  “Arielah, come sit down. Benaiah and I need to talk with you.”

  Dread coiled around her legs, threatening to buckle her knees. She looked again at Benaiah, and this time he walked toward her, offering a kind smile and a strong hand to steady her.

  She sat beside Abba as he explained, “Benaiah and a detachment of Mighty Men were dispatched to Shiloh, where our goodwill campaign met with hostility.”

  Arielah cast a fearful glance around the room and realized Reu wasn’t there. “Reu!” Fear sliced thro
ugh her like a dagger. When she saw her ima’s red, swollen eyes, she asked, “Where’s Reu?”

  Abba spoke calmly, deliberately. “Only one guard was slightly injured during the riot, but Reu met with some mischief from a Judean watchman in Jerusalem. He’s resting in our bedchamber.” Motioning to Igal, Jehoshaphat excused his son from the room, and Arielah’s brother gave a reassuring nod to his sister. Jehoshaphat touched her arm lightly to regain her attention. “Igal will tend to Reu, and you can see him in the morning. Right now I must ask you to listen as we tell you of some changes in Jerusalem.”

  She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and the room darkened except for the men’s faces before her. Abba looked weary, and Benaiah looked old. The distinguished-looking gray hair at their temples now devoured nearly half their heads, and both kind expressions were furrowed with deep lines of concern.

  “Arielah, are you listening to me?” Abba was saying.

  Tears sprang immediately to her eyes. “Yes, Abba, but before you begin, could you just answer one question?”

  The men exchanged a troubled glance.

  “Am I still to be Israel’s treaty bride?”

  Abba reached out to brush her cheek. “Only if you wish to be after hearing what I have to say.”

  “Abba!” She couldn’t believe he would doubt her heart for even a moment. “Of course I want to marry Solomon. I love him!”

  He winced as if she’d slapped him, his expression a mixture of sadness, anger, confusion.

  “Tell me what’s happening, Abba. You’re frightening me.”

  Tears welled in his eyes, and his lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

  “Solomon has taken many foreign wives since he left Shunem, Arielah.” Benaiah spoke, his voice kind but without adornment. “Ahishar controls the flow of petitioners in King Solomon’s court, ensuring that visiting dignitaries offering brides get priority audiences.”