by Mesu Andrews
For the first time, Arielah heard the word yichud and didn’t feel as if her skin would spontaneously peel off. “Thank you,” she whispered, but Queen Bathsheba had already climbed the mikvah steps, donned her robe, and walked toward the door. “Wait!” Arielah said. “Shouldn’t Ima and I return to my chamber for preparations?”
The queen lifted a single eyebrow. “The Daughters of Jerusalem are in your chamber at the king’s command. He has chosen them as your virgin attendants to ‘help’ with your preparations.”
Arielah’s heart ached. She hadn’t considered attendants. Her only friends were a ram named Samson and a ewe called Edna.
“But while the twins are in my home,” the queen continued, “they will obey my command or be escorted back to the palace. Take your time learning the blessing. Then return to your chamber when you’re ready. I’ll send my servant Dalit to assist your handmaid.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Arielah said.
The queen mother fell silent, her eyes welling with tears.
“What is it?” Arielah asked.
Seeming to struggle for control, she said, “I wish my David could have met you. He would have loved you—and been proud of our son.” She covered her face, turned, and was gone.
27
• SONG OF SOLOMON 4:9–11 •
[Lover] You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride. . . . How much more pleasing is your love than wine, and . . . the fragrance of your garments is like that of Lebanon.
Arielah sat stiffly on a cushioned stool in the middle of her preparation chamber, polished, perfumed, and painted. Henna dyed her hands and feet, and a touch of red ochre tinged her cheeks. Her hair cascaded down her back, strands of gold thread woven intermittently through black curls. Ima, Dalit, and Hannah had worked tirelessly to make her the most beautiful shepherdess ever offered to a king. She giggled at God’s peculiar plan.
Shiphrah and Sherah glanced in her direction, each raising an eyebrow. Remarkable precision, she marveled. The Daughters of Jerusalem had been Solomon’s couriers, bringing more gifts for his bride. Her robe, woven with golden threads, and the exquisitely embroidered veil were purchased from Persian merchants. Her earrings, her armbands, and the ring for her nose—every bauble and bangle—Arielah would have traded for her woolen robe, a quiet meadow, and Solomon’s presence.
The shofar’s blast sounded in the distance, and Igal ran to the window. A smile creased Arielah’s lips. He and Abba had spent most of the day with Solomon at the palace. Her brother was still wide-eyed from all the excitement, but Abba had been pacing since he’d returned to await the processional.
“I see them!” Igal reported from the window.
Abba continued pacing. “Solomon said he and his attendants would leave the palace just after dark.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that, my love.” Jehosheba’s voice was gentle.
“They’ll take the path across the Valley of Cheesemakers and climb the western ridge,” Abba explained. He’d also shared those details repeatedly, but he seemed calmed by the repetition. “The wedding guests and people of the city should have plenty of time to fill their lamps and light the way for the bride’s procession to the palace.” His pacing came to an abrupt halt. “Hannah, did you remember to fill our lamps with oil?”
“Yes, my l—”
“Jehoshaphat,” Ima interrupted gently, “all is ready for the bridegroom. Go back to your pacing.”
Abba grinned. “Where was I?” He began another stroll around Arielah’s stool. “Ah yes. When Solomon knocks on the door, Hannah will—”
The shofar sounded again, this time very near Bathsheba’s house.
“Abba, they’re almost here!” Arielah squealed. “Come stand by me! Ima, you too!” Igal and Hannah drifted to the shadows while the Daughters of Jerusalem stood directly in front of the door.
Jehosheba reached into the fold of her robe and pulled out an assortment of small seeds, emptying them into Arielah’s trembling hand. “Chew these, my lamb. They’ll make your breath sweet.”
Arielah felt as if her heart might pound from her chest as she listened for the song Solomon had promised. The deep baritone voices of the bridegroom and his attendants joined the music of shofar, timbrel, lyre, and harp. As the sounds echoed into the hallways of Bathsheba’s home, every voice faded but one. Arielah’s heart sang when she heard the soloist accompanied by the lilting notes of a shepherd’s flute:
You have stolen my heart, my bride,
with one glance of your eyes,
with one jewel of your necklace.
How delightful is your love, my bride!
How much more pleasing is your love than wine,
and the fragrance of your garments is like that of Lebanon.
Her groom had penned the most beautiful shepherd’s verse she’d ever heard. He’d even mentioned her lovely northern cedars. “I have come to claim my bride!” came his bold declaration outside the door.
Hannah stood frozen at the door, looking like a doe caught in a field at midday.
“Open it!” Shiphrah commanded.
In an instant, the door swung open. King Solomon stood framed in his luxurious purple linen robe, an ivory and gold belt cinched at his waist. Arielah heard herself gasp, her eyes traveling the length of him. King David’s jeweled crown glistened atop raven hair. Precious stones graced the gold collar resting on broad shoulders, and soft leather sandals laced up his calves. Benaiah stood beside him, the friend of the bridegroom, his expression as proud as if he’d been King David himself.
Sweeping the embroidered veil from Hannah’s hands, Solomon strode across the room and knelt before his bride. Mischief danced in his eyes. “This is not Rachel!” he cried, and the company of onlookers roared in laughter. Ima had described this tradition of bedeken, when Solomon would cover Arielah’s face and lead her blindly throughout their wedding festivities.
“This is Arielah, daughter of Jehoshaphat, whom I willingly choose as my wife.” Solomon’s voice was tender, his eyes dark pools of love, and Arielah drank deeply from them. She basked in the nearness of her groom with a wistful sadness at bedeken’s beginnings. Every Hebrew bride, since the patriarch Jacob’s unintended marriage to the wrong sister, had been inspected before her wedding veil was lowered.
“Veil the poor girl, and take her to the palace before she faints from hunger.” A man’s deep laughter reverberated in the chamber.
“This, beloved, is my brother Nathan,” Solomon said, nodding at the bold young man taking a bow. “The others are my brothers, friends, and counselors. All of whom you can meet later. Benaiah, do your work!”
The mighty friend of the bridegroom stepped forward. “Make way for the couple’s family to witness bedeken before we begin the processional to the palace.”
The groom’s attendants parted, allowing Queen Bathsheba to approach the bride and her parents. Igal stayed hidden behind the king’s attendants, seemingly more comfortable in the shadows.
Arielah focused on her bridegroom, the last time she would see his face until yichud.
“You are stunning, beloved.” He breathed the words, and she ached at the thought of being separated—even just by sight—for the evening. “But I now veil your outward beauty to vow my love of your inner splendor of wisdom and godly character.” Lifting the veil above her, he placed its golden crown on her head and unfurled the heavily embroidered linen over her face. “From this moment forward, let my bride trust her bridegroom to lead her, to care for her, to protect her in the tradition of an Israelite husband.”
Arielah could see nothing now except the under knots of needlework and sandaled feet below the veil. The absence of sight, however, heightened her other senses, making sounds and smells even more vibrant.
Then Solomon touched her hand, and fire raced through her.
Lifting her to her feet, he said, “Benaiah, please make your announcements.” Others in the room began to clap and cheer. The sudden noise made her jump.
&n
bsp; Solomon leaned close, pressing his body against her. His hand held the curve of her back, his lips whispered warmth on her ear. “You are mine,” he said softly. “I can hold you. I can kiss you. I can love you as I’ve longed to love you since the moment we first met.”
Arielah released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She couldn’t think or move with him so near. Oh, Lord Jehovah, her heart cried, how far is the palace? Her breaths came in quick, short gasps.
“Come, beloved,” he said, releasing her. “It is time.” Circling her waist, he pulled her to his side, their hips moving together in step. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.” She took her first blind stride, hesitant, timid. Instinctively she reached out, making sure there was no obstacle. She felt him stop, press her arm to her side, and then completely enfold her in an embrace.
“Solomon!” she whispered. “What are you doing?” He’d trapped her arms, and she couldn’t wiggle out of his grasp. “How many people are watching?” she asked, becoming frustrated. Benaiah’s voice resounded in the distance, shouting instructions to the attendants about oil for their lamps and parched grain for the children along the way. “Solomon, let me go. People will see us!”
“Arielah.” His arms tightened around her. He waited and she stilled.
“Yes?”
She heard his low chuckle, and her heart melted. His alluring whispers turned to amused questioning. “Do you need someone to lead you since you can’t see through that veil?”
“Yes.” Begrudging yet playful.
“Would you like that someone to be your husband?”
It was her turn to chuckle. “Yes.”
His hands traveled over her back, traced a line down both arms, and then lifted her hands to his lips for a kiss. “Then give yourself to me, beloved. Trust me to lead you, care for you, and protect you as I have promised.” He pushed the veil aside and nuzzled the bend of her neck. “And don’t swat the air like a blind woman.” His nuzzling turned to a quick tickle and laughter, but only for a moment before he held her in the safety of strong arms. “Let’s try this again,” he said, arranging the veil and squeezing her elbow. She nodded, relaxing into his touch.
She heard him pause and felt his body lift and sway, as if his tall stature were searching over the heads of a crowd. “Oh, there they are,” he said. “Shiphrah, Sherah! Are the bride’s attendants ready to lead the procession?” Benaiah too was shouting instructions, and soon the whole company was ready to proceed.
Arielah heard the approach of clicking sandals on the marble tiles. Two sets of dainty feet appeared below her veil, halting in front of Solomon. “Thank you, my king, for choosing us as your bride’s attendants,” one of the twins said. Arielah couldn’t distinguish the voice.
“I’m sure you’ll serve my bride well, Sherah.” Solomon leaned close and whispered against Arielah’s veiled ear, “I thought it important that Shiphrah and Sherah understood from the start how valuable you are to me. I want them to treat you differently than the other wives in the harem.” He punctuated his explanation with a kiss, and she sensed triumph in his voice—as if he’d bestowed on her a great gift.
The processional instruments began to play, and Solomon led her in their first step. Releasing herself into his care, she considered perhaps the true reason for a bride’s veil—the underlying root of the bedeken tradition. Perhaps every bride must hide a few tears.
Ahishar waited at the palace entrance. Perched on the slope of Mount Moriah, he watched the lamps emerge from the belly of Mount Zion, Bathsheba’s home and hiding place. The procession throbbed and swelled like a living thing, spectators joining the celebration along the northern path through the valley.
“Oliab!” Ahishar shouted, and in moments, the hairy, odorous watchman stood too close.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Are you sure the Shulammite Marah knew the parade route?” He spoke softly, though all the guards on duty were loyal to the cause.
“Yes. I saw her this afternoon, and she’ll make sure the bride knows she’s among the celebrants.”
“Good. Good.”
The watchman chuckled. “I followed Jehoshaphat’s fat messenger boy when I returned from meeting Marah. I taunted him but didn’t touch him—as you commanded.” Ahishar grinned, imagining young Reu adequately frightened. “I’ve also placed Sons of Judah as guards on the palace perimeter for the celebration,” Oliab said. “But as I’m sure you’ve guessed, Commander Benaiah has ordered only Pelethite and Cherethite guards inside the palace for the wedding feast.”
Raucous singing, music, and dancing interrupted the report. Ahishar waved the guard away just in time to see Benaiah leading the massive procession. The commander had refused Ahishar’s suggestion to lead the parade through the City of David, convincing Solomon that too many important northern officials would be vulnerable to Judean zealots on the south side of the fortress. And you were right, my mighty friend. The safer path Benaiah chose simply challenged Ahishar to find new ways to intimidate the northern Israelites.
Benaiah arrived at Ahishar’s side on the steps of the palace entrance. Raising his hands, he shouted, “Quiet, friends! Quiet!” Dancing and singing continued on the plot of land north of the palace, bells and drums outplaying trumpets and rams’ horns. Wine had already raised everyone’s spirits. “Please, I’d like to—”
Ahishar nudged aside the friend of the bridegroom. Pressing both hands to his stomach, he said, “Use the gut, Commander. The gut.” Turning to the procession, his deep voice boomed. “King Solomon, royal attendants, honored guests, and loyal witnesses . . .” The crowded square stilled, and he cast a condescending glance at Benaiah. “Those of you having received an invitation and dressed in the proper attire may enter the palace for the wedding feast.” A shout arose, and Ahishar quieted them with upraised hands. “For those of you waiting to seek justice from our king, he has declared a thirty-day wedding feast to honor the tradition of his northern bride.” Ahishar nearly choked on the words but hurried on, hoping to hide his distaste. “Let the wedding supper begin!”
Another roar of the crowd and the procession swelled toward the door, but Benaiah grabbed Ahishar and roughly shoved him into the corner of the entryway. “I will remind you, steward”—he ground out the words, grasping Ahishar’s robe in his fist—“that I am the friend of the bridegroom, and I will make the announcements at this wedding.”
Ahishar met his gaze, unflinching. “When you can wield your words as well as you wield your sword, I will let you address the crowd.”
Benaiah stepped back and shoved him away. “You will let me?” He laughed mirthlessly. “Well, let me remind you that for the next thirty days, you have no responsibilities in Solomon’s palace.”
The big man stormed away, leaving Ahishar shaking with rage. “I have many responsibilities, Commander,” he mumbled, resolutely weaving through the procession entering the palace. He found the king’s brother Nathan. “My lord, excuse me,” he said, interrupting the prince’s long pull on a wineskin.
A sideways glance and a sneer. “What is it, Ahishar?” Solomon’s younger brother had never liked him.
“I’m concerned about Benaiah, my lord. He seems nervous in front of such a large and prestigious crowd.” Pausing, he measured the prince’s response, but who could tell if he was even listening? He was poking one of the other princes. “My lord, did you hear me?”
“Benaiah is fine, Ahishar. Next question.”
With every shred of control he had left, Ahishar swallowed the bile in his throat. “I simply offer my voice, my lord, should it prove necessary that an expert address the crowd.”
With a bow, he allowed the prince and the processional to proceed. Prowling the borders of the celebration, he watched Solomon and the shepherdess arrive in the courtyard. The royal couple ascended a dais and faced the audience, the king’s attendants lining one side while the shepherdess, her family, and her attendants stood on the other. Ahishar noticed Prince Nathan lea
n over and whisper something to the king. Could it be? The steward held his breath while Solomon listened intently to his brother. After a short exchange, the king patted Nathan on the shoulder—and shook his head. No. The answer was no.
Benaiah stepped forward and began reading the treaty agreement aloud. The festive guests were utterly silent, seemingly enthralled by the romance of the moment. Ahishar fell silent as well—except for the outraged grinding of his teeth.
28
• SONG OF SOLOMON 4:12, 16; 5:1 •
[Lover] You are a garden locked up, my sister, my bride; you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain. . . .
[Beloved] Let my lover come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.
[Lover] I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride.
Solomon studied every detail of his bride’s petite form while Benaiah continued reading their betrothal agreement.
“I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, in love and compassion. I will betroth you in faithfulness . . .”
Solomon listened to the words and pondered the depth of their meaning. He loved Arielah today immeasurably more than he had when he signed that scroll more than a year ago. Is it possible to love her more a year from now? The thought intrigued him, challenged him, delighted him.
