Love’s Sacred Song

by Mesu Andrews

  Slipping silently out of her chamber, Arielah left the hall of David’s women and padded down the hallway into the deserted courtyard. The guards at Solomon’s harem entrance were absent. Strange. The waning moon cast haunting shadows, and every leaf and branch threatened to reach out and grab her. She turned into the throne hall and hugged the wall, remaining under the balcony.

  She noticed all the palace guards were either dozing or away from their posts. Thank You, Jehovah! The ease with which she was making her way past the guards seemed to confirm Jehovah’s blessing. He would lead her to Solomon.

  Silently making her way along the northwest wall of the courtroom, she had only to clear the entrance hall. She peeked around the corner. Praise Jehovah! Nahum, the one-eyed guard, was on duty tonight. Arielah would flank the entrance hall on the man’s blind side. Her worn leather sandals made no sound on the stone walkway, and the cool night air slapped her cheeks. She rounded the corner of the fortress of Zion and prayed, Lord, shield the eyes of the guards in the tower.

  When no clatter of suspicion arose, Arielah slipped quietly into the untamed streets of the City of David. Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain she’d wake every sleeping Judean. The tall stone buildings and narrow passageways blocked much of the moonlight, and she turned her ankle more than once on the uneven cobblestones.

  “Solomon? Solomon, are you here?” she called out in a whisper, uncertain how to find Marah’s home. Did they display their talents with red veils and lamps like the harlots of Shunem? Her wondering soon ceased when on the extreme southeast edge of the city, she heard the bawdy voices of women calling out and men’s coarse laughter.

  Staying low, her head and face shaded by the oversized cloak, she caught a glimpse of a man guarded by several attendants rounding a corner up ahead. “Solomon!” Her voice pierced the darkness before she could restrain it. But no one answered.

  Arielah hurried to catch them. Again in her strangled cry, she called, “Solomon, is that you?” Finally, turning the corner, she ran headlong into two watchmen. She drew in a quick breath. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Remembering her shepherd’s disguise, she kept her eyes downcast and her face shadowed.

  “Let us see your face, Queen Arielah.” A deep voice laughed, and the shepherd’s warning skittered up her spine.

  Arielah looked into cold, black eyes. The guard didn’t blink, and one side of his lips curved into a wicked grin. “Oliab, the queen has come to visit us.” Another watchman offered a low, sickening chuckle.

  She recognized the hairy guard from Ima Bathsheba’s house on the day of her wedding processional. “Yes, I am Queen Arielah,” she said, straightening her posture, “and I can see by your uniforms that you are city watchmen making rounds.” She was just about to expound on their duty to protect her when Shiphrah and Sherah stepped out of the shadows. All breath left her.

  “So, Arielah.” Shiphrah emerged from a dark corner with two more guards. “You guessed correctly the king’s destination after you foolishly refused him.”

  The Daughters of Jerusalem had finally captured Jehoshaphat’s lion of God. Before she could utter a reply, the four guards surrounded her, and Shiphrah taunted, “Didn’t you think it odd that the palace guards weren’t at their posts tonight?”

  Sherah joined the mocking. “Tell us, queen of goats, have you come to join Marah in her trade? It’s the only use a Judean has for a Shulammite.”

  Arielah was silent before her attackers.

  “Say something!” Shiphrah’s voice became an otherworldly screech.

  Arielah saw a scourge in one of the guards’ hands. It was a rebel’s weapon, illegal in the land of Israel. Those who used it intended more than punishment, they intended torture.

  The other guards began to jab at the hem of Arielah’s cloak with the tips of their spears, shredding it, nicking her legs. “This doesn’t look like a queen’s robe.”

  One guard grabbed her by the collar and ripped the cloak from her arms. He swung it over his head, sending up a victory whoop as he whirled her robe into the darkness. Arielah covered herself, now wearing only the seamless woven tunic in the night chill. Protect me, Jehovah. Her mind whirled, but she made no sound.

  “Who gets the tunic when we’re done?” the guard called Oliab asked. “I’d eat roast lamb for a full moon if I took that home to my wife.” The guards bickered and bartered.

  “Enough!” Sherah’s voice was shrill. “You can cast lots for the queen’s robe, but her tunic remains. I’ve paid you to kill her, not grope her. Now get on with it.”

  Arielah’s eyes were pleading, but Shiphrah nodded, and the watchmen began their feast of fury. The blinding pain of the scourge hit its mark. Her mind reeled. Oh, Lord Jehovah, help me! Arielah waited silently for the next blow. Her quiet confidence enraged her attackers. One guard kicked her, and another brought his fists down, striking her face.

  Almost like a dream, she saw sheep in a shearer’s grasp and heard the wind whisper, Like a lamb led to the slaughter, don’t breathe a word. She remembered the many times she’d silently endured her brothers’ torture. She remembered the quiet pastures of Shunem.

  Crouching on her knees, she curled into a ball and tried to shield her head from the blows. The rod and then a kick. The strikes became indefinable. Then white-hot pain, one overpowering surge. In agony of spirit, Arielah cried out for the first time, “Jehovah, help me!”

  “Let her cry out to God! If God is for her, let Him rescue her!” Shiphrah screeched.

  Arielah continued the words Abba had taught her in the shepherds’ fields. “In You our abbas put their trust; they trusted and You delivered them.” Her voice became gravelly. “They cried to You and were saved; in You they trusted and were not disappointed.” She could feel herself slipping away.

  The beating stopped. The night fell silent. Was she dead?

  “I wash my hands of this woman, Sherah. I am innocent of her blood.” The man Oliab spoke. Arielah looked through swollen eyes. The others gazed at her as though she were an apparition. “She just recited one of King David’s songs. I know that song, Shiphrah. We’re acting out every verse.”

  “What do you mean?” Shiphrah ripped the rod from one guard’s hand and brought it down across Arielah’s back. “Finish her!”

  Arielah gasped. Sherah knelt and rolled her over. Shiphrah threw the rod aside and leaned over to hear her final plea.

  “Daughters of Jerusalem . . .” Arielah tried to swallow but couldn’t. “When you see Solomon . . .”

  Shiphrah shook her shoulders. “Arielah, what do you want us to say to Solomon?”

  Solomon. The name still thrilled her. “Tell him I am faint with love.” She smiled, then winced at the sting of it. Peering through the small slits her eyes had become, she saw the twins exchange unbelieving glances.

  “How can you say that?” The awe in Sherah’s voice was unmistakable. “How can you still love him after bringing you to this?”

  One of the guards stepped forward. “Leave her. We can send other Sons of Judah to collect her body later.”

  Arielah felt as though she spoke in a dream. “My lover outshines ten thousand men,” she said. “His head is purest gold, his hair wavy and black as a raven.” Her passion fueled her, but her breath was leaving. “His eyes . . . doves by streams . . . washed in milk . . . like jewels. His cheeks . . . spice yielding perfume . . . lips . . . lilies dripping . . . myrrh.”

  She saw the look of utter fury on Shiphrah’s face and was determined to make praise for Solomon her dying words. “His arms . . . rods of gold . . . chrysolite . . . His body . . . polished ivory . . . with sapphires . . . legs are pillars of marble . . . pure gold.” She gasped for more air—and suddenly it came. Her voice was still weak but clear. “His appearance is like Lebanon’s cedars. His mouth is sweetness itself.”

  “No! I will not hear any more of this!” Sherah stood, her face twisted with anger. She tried to kick Arielah, but one of the guards stopped her. “You are dying, and Sol
omon is to blame!” Sherah shrieked. “He betrayed you!”

  With strength only Jehovah could have given, Arielah focused on the two women, the dream gone, the pain diminished, her mind clear. “Solomon is altogether lovely. He is both my lover and my friend.”

  Silence reigned for only a moment before evil found its voice. “Where has your lover gone?” Shiphrah asked, scourging Arielah with words. “Sherah and I will help you look for him. Where do you think we’ll find him?”

  Arielah looked up and saw the gloating faces of her darkest nightmares. The pain in her heart now surpassed that of her body. “My lover has gone down to his garden to gather lilies.”

  “Yes, shepherdess, I’m not sure you can call tonight’s Shulammite harlot a lily, but he’s certainly gathered more than his share of lilies in the last two years.” Sherah’s low laughter spat salt in Arielah’s wounds. “Did you really think a little shepherdess could satisfy a king?” Silence hung heavily in the air.

  Shiphrah shoved Arielah’s shoulder. “Is she dead?”

  “I am my lover’s and my lover is mine—even if he browses among the lilies.” Arielah remembered the first time she’d spoken those words to Solomon—that night at Shunem’s wall. He’d refused to stop his browsing, and tonight she gave her life for it.

  “He may belong to you, Shulammite, but he still wants the lilies.” Sherah spit in her face, and the gentle wind carried her into unconsciousness.

  The ground shuddered beneath Benaiah’s pounding feet, but he was too late. A few paces ahead, he saw his worst nightmare lived out. Four large figures scattered, and two elegant silhouettes loomed over a small bundle in the street. “Hezro, Eleazar, don’t let those men escape!”

  “We’ll get them, Commander.” Benaiah’s two best men began the chase.

  The Daughters of Jerusalem gasped at his arrival, instant tears and feigned concern. “We found her lying here as we were on our way back to the palace.” Shiphrah’s eyes gloated as they wept. “Those four watchmen were the king’s escort to Marah’s home.” Nodding in the direction of the escaping guards, she said, “We told them to rush to the palace to secure help for King Solomon’s northern queen.”

  Benaiah shook with pent-up fury. He dare not lift his hand against them without two male witnesses. Solomon had become completely ensnared by their web of lies. “Just tell me this,” he said between clenched teeth. “Did Ahishar plan this, or should I give the Daughters of Jerusalem full credit?”

  “I resent your implication,” Shiphrah said, warning in her voice. “Arielah made open threats against Judeans while in the harem, and the foreign wives hate her with equal passion. Anyone could have done this.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Sherah added, “we should return to Marah’s house to inform King Solomon that one of his wives has been injured.” Without waiting on a reply, the two turned and stalked away.

  Using every measure of restraint he possessed, Benaiah let them go and knelt beside Arielah. If he’d not recognized the simple gold band she wore on her finger, he wouldn’t have identified her broken body. Wrenching sobs shook his massive shoulders. “My lady?” He placed his hand near her face. She was still breathing. “Don’t try to move, Arielah. I’ll take you home. You’re safe now.” She groaned when he slid his hands under her legs and shoulders. He’d tended men on the battlefield and could see by her injuries that she would be dead by morning.

  “Benaiah?” Her whisper was full of death’s rattle.

  “I’m here, Arie—my lady. I’ll take you home now to see Hannah. She’s very worried about you.” Hannah and Reu had arrived at his chamber moments ago telling of Arielah’s foolish pursuit of Solomon.

  “Abba?”

  “Yes.” Tears streamed down his face. “Yes, Reu has gone to get your abba.” How would he ever face Jehoshaphat? The man had asked him to protect Arielah while she was in Jerusalem.

  “Solomon? Find Solo . . .” Arielah drifted in and out of consciousness, and with each glimmer of awareness, she uttered his name.

  “Yes, little Arielah, I will find your Solomon.” Benaiah’s fury grew with every step. “And by everything Jehovah holds sacred, he will judge whoever did this to you.”

  32

  • DEUTERONOMY 17:6 •

  On the testimony of two or three witnesses a man shall be put to death, but no one shall be put to death on the testimony of only one witness.

  Ahishar swirled the last dregs of sweet wine in his cup before downing the last drop. It was too early for wine, but he was celebrating. Goat’s milk and figs hardly seemed an adequate breakfast for such an auspicious victory over Jehoshaphat’s daughter.

  “My lord!” A frantic knock sounded on his door.

  Hmmm, probably Solomon’s chamber servant summoning me to convene a council meeting. The king had no doubt heard of Arielah’s plight by now. Imagining the shame Solomon felt, Ahishar smiled.

  “My lord, the king’s secretary Elihoreph requests a word.” Another knock, and Ahishar signaled his servant to open the door.

  The chief secretary looked as if his tunic had shrunk three sizes. The poor man always resembled a deer in the woods. His eyes bulged, and his ears stuck up like two silver platters on his head. But this morning, his rumpled robe and bloodshot eyes announced his distress before the man ever opened his mouth.

  “Good morning, Elihoreph. Would you care for a cup of wine?” Ahishar tried to put him at ease.

  “Clear the chamber, Ahishar,” he demanded, his voice wavering. When Ahishar started to explain that his servants were loyal to the point of death, Elihoreph shouted, “Now! Clear it now!”

  “As you wish, my friend,” the steward said, nodding silent orders. His guards understood to wait close by.

  When the door clicked shut, the secretary’s words spilled out like an overturned inkhorn. “You never mentioned violence against a queen,” Elihoreph seethed. “The Sons of Judah are men who fight battles against Israelite men, Ahishar. We do not attack defenseless women a few paces away from where the king lies with his harlot!”

  “It was obvious that the shepherdess would not be coaxed to rally her abba and his northern tribesmen to rebellion. We tried humiliation, isolation, but none of it pressed the girl to incite Jehoshaphat. So we had to take more serious measures.” He paused for effect. “And it worked! She sent that fat courier Reu to Shunem last night!”

  Elihoreph’s eyes became slits. “Who is this we you keep referring to, Ahishar?” Suspicion laced his tone, but his expression became a forced and friendly mask. “Has that frightening Egyptian queen taught you the folly of Pharaoh’s court, to create puppets and then make them do your work?”

  Ahishar chuckled warmly, recognizing his own manipulative tactics being used by the chief secretary. Perhaps the chief secretary could be trusted with more responsibility in the Sons of Judah, but Ahishar would never divulge his well-thought-out secrets and strategies. What would stop Elihoreph from making a play for sole leadership—especially if he learned of the Daughters of Jerusalem’s crucial role?

  “Ah, my friend,” he said, guiding the chief secretary toward the door, “it is best that you don’t know all the details.” Hesitating before he opened the door, he added, “If there should be an investigation into Arielah’s beating, it’s best you don’t know all the hounds and jackals on the board.”

  “My son, you must eat something.” Bathsheba stood over Solomon with a bowl of broth and an ima’s worried expression while he sat, head in hands, on a cushioned couch in his private chamber.

  “I can’t eat, Ima.” And he couldn’t stop shaking. When Shiphrah and Sherah appeared at Marah’s door just before dawn and told him of Arielah’s attack, he had retched in the street. If only I’d tried harder to unlock her door. If only . . . With every regret he replayed in his mind, he had vomited again. “Please, Ima. Go home. Or go see Arielah. You can’t help me here.” He didn’t wish to sound unkind, but he didn’t need to worry about Ima Bathsheba’s worry!


  “Solomon, you should go see Arielah.” Her words pierced him, and he cast daggers back with a glance. She set aside the broth and straightened her spine.

  Oh no. I know that posture. He was about to get a full-blown lecture. “No!” he said before she could speak. “No, Ima. Not another word . . .” His voice broke into a sob, and he shouted, “Out! Guards. Servants. Out, all of you!”

  Sandals shuffled and doors clicked shut. Ima melted onto the cushions beside him, cradling him as she had when he’d skinned his knee or tangled with a hornets’ nest. This time, however, they cried together, both feeling the pain of one they loved so dearly.

  “I can’t,” Solomon whispered when he could trust his voice. “I can’t go to her. It’s my fault. All of it.” He grabbed Bathsheba’s face between his hands. Anger. Frustration. Guilt. He shook her and ground out the words, “I was killing her before the beating, Ima. Arielah was created for a better man than me. I can’t love her enough.” Releasing her, he fairly leapt from the couch. His head swam, and he reached out to steady himself.

  Bathsheba stood and embraced him. Held him upright. “I love you, my son,” she whispered, “and I will honor you by remaining silent on the matter.”

  Solomon squeezed his eyes shut and then pulled his ima close. “I love you too.” A new wave of tears attacked him. “Whatever love is.”

  When Solomon called the council meeting, he was so wobbly he had to use one of Abba David’s shepherd’s crooks to steady himself as he climbed the dais to his throne.

  He heard one council member whisper, “See how he honors his dying Shulammite by carrying a shepherd’s crook.”

  Curse my supposed honor. His stomach rolled again, and he almost emptied its contents on the counselor’s lap. But his stomach was empty—almost as empty as his soul.