Love’s Sacred Song

by Mesu Andrews

  The shofar blared, and Ahishar shouted, “King Solomon calls his counselors to order—”

  “Enough!” Solomon barked. The throne hall echoed, empty but for his council members and a few Mighty Men. “Dispense with the pomp, Ahishar. We have two matters of business to discuss before we begin our day at court.”

  Puzzled glances ricocheted between his advisors, but no one dared challenge him.

  “Yes,” he said, answering the unasked question. “We are going to proceed with petitioners and other business as planned.” Raised eyebrows shouted their disapproval. “It won’t help Queen Arielah if the nation of Israel falls apart while she’s—” A sob leapt from his throat, but he covered his mouth before another could escape. You must get control of yourself! Taking several deep breaths, he regained composure. “As I was saying, we have two items of business. First, I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard, but I will tell you plainly. Queen Arielah is not dead. She was brutally beaten while in the southern city early this morning, and my physicians are attending her now. Your prayers are much appreciated.”

  The old priest Zadok lifted a gnarled hand to interject. “My king, might I ask why she was wandering alone in the southern city so early?”

  Solomon’s heart stopped beating. The high priest—the man who had anointed Solomon as king of Israel—had asked a fair question. “No, you may not ask,” he said flatly. He felt crimson rise on his neck as he watched the high priest’s gaze grow hard. Would he rebuke the king as the prophet Nathan had rebuked David when he sinned and took Ima Bathsheba from her first husband Uriah?

  “The second reason I’ve called this meeting,” he said, hoping not to be interrupted by a fiery and holy rebuke, “is to report on Commander Benaiah’s progress in apprehending Queen Arielah’s attackers—”

  As if speaking his name had introduced him to the court, Benaiah burst through the rear entrance, bloodlust on his face. With long strides, he reached the platform and immediately ascended to the throne without hesitating for permission. Kneeling beside Solomon, he lifted his giant hand to shield whispered words. “My men caught one of the attackers,” he said, his voice quaking with unspent fury. “He’s willing to testify against the leader of a secret group of Judean zealots called the Sons of Judah. These men have been plotting a rebellion to incite civil war and divide Israel.”

  Solomon gazed into his commander’s eyes directly, searching for confirmation of such an incredible tale. Benaiah nodded and continued. “Our dilemma is this: he is only one witness, and we need two witnesses to convict the men who beat Arielah and the man who planned her attack. My prisoner swears under oath that if I bring him before you and let him testify against the leader, there is a man on your council who will verify his story and become that necessary second witness.”

  “What?” Solomon said loudly, causing his council members to chatter with confusion.

  “Shhh,” Benaiah said in his ear. “I know it sounds odd. I asked why he wouldn’t simply tell me who this second witness advisor was so we could secure his testimony beforehand, but the man made a valid point. He doesn’t know which of your officials and guards to trust, so he doesn’t even trust me. These zealots have infiltrated the highest ranks of Judean society. He will only reveal the leader’s name to you, and he swears the second witness—one of your council members—will verify his testimony against the leader of the zealots at the moment our prisoner stands before you.” Benaiah stood, crossing his arms over his leather breastplate. His left eyebrow arched, and that long pink scar danced with every flex of his jaw.

  Solomon scanned the faces of his trusted advisors. One—or more—of them was a betrayer. One might confirm the prisoner’s testimony to convict Arielah’s attacker. It was a risk . . . a risk he must take. “Bring in the prisoner!” he shouted, and the whole room seemed to gasp for air.

  “My lord,” Ahishar said, “what’s happening? We aren’t ready for the court proceedings to—”

  “This has just been added to our list, Ahishar.”

  Every eye turned toward the rear entrance, where a bruised and bloodied man was being led between two Cherethite guards. “My lord,” Ahishar sputtered, “this is most irregular. I have not seen any record of this prisoner, and his case has not been registered with the—”

  Solomon silenced his steward with a glare.

  Benaiah addressed the guard standing on the prisoner’s right. “Eleazar, is the witness ready to make his statement?”

  Solomon watched Benaiah’s second-in-command shove the watchman forward.

  “State your name,” Benaiah said.

  “I am Oliab,” the man said through swollen lips.

  “And what is your testimony?”

  “I am here, Commander, to confess my role in the attack on Queen Arielah—”

  A collective gasp begged him to continue. Solomon watched each advisor carefully to measure their expression.

  “And to name Ahishar as the man who commissioned the attack.”

  “This is ludicrous!” The high steward’s nasally pitch echoed off the cedar walls.

  Solomon had been so busy watching those seated on the council couches, he hadn’t considered the man standing at his right hand.

  “Look at his bruises,” Ahishar continued. “He’s been coerced into this ridiculous story!” Stepping around Solomon, he pointed a crooked finger at Benaiah. “Him, he’s the commander. He’s hated me from the moment we first disagreed, and he hates me for taking his place as friend of the bridegroom at your wedding, my king.”

  Solomon’s anger flared. “You have never taken Benaiah’s place in anything, steward!”

  “Of course not. No,” he said, his defenses winding down like a spinning top. “But, my lord, why would I wish Queen Arielah harm? What benefit would I gain?”

  “Perhaps you hope her abba Jehoshaphat will stir the boiling pot of unrest in the north.” Solomon was startled to hear Elihoreph rise as second witness. “You rejoiced when the royal courier was sent to Jehoshaphat last night with word of his daughter’s injuries. I heard the words with my own ears.”

  Solomon’s relief was joined momentarily by humor as he wondered if the man with platter-sized ears knew how comical that sounded.

  “I testify as second witness against Ahishar,” the chief secretary continued. “Your high steward is the leading Son of Judah and is responsible for Queen Arielah’s attack.”

  Solomon couldn’t decide which urge was stronger—to kiss Elihoreph or to kill Ahishar. The first urge was fleeting, the second was law. “Ahishar, stand before me to be judged.”

  Benaiah caught the steward before his knees gave way and dragged him off the dais to stand beside Oliab, the watchman. Solomon studied the two men. Oliab was burly and obviously humbled, honest and dubiously helpful. His palace high steward was weaselly and proud, deceptive and immeasurably destructive. These two men, utterly opposite, had worked together toward a common purpose—to destroy the nation and the woman he loved. How many more lurked in the shadows of Judah? Men in the spectrum between Ahishar and Oliab—family men, merchants, shepherds, the king’s own relatives and friends?

  “Elihoreph!” the king shouted, and everyone in the courtroom jumped. “I will speak with you privately after this hearing to discover your methods of uncovering Ahishar’s guilt.” The chief secretary nodded regally, seeming too confident for a man who might be tried next. How had the secretary heard with his own ears, Solomon wondered? In what context had Ahishar confided such treason to Elihoreph?

  “Oliab.” Solomon began his judgments. The watchman lifted his head, seemingly weary of life itself. “You have confessed in our hearing of your participation in attacking my queen.” Fresh rage bubbled up as he said the words, and the king almost reconsidered his planned ruling. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself of God’s wisdom and spoke evenly. “Because you seem to show some level of repentance in your testimony and aid at uncovering this band of zealots, I do not sentence you to death.”
/>   The man closed his eyes, releasing two small tears down his round cheeks.

  “You will, however, remain in the palace dungeon until Benaiah and his guards have squeezed every detail out of you concerning these Sons of Judah.”

  “I will tell them all I know, my lord,” he said, his voice gravelly. “But I’m afraid I know very little. I received orders only from Ahishar and—”

  Ahishar struck the man before Benaiah could restrain him, shocking everyone in the courtroom. “You will tell them nothing of our cause, you coward!”

  “Commander! Shackle that prisoner!” Solomon shouted, leaping from his throne. “May the Lord deal with me severely if Ahishar doesn’t pay with his life for his treachery against Israel and Queen Arielah! Benaiah, find out what Ahishar knows of the Sons of Judah and then take him to the southeast side of the city. Strike him down beside the dung gate, where his soul can meet its end with the other refuse of our city!”

  “Hello, my lamb.” Arielah could hear Abba’s voice, but she couldn’t make her lips respond. She couldn’t open her eyes. Frustration gripped her. Like bedeken during her wedding, she must use other senses to interpret her world.

  “I can’t believe she’s lived a full day.” Hannah’s voice. “It’s only by Jehovah’s kindness that you arrived from Shunem in time to say good-bye.”

  “When do you expect Jehosheba to arrive?” It was Queen Bathsheba. What was she doing here?

  “Reu will arrive shortly with Jehosheba. My wife has never ridden a galloping camel before.”

  “We will pray that Jehovah smiles a little longer on you, little one.” A light kiss on her forehead. The scent of henna and nard. The queen mother again.

  Arielah heard the door open, and the scent of fresh bread and saffron entered the room. Ima Jehosheba. “Oh, Jehovah, help us!” she cried.

  “Come now, Jehosheba. You must be strong for our girl.” Bathsheba’s voice gently soothed Ima.

  Quiet sniffs and then footsteps. “Hannah, have you used the poultices of aloes wrapped in grape leaves?” Arielah could feel Ima’s ministering hands on her wounds.

  “Yes, I knew how to prepare them because I used them on my ima when she was ill.”

  “Hello, my lamb. Ima is here.” Arielah could feel Ima’s soothing touch on her head. “Jehovah smiled on us when he gave you to Arielah as her handmaid, Hannah. What other herbs have you used?”

  There was a slight sniff. “The king’s physician won’t let me touch her anymore. He has taken charge of her care.”

  Arielah could feel weight on the other side of her bed, and Abba spoke. “Jehosheba, my love, the physician said he could find no broken bones. However, there is little hope that she’ll survive because of the bleeding inside her. See?”

  Someone pulled away her blankets, and she heard Ima cry out. Oh, Ima, it’s all right. It doesn’t hurt badly.

  Jehoshaphat continued speaking quietly. “The king’s physician said the blood from her ears is a sign of severe head injury, and the lacerations on her face will be—well, disfiguring. If she lives, he gives little hope for a normal life.”

  Arielah could hear Ima crying softly. Oh, how she ached to comfort the woman who had cradled her when she was a child. Instead, Jehoshaphat gently gathered Arielah into his arms and rocked her like she was a babe. “Oh, my precious lamb, we knew the battle would come, but we had no idea the cost.” Though the pain of his embrace was excruciating, the love he poured out was soothing.

  Again she heard the door open, and Abba tensed. The strong scent of frankincense filled the room, and Ima’s breathing quickened. Bathsheba’s voice was stern. “Why have you come?”

  Jehoshaphat eased Arielah back onto her sleeping couch and stood, jiggling the bed and causing her to inwardly wince. “We’ve never met,” he said, his voice harsh and clipped, “but as you can see, our daughter is badly hurt. We don’t need you here. Please go.”

  Arielah tried so hard to open her eyes, to see who her abba would address with such disdain.

  “I come with remedies,” said the voice with a thick Egyptian accent. “Among my people, I represent the goddess Sekhmet. She is the patron goddess of physicians and healers.”

  “The physician won’t let us touch her.” Arielah heard Hannah’s small voice.

  “The physicians do not command a queen, little mouse.” The woman’s sneer was evident without seeing her face. “To my enemies, I am the lady of terror,” she said, “and to my friends, the lady of life.”

  Arielah heard shuffling, footsteps. The room bloomed with the scent of spices and unguents she’d never smelled before. She felt Sekhet’s strong presence.

  “Prince Jehoshaphat, I have come with Egyptian remedies beyond your Hebrew scope of knowledge.”

  “If you are here to offer friendship and medicine,” Abba said, his voice growing kinder, “we welcome you, Sekhet. But we worship only one God, the living God, El Shaddai. It is He who will give life or take it.”

  The room fell silent, and when Arielah became aware of those around her, she sensed that the light in the room had shifted. Had she dozed?

  “Don’t eat it, silly girl!” She heard the coarse Egyptian accent and recognized Hannah’s timid sniff. “We won’t have enough left to treat your lady’s swollen eyes.”

  “I was just cleaning off my finger.” Arielah felt her maid’s gentle touch and then a cool, wet paste smoothed over her eyes.

  Ima’s reassuring touch cradled her hand. “Queen Sekhet, I’ve never heard of ground carob mixed with fermented honey.” A faint swipe across the concoction and Ima smacked her lips. “It really does taste quite good.” Ima’s gentle laughter soothed the tension in the room as always, and Arielah felt the warmth of her family enfolding even the imposing Egyptian queen.

  “Jehosheba,” she heard Abba say, “I believe our girl is going to live through this.” A tear fell on her hand, and she wondered whose it was. “Now that Ahishar has been executed, perhaps the rest of the Sons of Judah will be discovered too.”

  Ahishar executed? Arielah tried to move again. Nothing. Tried to speak. Her voice would not cooperate.

  “Perhaps Jehovah will somehow use Arielah’s pain to bring peace and healing to Israel,” Abba said, his voice weary.

  There was a long silence, and Arielah’s frustration mounted. How many days had she been like this, lingering between death and life? Where was Solomon? Did he know of her injuries? Though her eyes were covered with carob and honey, she could feel a tear escape down her cheek.

  “Shalom, my lamb.” Jehoshaphat’s voice was filled with wonder as he brushed away her tear. “Hold on. God’s light will shine in your eyes again soon.”

  She heard Ima begin to hum a familiar tune, the song she always sang as she ground the wheat. Arielah gained strength basking in their love. Love, she well understood, was the strongest of all medicines. Suddenly she felt a gust of wind and heard her ivory-latticed shutters bang against the wall. Hannah’s sandals rushed across the floor.

  No, don’t shut the window! The wind has come to visit me, wash me, heal me.

  Awareness came that she might be able to speak if she rallied all her strength. Her mouth was as dry as chaff, but she formed the words. “Forgive him, Abba, he didn’t know . . . his betrayal would . . . do this.”

  Jehoshaphat cried out, a guttural moan. Relief. Joy. Pain. He cradled her face in his hands, hovering over her. Ima Jehosheba showered her hands with kisses.

  “My precious lamb, my lion of God,” Jehoshaphat said. “Even after the evil you’ve suffered, your heart remains loving.” His tears now bathed her face. “May your strength grow to complete the work your heart has begun.”

  Arielah saw a shadow move toward the window. “Window,” she said.

  “Hannah, keep that window open,” Jehosheba said, understanding as only an ima can. The breeze wafted over her, and God’s Spirit breathed life into her.

  Arielah heard distant cries, sobbing that grew louder. Abba’s hands left her face, an
d she heard him walk a short distance. “Queen Sekhet, are you all right?” she heard him ask.

  “Prince Jehoshaphat,” she hiccuped between her tears, “my remedies did not do this. I have never seen a force equal to this thing your family calls love. It is a most exquisite and frightful power.”

  Arielah’s lips curved into a hesitant smile, careful not to split open her wounds. Sensing Ima’s hand still holding her own, she gave a weak squeeze. “Wish Solomon could see so clearly,” Arielah said. Wearied by the thought, she gave herself to the slumber that beckoned, letting the balm of love do its work.

  33

  • SONG OF SOLOMON 6:4–6 •

  [Lover] You are beautiful, my darling. . . . Turn your eyes from me; they overwhelm me. Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from Gilead. Your teeth are like a flock of sheep coming up from the washing.

  Solomon hadn’t slept in days. Every bone in his body ached for rest, but his mind still whirled, always in the direction of Arielah.

  “She won’t make it through the day,” the palace physician had reported the morning after her attack. But when she regained consciousness three days later, the same man shook his head in wonder. “Her injuries are grave, but it appears Jehovah will spare her life.” Every day the physician reported her progress, and every day Solomon found a reason not to visit her chamber. Duty had been his most ready excuse. Sitting in judgment from dawn till dark, Solomon scanned the sea of hopeful faces in his throne hall and wondered how many of them were betrayers. Ahishar had taken the Sons of Judah’s secrets to the dung pile with his soul.

  “Such are the rulings of Israel’s wise king on this second day of Nisan, the third year of King Solomon’s reign,” announced Elihoreph, Solomon’s new high steward. “You may return tomorrow to seek justice.” The petitioners stirred and became a knot at the back entrance.

  “Well, my king,” Elihoreph said, casually perusing the crowd, “only a few more days and we’ll be choosing our Passover lamb.” He patted the king’s shoulders as if they were two shepherds appraising a flock.