Love’s Sacred Song (18 page)

Fire lit in Shiphrah’s eyes, and she stepped close to Jehoshaphat, whispering seductively, “So you say.” Arielah heard garbled phrases, but the last words were clear. “Ahishar sends his regards, prince of goats.” Shiphrah stepped back to rejoin her sister, bowing humbly as if offering Jehoshaphat total submission.

Rage bubbled up inside Arielah. How dare she speak to her abba that way! But the crowd’s collective gasp drew her attention to the king’s carriage. The Daughters of Jerusalem grudgingly turned from their verbal battle, relinquishing the attention they seemed to crave.

Arielah’s heart pounded. She saw him. The face that dwelt in her dreams now appeared at the doorway of the resplendent carriage.

•
 Song of Solomon 1:2–6 
•

[Beloved] Your love is more delightful than wine. . . . No wonder the maidens love you! Take me away with you—let us hurry! Let the king bring me into his chambers.

[Friends] We rejoice and delight in you; we will praise your love more than wine. . . .

[Beloved] Dark am I, yet lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem. . . . My mother’s sons were angry with me and made me take care of the vineyards.

S
olomon waited in the carriage. He should have stepped out the moment he heard the herald’s introduction, but fear bound him to the seat. Shiphrah and Sherah suggested he wait in the coach until they stepped out to prepare Jehoshaphat’s daughter for the greeting. But they were just being kind. He hated to think that his fear might have been obvious.

He heard footsteps approaching the carriage door, and a swarm of bees stirred in his stomach.

Benaiah’s face appeared in the doorway, and his warm, confident eyes held no derision. “Come, my lord. Your friends are waiting to greet you.”

Solomon nodded and let out a sigh. This journey into the heart of northern aggression had sounded so logical when Jehoshaphat had suggested it, but Ahishar had raised valid concerns after Shunem’s judge left Jerusalem. His high steward had confided the hostilities King David’s advisors had experienced while selecting Abishag as nursemaid. Solomon decided then to double his royal guard and remain in the carriage for the duration of his journey north—no mingling with northern travelers for the son of David.

Bending under the doorway, he faced the waiting Shulammites who stood three camel lengths away. Would they hold Abishag’s fate against him? Stepping onto the footstool, he halted. Benaiah continued, but Solomon was in no hurry to follow.

Shiphrah and Sherah stood in front of the crowd, and Solomon silently thanked Ahishar for sending them as companions for the journey. On the second day of their jostling through the wilderness, Shiphrah had ventured an interesting question. “What if Jehoshaphat’s daughter is as ugly as a frog?” she’d asked, wide-eyed. “You will have risked your life for nothing!”

Solomon smiled at the memory.

“King Solomon, I pre—” Benaiah began, but stopped when he realized Solomon remained at the carriage. Returning to the coach in six long strides, the commander appeared annoyed—and then his features softened. “Solomon,” he whispered, “I would not escort you into an ambush. Jehoshaphat is our friend.”

The king studied his top soldier. Had Benaiah become too friendly with Israel’s district prince? Benaiah had seemed different since returning from Shunem. Though away from the palace only five days, his tolerance for Ahishar had plummeted. Whenever the high steward mentioned aggression from the northern districts, Benaiah accused him of agitation and bigotry. Perhaps Benaiah’s defense was stirred by sympathy. He’d mentioned that during the single day he’d spent in Shunem, he’d witnessed Jehoshaphat’s son stoned. Maybe both men having lost sons forged a deeper friendship than Solomon realized.

“Are you ready, my lord?” Benaiah’s eyes held no censure, no lingering annoyance.

“Please order another guard to accompany us,” Solomon whispered. “I wish to be flanked on both sides as I approach the single most hostile village in Israel.” He hoped his commander perceived the mild censure. Solomon wasn’t prepared to wager his life on a Sabbath-old friendship, even on Benaiah’s good word. The commander bowed and signaled for a second guard to approach.

Walking between the double guard, Solomon stepped from the stool. Still glancing right and left, he remained alert for the slightest hint of attack and halted two paces before the crowd.

“King Solomon,” Benaiah began again, “I present to you Prince Jehoshaphat, his son Igal, his daughter Arielah, and his wife Jehosheba.” He motioned the northern family forward to meet their king.

As they drew near, Solomon for the first time allowed himself a moment of curiosity.
Ahh, the shepherdess.
Emboldened by the presence of his guards, he took a step closer but couldn’t get a glimpse of the girl who stood behind her abba. “Shalom, Prince Jehoshaphat, governor of Israel’s tenth district.” A soft rumble fluttered through the crowd, and Solomon feared that he’d incited hostility with a simple greeting. He watched for the glint of a sword or an approaching rebel, but instead he heard a calm, kind voice.

“Shalom, my king.” Jehoshaphat bowed and stood before him with a warm smile and a hand extended in friendship.

Focusing on the man he’d met just over two Sabbaths ago, he saw genuine welcome in Jehoshaphat’s eyes—no hostility or hidden motive, as Ahishar had warned. When Benaiah had returned with the terrible news of the stoning in Shunem, he’d offered no details—only that Jehoshaphat was a righteous abba who carried out judgment on a rebellious son. Glancing at the large young man behind Jehoshaphat, Solomon wondered if having a remaining heir was the reason for Jehoshaphat’s enduring gentle spirit. Fine lines around the governor’s eyes and mouth showed signs of sadness, but the subsequent changes in Benaiah’s character seemed more pronounced than those of the man who had lost his son. The commander had returned to Jerusalem with no patience for Ahishar, causing a palace civil war between the king’s top two advisors.

Stepping forward to grasp Jehoshaphat’s offered hand, Solomon finally warmed to the idea of this northern visit, a short reprieve from palace chaos.

And just beyond her abba’s shoulder . . . was Arielah.

“You’ve chosen . . . beautiful day . . . meet . . . beautiful betrothed.” Jehoshaphat was speaking—quite loudly, actually, presumably for the benefit of the gathering. But Solomon heard little of it, so consumed was he with the young woman standing beside her abba.

This girl was quite different from Abishag. Abba David’s Shulammite possessed a beauty rivaled only by the Daughters of Jerusalem. But this girl . . .
What has happened to her face?
He tried not to stare at the patches of skin peeling from her nose and cheeks. Yet underneath the damaged skin, there was a natural beauty that shone. This little shepherdess possessed an earthy stateliness.

Jehoshaphat was finishing a sentence. “. . . So honored to have you—”

“May I?” Solomon motioned toward Arielah.

Jehoshaphat’s expression registered surprise, and Solomon cursed himself silently. He must be more polite.

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.