Love’s Sacred Song (19 page)

Arielah fought the tears that threatened to undo her. She saw a moment of decision flash in Solomon’s eyes. And she saw the door of his heart slam shut at Shiphrah’s precisely placed intrusion. Her wedding proposal had been an attempt to gain the upper hand on the Daughters of Jerusalem. If Solomon had agreed to marry her before leaving Shunem’s soil, she might have been able to counter the women’s conniving in the harem. Now she must pray Solomon would be wise enough to uncover whatever deception Ahishar had planned during their betrothal.

“Be patient, my little shepherdess.” Solomon leaned close and whispered as a cheer arose from the Shulammites. “I will one day take you to the bridal chamber.”

Arielah blushed, averting her eyes. He had interpreted her request as a lusty game of teasing. And why wouldn’t he? The love Arielah longed to share was as foreign to Solomon as a beggar’s mat. The only love he knew came from a crowded harem, where women whispered enticing phrases to win his favor. The reality of their differences staggered her.

Frozen by humiliation, she stood motionless and mute. Shiphrah must have glimpsed her awkwardness and stepped between the couple. “We rejoice and delight in you,” she said, mimicking Arielah’s initial greeting.

“And we will praise your love more than wine.” Sherah joined the teasing, and both maidens dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“Truly, Arielah,” Shiphrah said, stealing her hand away from the king. “We must teach you more worthy phrases by which to woo a king.”

Arielah’s cheeks burned. They had treated the gemstones of her heart as if they were clumps of dirt on a farmer’s plow.

“Shiphrah, Sherah, be quiet,” Solomon whispered between clenched teeth, and Arielah’s heart soared at the thought of his defense. But just as quickly her hopes sank when he nodded to the Shulammite crowd. “They’ll hear you.” His neck grew pink. “Prince Jehoshaphat, I apologize for the Daughters of Jerusalem. They have been commissioned to help acquaint all my wives with the ways of the court . . .” His voice trailed off, and tension grew as silence lingered.

The crowd, though they had not heard the interchange, must have sensed Jehoshaphat’s anger. Restless whispers began to stir. Arielah watched fear shadow Solomon’s expression, and she saw him glance at his commander.

“Of course, they are right to want what’s best for you.” Arielah had spoken the words before she realized it. Pushing past the flowing veils and perfumed bodies, she regained her place at Solomon’s side. “They are right to adore you.” Her words were meant to console, to reassure, but she saw him wince. A smudge of self-loathing rested beneath the gold crown on his furrowed brow. Everything within her screamed,
You are worthy of love, Solomon!
But it wasn’t Solomon she should rebuke.

Turning to the Daughters of Jerusalem, she met their snide grins with a heated command. “Stop staring at me.”

The words snapped the maidens to attention.

“My face may have been darkened by the sun,” she continued, gaining fury with every breath, “but I possess a beauty you know nothing of. While you two soaked in your perfumes and lotions, my brothers’ hatred sent me to work in the vineyards.” Opening her hands, she presented her scabbed palms. “As you can see, my own vineyard has been neglected, but the fruit of my labor is a clear conscience and a loving heart. Without these wounds, I might be just as ugly as you.”

Arielah heard the crowd gasp and felt Solomon’s hands grab her wrists. The breeze seemed to hold its breath while the king inspected her hands. When he finally looked into her eyes, she no longer saw self-loathing. She saw rage.

•
 Song of Solomon 1:7–9 
•

[Beloved] Tell me, you whom I love, where you . . . rest your sheep at midday. Why should I be like a veiled woman beside the flocks of your friends?

[Friends] If you do not know, most beautiful of women . . . graze your young goats by the tents of the shepherds.

[Lover] I liken you, my darling, to a mare harnessed to one of the chariots of Pharaoh.

T
rembling, Solomon looked into Arielah’s pained expression. Assessing the nervous chatter among the Shulammites, he realized they were no longer the central fire of rebellion he feared. They would become spectators in his improvised courtroom. Someone would pay for Arielah’s wounds.

Returning his attention to her dove-like eyes, he saw pain and then realized he was squeezing her wrists like a vice. “Oh!” He eased his grasp, cradled her hands. A hundred questions raced through his mind. Were the brothers of age to bear the punishment? Did Jehoshaphat know his sons mistreated her? Did they abuse Arielah in other ways?

“No one will ever harm you again,” he whispered, tracing the peeling skin on her palms. With a gentle squeeze, he released her hands. Turning to his commander, Solomon kept his voice calm, though rage bubbled beneath the surface. “Benaiah!”

“Yes, my lord.” The big man stepped forward, bowing before his king.

“Please take your place between Jehoshaphat and his wife.” The commander seemed uncertain but obeyed. Solomon remembered Benaiah’s loyal execution of General Joab at the altar and wondered if his loyalty extended beyond his friendship with Jehoshaphat. If Shunem’s prince had contributed to Arielah’s injuries—even by simply ignoring the abuse—Solomon would order his arrest.

Arielah cast a puzzled glance in his direction. Clearly unsettled, she lifted frightened eyes for reassurance.

“Please, Arielah,” Solomon said, gently guiding her. “Step over here, on my right side.” A protective fury had seized him unlike anything he’d ever known. Moving her tenderly, he separated Arielah a few more paces from her relatives. He knew from their recent bride negotiations that Jehoshaphat and his daughter were especially close.
Lord Jehovah, please let this man be innocent of all charges.

The spontaneous courtroom now arranged, Solomon raised his voice for the crowd. “As king of Israel, I hear all manner of complaints. Today I will judge those responsible for Arielah’s wounds, those who have harmed my treaty bride.”

The crowd drew a collective breath, but Jehoshaphat’s expression remained unchanged. A knot the size of Mount Hermon tightened in Solomon’s gut.
Surely if he were innocent, he would say so now.
Hearing nothing, Solomon continued. “Arielah has accused her brothers of a crime, but ultimately the sins of a household rest on the abba.” Fighting for control, he asked, “Jehoshaphat, prince of Shunem, did you know of the abuses committed against your daughter by those in your own household?”

An angry buzz spread through the crowd, heckles and jeers randomly shouted out. Like a little boy striking a beehive, Solomon had angered the swarm. A wave of fear swept over him, but he would not succumb to weakness when justice required a response.

“My lord, please.” Benaiah stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Solomon whispered through clenched teeth, “If they condone this atrocity, they don’t deserve to call themselves Israelites.”

Benaiah released a heavy sigh, but to his credit, he prepared to defend without further argument. Solomon stepped in front of Arielah, completing the circle of guards around her.

The crowd began to swell, and Arielah grasped Solomon’s robe. “Please, stop!”

“No!” Jehoshaphat shouted, his hands raised to the crowd. “No, my friends. There is no cause for anger.” The Shulammites settled enough to hear their respected judge speak. “Today is intended to be a day of rejoicing, and our good king deserves an answer. How can he know if we do not tell him?” The crowd quieted further, and Jehoshaphat returned his gaze to Solomon. “Yes, my lord, I knew.”

The knot in Solomon’s stomach unraveled, as did his faith in this godly man. “Why, Jehoshaphat?” he asked, closing his eyes against the realization of what he must now do. “How could you allow Arielah to endure such pain from those who are supposed to love her?”

“Solomon . . .”

Startled at hearing his familiar name, the king looked into Jehoshaphat’s tear-filled eyes.

“I did not know the
extent
of my sons’ cruelty toward Arielah.”

“You didn’t know?” he asked. “But the wounds on her hands and face, Jehoshaphat. How could you not . . . ?” He allowed his skepticism to finish the question.

“By the time I returned from our meeting in Jerusalem, my sons’ brutality had reached new depths.” He paused, and the truth began to settle into Solomon’s consciousness. “The law required that we punish our rebellious sons.” A single blink sent rivers of tears into his beard. “We obeyed the law.”

Finally absorbing the extent of this family’s suffering, Solomon turned to Arielah and saw tears streaming down her cheeks. Like a dagger, the memory of Benaiah’s report pierced him: Jehoshaphat’s son had been stoned. Solomon had assumed the crime was murder.
Oh, Jehovah! What have I done?

“Their son was stoned for his rebellion,” Benaiah whispered, confirming the king’s thoughts.

The crowd had grown utterly silent, and Solomon took a deep breath, lifted his shoulders, and spoke for all to hear. “Jehoshaphat, I have wrongly accused you. Can you ever forgive me?” When he turned to Jehoshaphat to offer his hand, the judge’s hand was already waiting.

“You are already forgiven, my king.” The warmth in the man’s voice and expression instantly relieved Solomon’s fears and almost as quickly drained the tension from the crowd and the king’s guards. Cradling Solomon’s hand in his, Jehoshaphat continued his public praise. “Your passion for my daughter’s protection is a noble trait, King Solomon. You were her champion today. You defended her bravely, and I pray you never have to be her champion again.”

Approving words rippled across the crowd, and even Benaiah’s elite Cherethite and Pelethite guards ventured amiable grins.

Solomon was overwhelmed. “How can you forgive so freely, Jehoshaphat?” he whispered, drawing the man closer with the grip he held on his wrist.

“It was Arielah who taught me of forgiveness when she showed mercy to our younger son Igal on the day of judgment.” Inclining his head, he directed Solomon’s attention to a large man standing just behind Jehosheba. He resembled Jehoshaphat, but his eyes were downcast.

Solomon released his hand and struggled to keep a level tone. “One of your sons was spared?” He could feel the color of fury rising on his neck. “I do not see mercy as an option in the law, Jehoshaphat.”

Igal’s head snapped up, his face awash with fear.

“At some point, my king, we all need mercy,” Jehoshaphat said. “Just as moments ago, you needed mine.”

Solomon faltered. The words were true, but . . . “How can I know Arielah will be safe in your household?”

“How can I know she will be safe in yours?” Jehoshaphat’s words weren’t sharp or unkind, but they slapped Solomon like an offended maiden.

Remembering Jehoshaphat’s concerns during their negotiations, Solomon placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Just because Benaiah lost his son at war doesn’t mean your Arielah will be lost at the palace, my friend.” An abba’s satisfied smile confirmed the gathering calm, and Solomon lifted his voice to all Shulammites. “I am honored to receive Arielah, daughter of Jehoshaphat, as Israel’s treaty bride! Tonight we sign the agreement!”

The crowd erupted in celebration, and Solomon thought the city walls might come tumbling down. Jehoshaphat, face beaming, slapped Igal on the back and extended his hand to Arielah, inviting her return to his side. She glanced at Solomon with a shy smile as she stepped away. He felt strangely lonely, somehow barren and cold on the side where she had stood. He wanted to reach out and gather her into his arms, but he’d given up that chance when he foolishly refused to marry her today.

Arielah’s heart was bursting—Solomon’s tenderness and then his fury, his power and now the vulnerability splashed on his features. Could she ever love him more than at this moment? He turned and caught her staring. He winked, and her cheeks flamed.

“Jehoshaphat, my friend,” Solomon shouted over the noisy celebration, “I have brought our agreed-upon mohar gifts for your lovely daughter.”

The mention of the king’s bride price settled the roar to a whisper. Everyone—including Arielah—seemed interested to know how much the king offered in payment for Jehoshaphat’s only daughter. Craning her neck, Arielah noticed the heavy-laden camels for the first time.

“To which fields shall my herdsmen guide your new livestock? And in which home should my servants unload the pack animals?” The crowd’s collective gasp affirmed their approval, and Arielah watched a slow, wide smile grace Solomon’s handsome face.

The Shulammites came to life, scurrying to the tasks Abba and Ima had asked of them beforehand. “Igal will direct your herdsmen to my pastures,” Abba Jehoshaphat said, his arm protectively placed around his son’s shoulders.

Solomon glared at her tall, stocky brother, and she could see Igal wilting inside.

“He’ll be an excellent manager one day,” Abba said.

When Solomon’s expression remained as hard as stone, Jehoshaphat released his son with a pat on the back. Arielah’s heart ached that her report of abuse had caused a rift between the king and Igal, but Abba Jehoshaphat seemed undaunted, moving now to introduce Ima. “Jehosheba has arranged for some women to help unload the household supplies.”

“Jehosheba.” The king inclined his head, his demeanor tender now. “I see where your daughter gets her beauty.”

Ima’s cheeks colored, and she bowed before her king. No words, simply her sweet smile and those sparkling eyes that embraced every heart.

Camels and donkeys paraded by until Shulammite whispers grew to applause. Lapis and linen, oil and spices, grindstones, spindles, and bolts of cloth—a bride price beyond Arielah’s imagination. But then the bleating of sheep stole her attention.

On the plain, behind the king’s escort, roamed more flocks and herds—fewer animals than the mohar gift and kept distinctly separate. The Daughters of Jerusalem must have noticed her unasked question because Shiphrah was quick to answer. “As you can see, little shepherdess, a king must make his own provision when traveling in a hostile land.” Glancing in Abba Jehoshaphat’s direction, she added, “Even a simple village judge can understand the wisdom of safe meat for the king’s household while enduring a foreign land.”

Arielah felt her abba tense, but when she searched his eyes, they were tender—and focused on the king. “I believe it is the responsibility and privilege of the bride’s abba to provide for the betrothal feast, my lord.” Solomon stared at his sandals while Jehoshaphat addressed the maidens. “And let me remind both of you—Shunem is neither hostile nor foreign to the king of Israel.”

At the venom in Abba’s tone, the king replied, “Please, my friend, don’t be offended. I must be cautious. Ahishar made a valid point before we left Jerusalem.”

Arielah’s blood boiled at the mention of the steward’s name.

“He insisted I protect not only myself but also my servants and guards by eating only palace provisions.” He paused, glancing at Benaiah, exchanging some silent agreement. “My palace servants will mingle with the Shulammite servers at tonight’s banquet, and no one will notice the separate provisions, my friend.”

Arielah saw only compassion on Abba’s face. “You look weary, my king.”

The sudden observation seemed to startle Solomon. “Well, I . . . I mean, I suppose . . .”

“No one in Shunem wishes you harm. You are safe here, Solomon.”

Hearing his familiar name seemed to give the king pause. Arielah wondered how often he heard it.
Does anyone call you Solomon anymore, or do you hear only ‘my lord’ and ‘my king’?

“Jehoshaphat, my friend,” he said with a deep sigh, “I have learned in the past few weeks that betrayal hides behind every smile and lurks around every corner. So I have become cautious—extremely cautious.”

“I understand.” Jehoshaphat nodded toward the king’s beautiful companions
.
“I hope you are as cautious about those you employ in your household.”

Shiphrah stepped forward as if to defend herself, but Abba’s heated stare pressed her and her sister back a few steps. Solomon ducked his head, hiding the almost imperceptible grin tipping the left corner of his lips.

“Take care, my king.” Abba’s tone was warm but insistent. “A constant stream of suspicion can strangle a heart in desperate need of peace. A king needs
godly
counselors, those who would remind him of Jehovah’s plan for his nation, Israel—and God’s love for Solomon, the man.”

Arielah saw the king’s cheeks shade pink. “Do you know my name?” he asked in a hushed voice. He glanced right and left, and his eyes grew round like a child who’d been found with the honey jar.