Love’s Sacred Song (32 page)

“Yes, Queen Arielah, it is I, and I’m happy to see you again.” She paused. “Though not under these circumstances.” She offered a deep bow.

“Please don’t bow.” Arielah tried to stand, but Hannah fell at her feet and clung to her waist. “Hannah, what is it?” She cast a questioning glance at her maid’s older sister. “Abishag, let me explain why we haven’t come looking for you.” She reached out, but Abishag drew back, seemingly frightened—or at least suspicious. Her trust had been spent like a pauper’s last shekel. Arielah dropped her hand and began smoothing Hannah’s hair instead. “Please, Abishag. Sit with us.”

The beautiful Shulammite sat on the floor beside her sister and offered her attention to Arielah.

“Well, I hardly know where to begin,” Arielah said, considering the sisters before her. “I asked Solomon to reunite you with Hannah as soon as we came to the palace, but he said it was best that you remain separate. He never explained why.”

Hannah reached out to her older sister.

“I’m sorry, Abishag,” Arielah said, emotion tightening her throat.

“It’s all right, my lady,” she said. “King Solomon was right. It was best that I not leave King David’s harem—until now.” Arielah watched Abishag squeeze her sister’s hand and release it, seeming to give strength and gain it. “My queen, I’m sorry to come to you this way—with the message I have to bring.”

A cold chill raced up Arielah’s spine, and her palms grew sweaty. It was her shepherd’s warning—a familiar sign from Jehovah of impending danger, most often coming right before a lion or bear appeared to threaten her flock. It had been so long since she’d felt Jehovah’s presence, but He seemed especially close in these unsettling moments.

Abishag must have sensed her fear. This time it was she who reached for Arielah’s hands, gently cradling them in her own. “I’ve been told to move you to Bathsheba’s chamber.”

The words struck Arielah like a blow. The room spun, the moment suspended in time. Surely she was lying in her bed, and Solomon would reach over and wake her from a terrible nightmare.

“I’m sorry, Arie—my queen. It is widely known that you love him. Such is not always the case of a treaty bride.” Abishag rubbed her thumbs over the backs of Arielah’s hands, gently reassuring. “Bathsheba’s chamber is the finest in the palace. It’s attached to the beautiful private garden of King David’s women.”

“What?” A second blow. Arielah jerked her hands away. “I’m not even to be included in the courts of
Solomon’s
wives? He’s banishing me to the other side of the palace?”

Abishag and Hannah reached for her simultaneously, hugging her so tightly Arielah felt their hearts beat as one. “The ways of kings are beyond reason, Arielah,” Abishag whispered. “But listen well to my warning. I’ve heard the Daughters of Jerusalem laughing with some of the guards at the harem entrance about moving you to that chamber because it is more secluded than others.”

Hannah gasped and drew away. Abishag sat back and directed her next words to her sister. “Now is not the time for fear, little sister. You must be strong for your mistress.” Softening her tone, she once again spoke to Arielah. “It was the Daughters of Jerusalem who suggested that King Solomon move you to Bathsheba’s chamber. They convinced him of its special meaning to you as a shepherdess, its nearness to Bathsheba’s garden, but . . .” Abishag leaned close and looked intently into Arielah’s eyes. “Take care, my queen, for many are the dangers in these palace walls.”

For a moment there was silence. Hannah’s breaths were shallow and quick.

Arielah studied David’s beautiful concubine. “I do not know you well, Abishag,” she said, “but I need another friend. I’m afraid the only ones I can trust in this place are your sister, Reu, and Benaiah.”

“It’s good to keep a short list of trust, my lady.” The Shulammite beauty knew well the betrayal of supposedly noble men.

“Perhaps you can teach me about palace politics,” she said, measuring her next words carefully. “What other secrets lurk in these halls, Abishag?”

Looking right and left as though they were the old gossips at Shunem’s well, the older girl said, “I sometimes linger near the flowerbeds and fountains near the harem entrance, listening while the guards speak lewdly of the Daughters of Jerusalem.” She furrowed her brow. “I suppose they think a concubine is deaf because she couldn’t coax a king to marry her.”

Arielah gasped at the mischief of this once prim beauty. Hannah clamped both hands over her mouth, and all three grinned in spite of their circumstances.

Abishag continued. “Sometimes it pays to have the guards
think
you’re deaf,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “They talked about the Daughters’ plan to move you into Bathsheba’s chamber and also described another Shulammite in our midst.”

Arielah’s stomach twisted at the possibility.
Lord Jehovah, please no . . .

“It’s that awful Marah,” Abishag said. “She’s moved her ‘business’ to the City of David. Judean men may hate their northern brothers, but they certainly enjoy northern women.”

Arielah tried to hold her breath so the others wouldn’t notice her panic.

“But here’s the worst of it,” Abishag continued. “I heard the Daughters of Jerusalem making arrangements with a detachment of guards to escort someone from the palace to visit Marah tonight.” She let out a disgusted huff.

Hannah’s eyes went wide. “Who from the palace would visit a common prostitute?”

•
 Song of Solomon 5:2 
•

[Beloved] I slept but my heart was awake. Listen! My lover is knocking.

I
will claim Arielah as my wife according to the law of Moses and Israel . . .

Her eyes burned with angry tears, the moon’s shadows casting long black daggers across the treaty agreement in Bathsheba’s chamber—Arielah’s chamber now. The agreement hung on the northern wall in a beautifully engraved silver frame, mocking her.

“Hannah,” she called into the girl’s adjoining chamber. “Could you come in here for a moment?” She removed the frame from its hook on the wall.

“Yes, my lady?” The girl emerged, drying her hands after clearing away their evening meal.

“Please pack this with the rest of the shiluhim gifts we brought from Shunem.” Arielah ran her finger over the words on the papyrus.
In accordance with the custom of Israelite husbands, who fulfill the responsibilities of their position in truth . . .

Hannah remained silent, seemingly hesitant to take the frame. “Queen Arielah, shouldn’t you keep the agreement on the wall so the king will see it—if he comes to your chamber?” A little anger flared in her voice. “Perhaps he will read it and remember his vows.”

A knock interrupted their decision. “Who could it be?” Hannah asked. “After our scare in the City of David this afternoon, I can’t imagine Benaiah’s guards letting anyone near your door.”

Arielah lifted an eyebrow and grinned. Hannah remained a far better companion than servant. “Perhaps you should open the door and see.”

“Oh yes!” she said, rushing to open the door.

Arielah gasped. The silhouette of Queen Bathsheba’s regal form glowed in the lamplight.

“Good evening, little one. I hope I haven’t intruded on your evening.”

“Oh no . . .” Her words were choked by tears, and she rushed into her arms.

“I know, little one. I know.”

When Arielah could speak again, she stepped back, still holding the framed wedding agreement. “Hannah and I were debating if a king can ever truly be considered a husband.” Another sob. “One morning I left his bed, and I haven’t seen him, heard his voice—or even received an explanation for my changed position—in three Sabbaths! Why, Ima Bathsheba? Why?” Hysterical now, she felt as if her heart was being ripped from her chest.

Bathsheba guided her toward the bed and rocked her like a child. Silently. Arielah didn’t know how long.

When the tears slowed again, the queen mother lifted Arielah’s chin and captured her gaze. “I am here to answer your questions and to give you some advice, but first I must fulfill my vow to a friend.” With a sad smile, she explained, “I must be a nagging ima since Jehosheba isn’t here. Benaiah sent one of his Cherethite guards with news of the trouble you experienced today in the City of David.”

“It was my fault,” Hannah whispered. “I begged her to take me to the merchants’ shops on the south side of the fortress.” The maid’s cheeks flamed at the confession. “I asked if the messenger, Reu, could accompany the guards. I wanted to spend time with him. It was foolish.”

Bathsheba’s expression was stern but her voice gentle. “I’m sorry you saw the ugly side of Judean loyalty in the City of David. The zealots flinging rotten vegetables at Israel’s treaty bride do
not
speak for all Judeans.” She reached out to Hannah, squeezing the girl’s hand. “I’m thankful Benaiah’s soldiers whisked you and your mistress back to the palace unharmed. He’s placed double guards at Arielah’s door.”

“Does Solomon know what happened?” Arielah spoke barely above a whisper.

Silence. Awkward silence.

“I have spoken to you as an ima,” Bathsheba said, “and now I will speak to you as a queen.” She removed the framed treaty from Arielah’s hand and gave it to Hannah, then grasped the young queen’s shoulders and squared her own. “Most likely, Solomon has not yet been told about the near riot in the City of David. He will be briefed on today’s business by the high steward tomorrow morning.”

A knot the size of a melon coiled in Arielah’s stomach. “I am
business
now?”

Bathsheba continued, ignoring the question. “The king has reinstated
relations
with his other wives.” She paused momentarily to recapture Arielah’s gaze when she turned away. “The day he moved you to this chamber was the first time he bedded one of his other wives. I know my son, little Shulammite. His heart is too tender to hurt a woman and then observe the wound he’s inflicted. He has not seen you or spoken to you because he doesn’t want to witness the pain he’s inflicted.”

“He’s a coward.” Arielah’s rash statement caused the queen mother to wince.
I’m not sorry I said it
, she thought.
Only sorry you heard it.

“As a king,” Bathsheba said quietly, “Solomon must fulfill responsibilities to his God, to his nation, and to his wives.” Her countenance softened. “And as a queen, Arielah, you are responsible to your God, your husband, and yourself. Though it may seem you have no alternative in many matters, you have more choices than you may realize.”

Arielah sat in tortured silence. Confusion wrestled with pain. Loyalty struggled with justice. Modeling Bathsheba’s royal grace, she swallowed her tears. “Wise words, my queen, but I see no choice to be made when my husband abandons me without explanation.”

“You speak of only one area of your life, little one. Your choices are vast in your relationship with Jehovah and the ways you choose to conduct yourself.”

Arielah had no answer. Reaching for the framed papyrus, she shook it in front of the queen’s face. “A king who doesn’t keep his vows cannot be trusted to rule a nation!”

“The king has kept every one of these vows,” Bathsheba said calmly. “He’s provided generously for his wife. Just look at this beautiful chamber.”

“But what of love, Ima Bathsheba?” She hugged the treaty against her heart. “What of love?”

The queen’s regal air crumbled, and tears finally escaped Bathsheba’s long lashes. “A treaty agreement mentions nothing of love or loneliness or piercing disappointment.” Pausing, she searched Arielah’s face as if seeking lost treasure. “Did you marry a king and expect a shepherd boy? Solomon is deeply flawed—as was his abba, as are we all. But if your marriage is truly ordained by Jehovah, as you told me in the mikvah, you must learn to love Solomon by Jehovah’s wisdom and power.”

Like a stroll through a market, Arielah’s mind replayed God’s wonders in her life. Abba’s dream the day of her birth. The moment she first saw Solomon. Then she remembered Marah, Solomon’s betrayal in Shunem. She had promised to love him even if he never returned her love. “I didn’t know love could hurt so much,” she whispered, leaning into Bathsheba’s embrace.

“But it’s like birthing a child,” she said, stroking Arielah’s hair. “It’s an exquisite pain because of the results it brings. Solomon loves you, Arielah. He won’t stay away forever. And when he comes back, you have a choice to make.” Kissing her gently, she stood. “Benaiah’s men are escorting me home tonight. From now on, if you want to leave the palace, visit me—not the City of David.”

Hannah opened the door, and the gracious lady departed. Arielah gazed at the moon through her latticed window, exhausted after their harrowing day. Hannah carefully placed the treaty agreement in the shiluhim basket near Arielah’s bed and then waited awkwardly, seemingly frightened to retreat more than a camel-length from her mistress.

“Hannah, did you lock my chamber door?”

The girl nodded but didn’t look up.

“Were there two extra guards as Ima Bathsheba reported?”

Another nod and then a whisper. “Could we leave the door between our chambers open—just for tonight?”

Arielah nudged her shoulder and coaxed a smile. “Of course.”

Hannah’s countenance brightened immediately, and she reached for an ivory comb, seemingly ready for their nighttime routine. After both women were washed, dressed, and ready for bed, Hannah retired to her sleeping couch, but Arielah gazed through her window at the sky of ebony and crystal.

Hannah’s steady breathing proved she had finally relaxed into sleep, but for Arielah, sleep was as much a stranger as her husband had become. In the three Sabbaths since she’d moved into this chamber, Abishag’s warning of the Daughters’ dark purpose had become a constant shadow. Her last conscious thought was of the cold metal dagger she kept hidden under her pillow. Finally she slept, but her heart was awake, mourning the absence of a love she believed Jehovah had promised. The deep, contented sleep of a newlywed gone, she now drifted in fitful half consciousness, neither fully aware nor fully at rest.

In the land between darkness and dawn, Arielah heard the rustling of footsteps outside her door. Someone tried to lift the latch and then jiggled the lock furiously. She bolted upright in her bed.

Hannah heard it too. She whimpered and scampered into Arielah’s bed. The girl sucked in a roomful of air when Arielah produced the dagger from beneath her pillow. “Where did you get that?”

“Shhh! Benaiah gave it to me,” Arielah said, waiting for the intruder to make another sound.

Solomon stood trembling outside Ima Bathsheba’s bedchamber.
No, Arielah’s bedchamber now.
The dew was forming in the darkness before dawn, and the chilled damp air shrouded his withering soul. How long had it been since he’d seen her? Arielah, his life and breath.

Guilt had nearly gutted him.

But why should he feel guilty? He could rationalize his marital visits to Sekhet and other wives as duty. The prickly truth of his rendezvous with Marah wasn’t so easily dismissed.
Arielah need not know I visited the wayward Shulammite that night.
He’d been out of his mind with guilt over bedding Sekhet and moving Arielah to Ima’s chamber. He’d had too much wine, and when Ahishar mentioned the Daughters of Jerusalem had returned from visiting a Shulammite friend named Marah in the City of David, he thought his luck too good to be ignored. When he questioned Shiphrah about her friend, his blood was stirred and the tryst was planned.
At least it was only one night.

Pressing both fists against his eyes, he tried to clear his throbbing head. He’d had too much wine again, started visiting his wives too early tonight. But he must face Arielah and explain a king’s duty to produce heirs for many wives.
She’ll understand. She must understand.
He couldn’t live without his Shulammite queen.

Stepping between the two guards, he knocked lightly on her door. Leaning close, he heard her voice. “Hannah, it must be Solomon!”

She sounded pleased. Or was it fear? Hard to discern while his head throbbed. He belched and staggered. Marah’s full curves flashed in his mind unbidden, the lurid temptress he couldn’t resist. He mustn’t allow himself to think of her and be with Arielah.

Turning to Benaiah’s Cherethite guards, he mustered his most commanding voice. “You are dismissed.” Both men instantly bowed, turned, and obeyed.

When they were out of earshot, he pounded the door harder. No reply. Perhaps Arielah required a shepherd’s verse to open her door. Trying to remember all those flowery phrases he’d attempted—and failed—to compose as brilliantly as Abba David, he began to recite, “Open to me, my sister, my darling, my dove, my flawless one.” His voice grew louder, his patience waning. “And hurry. My head is covered with dew, and it’s cold out here.”

“The dew itself testifies against you, King Solomon. Do you intend to make my pillow the last of many tonight?”

Fury, white-hot, roiled inside him.
How dare she refuse me?
This stubborn she-goat wasn’t even going to let him offer his well-rehearsed explanation! “I am not some lovesick boy in your meadow now, woman. I am your husband! Let me in!” A swift kick on the door jarred the cedar panel.

A woman’s voice cried out, and he waited to hear the hurried unlatching of the lock.

Nothing.

“It’s late, Solomon,” came Arielah’s controlled reply. “I’ve taken off my robe, and it’s too chilly to get out of bed. Hannah has already washed my feet, and I don’t want her to rewash them.”

“Wh—I—you—” Anger gripped him by the throat. He couldn’t speak. She refused to answer her door because she didn’t want to trouble her maid? “Ahhh!” Solomon’s shout introduced his shoulder to the door, shaking the thick cedar panel on its hinges. Only the lock held it fast. He thrust his hand through the opening, grasping at the iron clasp, but his hands were shaking too wildly to free the lock.

He heard a hysterical cry and a chastising command. “Hannah, stop your tears! He won’t hurt me.”

The words pierced him. He
had
hurt Arielah already—many times.
You will be the only lily in King Solomon’s garden from this day forward
, he had promised her. His hand stilled on the lock. What was he doing here? The door barely hung on its hinges, and he could see a petite figure stirring inside. His anger rekindled, his heart wrung dry. He ground out the words, “I’ll find a northern maiden willing to soil her feet.” He left the memory of love behind a broken door—to find a way to forget his broken promise.