Love’s Sacred Song (34 page)

•
 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.

A
hishar 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.

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.”