Love’s Sacred Song (38 page)

“You!” he shouted, abruptly ceasing Shiphrah’s drivel. “Get away from her!” He rushed at them, grasping their arms and flinging them toward the door.

Fear etched their faces. “My king, we simply came to welcome your wife back into our company.” Shiphrah’s eyes brimmed with tears, but he would not be drawn into their deceit again.

Instead, he studied them, allowing his perusal to unsettle them and God’s wisdom to instruct him. Noting their dusty and disheveled appearance, Solomon concluded they’d ridden swifter dromedary camels along the western sea route. They might have left a day—even two—after the king’s departure, depending on when they realized his destination. Everyone in the palace knew he was traveling to Baal Hamon, but news of Arielah’s welcome feast was fresh, revealed to him only moments ago.

He’d heard enough of the twins’ lies.

Turning to his wife for answers, Solomon knelt beside her. “Beloved, what did they tell you about this so-called feast they’re planning?”

“We simply told her—” Sherah began.

“Silence, woman!” Solomon roared at her interruption. He gently lifted Arielah’s crooked hand to his lips. “Please, beloved. What did they say?”

The room fell silent. His bride looked to her abba and then back at him. Jehoshaphat had protected her, loved her, rescued her when Solomon had abandoned her to these women. Would she trust him? “Arielah,” he said, touching her cheek, “these women will never harm you again.”

Jehoshaphat stepped toward her. “Tell him, my lamb. Tell your husband what the Daughters of Jerusalem asked of you.”

Seeming still hesitant, Arielah answered quietly, “They asked me to dance the Mahanaim at the celebration they were planning.” Her gaze fell to her misshapen left leg. “They said since Mahanaim means ‘two camps,’ and since the dance commemorated your abba’s flight from Jerusalem when Absalom tried to steal the throne, well . . .” She looked up then, a single tear falling over her lashes. “They thought it appropriate for the wife who fled Jerusalem to dance among your other wives.”

A low, guttural moan started in Solomon’s belly and exploded into a roar. Like a flaming arrow shot from a bow, he propelled himself at the twins. Grasping their arms, he nearly lifted them off their feet. “Ahhh! How can you say these things? Do these things?”

Shiphrah and Sherah whimpered but didn’t speak.

Drawing them close, he spit as he ground out the words, “It is both of
you
who dance in two camps! You speak honeyed words to me but drive a dagger into Arielah’s back.” Releasing his hold, he cast them aside like filthy rags. “You will leave this house immediately and return to Jerusalem. I will deal with you when I return.”

The two women stumbled and cowered, taking their first few steps toward the door. Shiphrah turned as if to plead.

“No!” Solomon screamed. “You will not speak! Out of my sight, both of you!”

Just then Benaiah arrived at Jehoshaphat’s doorway, panting, his sword drawn, ready for a fight. Glancing at the scene before him, he braced his hands against his knees, relief evident as he explained. “My men have just arrested ten Judean soldiers. When they said they escorted the Daughters of Jerusalem, I knew where I would find them.”

“You were right, Benaiah.” Solomon’s voice trembled with pent-up fury. “I’m certain the Daughters of Jerusalem were complicit in Arielah’s beating.”

The twins’ eyes bulged. “My lord, no!”

“I said silence!” Solomon shouted. Turning back to Benaiah, he asked, “Do you trust the ten Mighty Men who accompanied us from Jerusalem? Could any of them be Sons of Judah?”

“I trust those Cherethite guards with my life,” he said, fist to heart.

“Do you trust them with Arielah’s life?” Solomon asked, and Benaiah’s scar began to dance.

A single nod preceded the words. “What are you thinking, my king?”

“I think it’s time we found witnesses against the Daughters of Jerusalem.” Solomon watched a smug grin form on Shiphrah face. He shoved the two women into Benaiah’s arms. “Take the sisters of Set and their ten Judean soldiers back to Jerusalem with nine of your Mighty Men.” Solomon pinned Benaiah with a determined look. “Leave Hezro here with me, and make sure you and your Cherethites don’t fall under these women’s power.”

“I will not leave you with only one guard in Shunem!”

Solomon exchanged a glance with Jehoshaphat. “I have three guards in this house alone, my friend.” He chuckled when Jehosheba proudly thrust her shoulders back and her chin out. The women in Jehoshaphat’s home were small but held a mighty sway among the Shulammites. Igal and Reu suddenly appeared at the doorway, and Solomon’s amusement peaked. “Make that five guards, Benaiah—six if you include our soldier friend Hezro! I’ll be safe in Shunem until you send an escort to retrieve me.”

“But, my lord . . .” Benaiah’s protests faded when Solomon turned toward Arielah.

In two long strides, Solomon was at his wife’s side, kneeling again. “I suppose I should first ask if I am welcome to remain. Beloved?”

A slow nod and raining tears answered him.

Jehoshaphat placed a hand on Solomon’s shoulder. “You are welcome in our home—and in Shunem—my king.”

•
 Song of Solomon 7:1, 13 
•

[Lover] How beautiful your sandaled feet, O prince’s daughter! . . .

[Beloved] The mandrakes send out their fragrance, and at our door is every delicacy, both new and old, that I have stored up for you.

A
rielah combed her fingers through Solomon’s hair as he and Abba watched Benaiah escort Shiphrah and Sherah through the courtyard gate. “I’m glad you came,” she whispered, drawing Solomon’s attention.

She caught only a momentary glimpse of the victory he must have felt, and then his eyes immediately grew dim. “Oh, beloved.” He buried his head in her lap, immediate sobs shaking his shoulders.

“Shhh, my love.” She caressed his back, stroked his hair, let his sorrow flow.

“I did not love or protect you as I promised at our wedding, as an Israelite husband should.”

Abba and Ima knelt beside him, placing supportive hands on his shoulders. “My son,” Abba said, “we are proud of you for coming. You’ve shown great courage and integrity amid daunting circumstances.”

“But I—” Solomon started to protest, but Ima interrupted.

“There will be time for us to talk later. Now is the time for you to share your heart with your wife . . . alone.” With a voice that left no room for argument, she said, “Off to our bedchamber where you can speak the things a husband and wife need to hear. Come, Arielah, on your feet.”

Abba and Ima stood on each side and braced her so she could stand. As always, that first press of weight on her legs sent a stab of pain and stole her breath.

“What?” Solomon cried. “What can I do?” Tears filled his eyes again. “I did this to you, beloved.” He stood alone, dejected, forlorn—and Arielah’s heart broke.

Taking a step toward him, she fell into his arms. He swept her up, cradling her like a child. “I love you,” he said, burying his head in the curve of her neck. “I love you. Can you ever forgive me?”

Cupping his cheek, she said, “I have already forgiven you in the midst of the pain. It’s the reason I know the forgiveness is not my own. It’s born from above, and I am as grateful to give it as you can be to receive it.” She kissed him gently. “Now take me to my ima’s chamber, where we can speak of our future.”

She watched his cheeks pink as he exchanged a nod with Abba Jehoshaphat and then carried her through the bedchamber door. Setting her gently on the edge of her parents’ stacked mattresses, his eyes traveled over her, devouring her from the top of her head to the tips of her sandaled feet. “You are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.” His voice was full of wonder.

Instinctively she drew the sheer linen veil over her deeply scarred face, but he pulled it away. His eyes ravenous, he leaned over to kiss her. She relaxed into the moment, ready for the first sweet taste of his lips in five full moons, but—nothing. She opened her eyes and watched him lift the washbasin from the bedside table. He knelt at her feet and removed her worn sandals.

Cringing at the thought of his regal hands on her twisted foot, she cried, “No! Wait! What are you doing?”

His only answer was the tenderness with which he splashed water on her dusty feet, and her misgivings dried up as her tears rained down.

“How beautiful are your feet, oh prince’s daughter,” he said, drying her feet and massaging her calves. “Your graceful legs are like jewels, the work of a craftsman’s hands.” He rose up and eased her back onto the bed. Her robe lay flat against her stomach. His hands stopped their caressing, and his eyes grew as round as Abraham’s well. “Arielah! You are with child!” He pulled his hand away as though the small babe within her might reach out and grab him. “How can this be?” he said, propping himself on one elbow, careful to keep his weight off her rounded middle.

Arielah smiled at his boyish wonder. “Solomon, you are an abba many times over. Do I really need to explain it?”

The delight on his face matched the awe in his voice. “How could the child have survived the beating? How could you have conceived when we . . . when I . . .”

Arielah’s sorrow mingled with the joy of this moment. “We slept in the bridal chamber until the day I moved to your ima Bathsheba’s room.” She touched her rounding belly. “I remember curling into a ball as they were beating me. This baby is strong, my love, and seems quite determined to know its abba.”

Solomon’s eyes filled with wonder. He kissed her stomach and moved his hand across the contours of her shape. “Your navel is a rounded goblet that never lacks blended wine. Your waist is a mound of wheat encircled by lilies. Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.”

Arielah giggled. “Your shepherd’s verse was unique and new to my ears until you reached my breasts, King Solomon.”

Solomon bounced his eyebrows. “It’s because that phrasing—like your breasts—cannot be improved upon. Now be silent while I finish.”

She covered her mouth, enjoying each moment of his renewed familiarity.

“Your neck is like an ivory tower. Your eyes are the pools of Heshbon by the gate of Bath Rabbim. Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon looking toward Damascus. Your head crowns you like Mount Carmel. Your hair is like royal tapestry; the king is held captive by its tresses.”

She laid her head back on the pillow and let the deep baritone sound of his voice wash over her.

“How beautiful you are, and how pleasing, oh love, with your delights!” Stroking her cheek, he kissed her softly.

Her body responded, wanting, needing to be loved. But she had to know his heart. “What is your name?” she whispered. He had been both lover and liar, kind and cruel. Was he the king who had cast her aside, the stranger who had ruthlessly stood over her broken body and later demanded divorce? Or was he the loving son of David, anointed by Jehovah and given to her as a precious gift? “What is your name?” she asked again. She must refuse his kisses until she knew his heart.

Eyes that at first registered confusion began scanning some point outside the window. She wondered if he would storm away in a rage as he’d done before, but he lingered, deep in thought. “I’ve learned much in the hours of contemplation in my garden.”

“Your garden?” Arielah asked, her heart growing hopeful.

A glint of mischief shone in his eye. “Someone once told me an apple tree could grow in a forest, so I had to investigate some of Jehovah’s handiwork for myself.” Tracing the line of her jaw, he spoke softly. “In my nights of contemplation, I determined to use God’s wisdom for better purposes than pleasure and folly. So I employed an army of scribes to record my reflections on life and its meaning, the pursuit of pleasure and its fruitlessness.” He kissed the end of her nose. “We’ll certainly learn more as we grow old together, but I thought it wise to begin the record now and expand as Jehovah gives greater understanding.”

She smiled at the thought of gray hair at his temples. What a distinguished-looking king he would be.

“You have changed me, beloved. You’ve shown me the value of solitude.” He searched her expression, probed the windows of her soul. “My name is Jedidiah.”

Arielah cupped his cheeks, showering his face with kisses. “Yes! Yes, it is, my love.” She rejoiced with him. “You are changed, but I have not changed you. I was in Shunem while Jehovah tended your heart.”

Solomon held her head between his hands, studying her anew. “You are amazing, my little shepherdess. What new verse shall I create to describe you?” he asked, his eyes suddenly alight. “You are like a palm tree!”

“A palm tree?” Arielah laughed. Leaning up to capture his lips, she teased, “I think we’ve heard enough shepherd’s verse, my love.”

He pulled her into the curve of his frame, holding her so tight she felt as if they breathed the same breath and shared one heartbeat. “You have weathered a storm that would have snapped a mighty oak,” he whispered into her ear. “You are a palm tree, beloved, and I plan to climb my palm tree and take hold of its fruit!” He nuzzled the nape of her neck with his beard, and she squealed. “Shhh!” he said. “Your parents are right outside!”

She reveled in the ease with which he teased and loved her. Gazing into his eyes, she saw her reflection there. Her scars were washed away in the glistening of his tears. A light kiss. A brush of his nose against her cheek.

“Your breasts now bear the fruit of a child, like clusters of fruit on the vine,” he whispered. “The fragrance of your breath is like apples, and your mouth like the best wine.”

“Why don’t you taste that wine, my love? Let it flow gently over your lips.” Arielah closed her eyes to wait for the kiss she knew would come. His mouth covered hers, and with the fullness of God’s blessing, they enjoyed the fruit of their union.

Solomon awoke to the sound of a rooster’s crow and felt the reassuring warmth of Arielah’s small frame in the bend of his arm. Were it not for the cramped space of their tiny wedding carriage and his aching back, this would be the perfect Shulammite sunrise. Deep hues of purple and orange glowed through the ivory-latticed window, and the sounds of Shunem’s waking helped him understand Arielah’s homesickness when she had first arrived in Jerusalem.

“Good morning, beloved.” He kissed her awake.

“Mmm.” She stretched and purred like Sekhet’s Egyptian cat.

“I have a surprise for you this morning,” he said and watched her eyes instantly go wide.

“What?”

“I talked with your abba last night, and he believes we can travel safely if I dress in shepherds’ garb.”

She tried to turn on her side but winced.

“Lie still,” he said. Soothing her, he rose on his side to hover over his beloved girl.

A tentative smile touched her lips, a hint of fear at its edges. “Travel? Are we going back to Jerusalem before Benaiah arrives with our escort?”

His heart ached at her resolve to accept the inevitable return to the city of her pain. “No, beloved. We’re traveling north.” He watched her surprise.

“But there is nothing to the north—except Tyre. Are you going to visit King Hiram?”

“Actually, I considered that,” he said, stroking her cheek. “But no. This trip will be strictly pleasure.” The adorable tilt of her head made him chuckle. “We’re going to my vineyard at Baal Hamon.”

“Oh!” she squealed and grabbed his neck, nearly tumbling his full weight down on her. “I’ve always wanted to see your famous vineyard! Oh, can we leave early? Can we go right now?”

He laughed at his impatient bride. “First we must gather some Shulammites to accompany us as guards, just in case there’s trouble along the way.” Dawn’s light cast an ethereal glow on his shepherdess queen. “Do you know how much I love you?”

A shadow of sadness passed over her features. She grew utterly silent, her smile dim. “I know that I’ve belonged to you since our betrothal,” she said, stroking his cheek. “And your journey to Shunem despite the danger shows your desire for me. But love . . .”

His chest felt like a wineskin being squeezed of every drop. “Arielah, what are you saying?” She had turned away. He captured her chin and saw tears beneath tightly closed eyes. “What else must I do to prove that I love you?”

“Ohhh,” she moaned as if her heart were breaking. “Please, Solomon, listen to my heart, not just my words.”

She paused, opened her eyes. Searching his gaze, she waited until he nodded before she spoke. But he wasn’t sure he could hear anything except his wounded feelings.

“The only love I know,” she began quietly, “I learned from my abba and ima in the warmth of Shunem’s vineyards and meadows. You learned of love in King David’s harem filled with wives and children.” She laid her hand on her rounded middle, cradling the child within. “Somehow we must live a love that will nurture our child in Jehovah’s care.”

Solomon’s heart pounded. How could he teach a child of love when he himself didn’t know how to explain the emotion?

“Take me to Baal Hamon,” Arielah whispered. “During our journey, I’ll give you my love in the fields of mandrakes amid their fragrance. We’ll study the old lessons of love and the new pathways of our hearts.”

He fell silent, wishing he could be angry with her. He was King Solomon, granted divine wisdom from El Shaddai. Yet somehow he knew she was right. Love was not understood by the mind of wisdom. It was learned through the scars of a Shulammite shepherdess, and Jehovah was guiding their journey.

Brushing her forehead with a kiss, he said, “All right, beloved. We will learn of this mysterious love together, and we’ll find a way to love each other in Jerusalem.”