Love’s Sacred Song (42 page)

Solomon signaled Sekhet to begin her slow march up the center aisle. The six Nubian guards trailed behind her. And indignation bloomed in the Daughters of Jerusalem.

“That Egyptian queen cannot testify!” Sherah stomped her foot.

Sekhet glanced in her direction and said something in Egyptian—no doubt delightfully evil. Solomon added to the moment by saying, “I have no idea what Queen Sekhet said, but I would imagine her Nubian warriors could translate for us.”

All color drained from the twins’ faces. “How can they translate?” Shiphrah asked. “They don’t speak Hebrew.”

Solomon’s only reply was a victorious smile.

“I will not repeat the words of my queen,” one Nubian said, his voice deep and rich, his words perfect Hebrew.

“I believe Israelite law says a foreigner cannot testify against an Israelite woman,” Shiphrah said flatly.

Solomon laughed out loud. “Shiphrah, there is no such law. Your lies and tricks have been dried up like a wadi in summer’s heat. We can choose any of these Nubian guards to serve as second witness—a male witness—against you and Sherah. Would you like to pick which man will condemn you?”

“Nooooo!” Shiphrah lunged at Solomon, but Benaiah swept her into his grasp. “You cannot do this!” she said, kicking and fighting his restraint. Sherah merely sobbed, melting into a puddle on the floor.

Solomon stood, walked to the edge of the platform, and glared at the twins. “Silence them,” he said, giving Benaiah permission to use whatever means necessary to gain control. Turning to Sekhet’s guards, he said, “Tell me in Hebrew words how the Daughters were involved in Queen Arielah’s attack.”

The Nubian guards used the Israelite language to condemn the Judean women and described the atrocities they’d witnessed.

Only one question came from Solomon’s lips. “Why didn’t you tell someone before Arielah was attacked?”

Without malice, the Nubian answered with a question of his own. “Who would you have believed, King Solomon—six Egyptian guards or your two Judean maidens?”

The truth of his words pierced the king. Before Arielah’s beating, Solomon had viewed Sekhet as a nuisance, so he never would have listened to her guards. “I believe you now,” Solomon said. The Nubian inclined his head, and the king thought he noted a hint of promise in the man’s arched brow. “Are you aware of more information on other traitors among us?”

A slow, wry smile stretched across the Nubian’s lips. “I had hoped you would let your commander . . . what is the Hebrew word . . .
extract
names from the Daughters of Jerusalem.”

Solomon realized the sad irony in what he was about to say. “Unfortunately, using any statements from Shiphrah and Sherah would be prohibited for the same reason they couldn’t be condemned earlier. A woman’s testimony is inadmissible in my courtroom.”

“My Nubian brothers and I have more to say on the matter, King Solomon.” He bowed and backed away, honoring the most important task at hand—the judgment of those present.

“My lord,” Benaiah said, still holding Shiphrah’s rigid form, “those guilty of crimes against Queen Arielah await your verdict.”

Solomon stood at the edge of the dais, his back to Arielah. The crowd was utterly silent. “Solomon, my love,” he heard Arielah whisper.

No. She wouldn’t.

“Solomon,” she said a little louder.

He knew what she was going to suggest. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Someone must pay for her scars.

Whispers from the crowd. Women covering their mouths and pointing. He turned and found Arielah standing unaided by his throne.

“What are you doing?” He rushed at her, grasping her waist before she fell. He held her but looked away when he felt her eyes on him. “Do not ask it of me, Arielah. I cannot.”

“Solomon, my love. Look at me.”

Slowly, almost painfully, he lifted his gaze.

“Jehovah asks that we act justly,” she said. “But he also loves mercy.”

He could feel his composure slipping. “Arielah, this watchman admits to the crime, and we finally have two witnesses against the Daughters of Jerusalem. The law supports a death sentence for all three. Why offer mercy when they have offered you nothing but pain?”

“I keep thinking of my brothers, Solomon. Abba offered them mercy repeatedly.”

“And they hurt you repeatedly!” His shout echoed in the courtroom.

She let the echo die before she answered. “But Igal repented, and now his life is rich and full of love. Oliab reminds me of Igal’s changed heart. Couldn’t we offer all three of them an
opportunity
to repent?”

Solomon shook his head, closing his eyes and his heart. “I won’t forgive them, Arielah. Not after what they’ve done. If they repent, I’ll be expected to forgive, and I can’t. I
won’t
.”

She lifted her hand to his cheek and said the words gently. “Mercy and forgiveness are like water, my love. When they flow
to
us, they must be allowed to flow
through
us, or they become stagnant and putrid in our souls.”

The words stung his freshly forgiven heart. Jehoshaphat’s wisdom, Reu’s forgiveness, Arielah’s love—all these had tilled the soil so her words could take root in his soul.

A little mischief crept into her voice. “Perhaps you could show the same mercy to the Daughters of Jerusalem that I’ve heard you offered the old priest Abiathar.”

Solomon’s furrowed brow begged an explanation.

“Give them the opportunity to live in solitude—away from Jerusalem—in the northern districts. If they refuse your mercy, then like Kemmuel, their blood will be on their own heads.”

He studied her and stroked her cheek. She was tenacious, this lion of God. Turning to announce his verdict, he said, “Oliab, stand before me.”

The man’s face lost all color.

“Have you ever dressed a grapevine?” He heard Arielah’s soft gasp. Solomon looked at her with a grin, raised an eyebrow. She nodded her silent approval, and the king turned to Benaiah. “Captain, if Oliab agrees to testify against the remaining Sons of Judah, I will offer him mercy and a position in one of my vineyards.”

Arielah placed a hand on Solomon’s shoulder, pulling him close. “Look at his face, my love. I saw the same expression of repentance and redemption on Igal’s face the day of his judgment.”

“Thank you, my lord.” The prisoner choked out the words. “I accept your mercy gladly.”

Solomon cast an adoring glance at his wife. “You should thank Queen Arielah. Were it not for her mercy, we would all be lost.” Nodding at the guards to move Oliab aside, Solomon fixed his gaze on the traitors. “Daughters of Jerusalem, stand before me.”

Benaiah brought them forward, Shiphrah like stone, Sherah a ragdoll.

“The law of Moses says by the testimony of two witnesses, these women shall die.”

Sherah let out an otherworldly wail.

“Is there no mercy for the Daughters of Jerusalem?” Shiphrah’s voice held as little hope as her verdict.

Solomon smiled, and a panic deeper than Sherah’s wail flashed in Shiphrah’s eyes. “Yes. In fact, the woman you plotted to kill has shown you mercy.”

The audience chattered with excitement.

“You will live under guard in Dothan—in the quiet grazing meadows where our patriarch Joseph was betrayed by his jealous brothers.” Solomon paused and spoke to the crowd. “A fitting location for jealous deceivers, don’t you think?”

Nervous laughter almost equaled Sherah’s moans.

“Perhaps while herding young goats, you two will discover Jehovah’s creation and learn the value of peace.” Solomon hesitated, and the courtroom grew quiet. “However, should your hearts remain hard, Daughters of Jerusalem, should you refuse this gift of mercy I extend to you now, you—will—die.”

Shiphrah and Sherah were dragged from the throne hall in utter defeat. A slow but mounting applause rippled through the crowd and grew to a thunderous celebration.

Arielah turned to celebrate with her husband. “Oh, Solomon . . .”

But as he leaned down to embrace her, the haunting expression of a woman came into view. Abishag.

•
 Song of Solomon 8:11–12 
•

[Beloved] Solomon had a vineyard in Baal Hamon. . . . But my own vineyard is mine to give.

S
olomon hadn’t seen Abishag since she’d been placed with Abba’s concubines. She looked weary of life, but worse—she seemed utterly alone. His heart broke. Suddenly Abishag looked up, and he was staring into the liquid brown eyes that had mesmerized him at Abba’s bedside.

“Oh, my love.” Arielah hugged him tightly. “You did it! Jehovah’s wisdom made us victorious!”

His wife’s warm embrace drew him back to the moment. He kissed the top of her head, and Abishag averted her eyes. “Yes, beloved,” he said, still gazing at Abba David’s Shulammite. “Jehovah is victorious.” Holding his wife, he continued to appraise Abishag. However, to his surprise—and profound relief—no passion stirred. Only concern for this lonely young woman.

Arielah must have noticed his distraction. Lifting her head from his chest, she searched the object of his interest. “Abishag!” she whispered. “Solomon, she looks so alone.” His wife’s tender heart had broken as immediately as his own.

Kissing her forehead and settling her at his right side, Solomon quieted the crowd with upraised hands. “Abishag, caretaker of King David in his final days!” he shouted, and Abishag flinched. “Please approach the throne.”

Her eyes, so soft and tender moments before, were now as round and frightened as a deer in a hunter’s sight. She didn’t move. Perhaps she couldn’t.

Guards started their foreboding journey toward her, but Solomon motioned them away and said tenderly, “Abishag, come to me.”

She moved with the grace of a breeze toward the throne. “Yes, my king?” Her head bowed.

“You served my abba well, yet you were never taken as his wife. I release you, Abishag, from David’s harem.”

The crowd gasped and then reveled in the grandest gossip of their generation. Solomon’s advisors shouted their objections in a dissonant chorus.

“But, King Solomon, the Shulammite lay with your abba,” the royal secretary said. “Though King David never took her as a
true
wife, she has been considered his concubine.”

Zadok the priest offered his two shekels. “She has been tainted, my king. No man will have her. It would be cruel to expel her from the palace without a husband to support her.”

Solomon raised his hand for silence. Abishag stood tall, a regal presence amid the unsettled souls around her.

“I offer you freedom,” Solomon said, quieting the last murmurs. “But it is my intention that freedom brings you joy, not pain. Therefore, I offer you the ability to choose your future.”

A slight smile graced her face, and her voice was quiet but clear. “May I ask the king a question before I decide?”

Solomon chuckled. He’d seldom heard this timid girl speak above a whisper. “Yes, you may ask.”

“Is it true my sister is no longer Queen Arielah’s serving maid, that she is now betrothed to the new caretaker of your vineyard in Baal Hamon?”

“Yes, it is true. I myself am serving as friend of the bridegroom.”

A collective gasp added more fodder for merchants’ tales.

A slight smile curved Abishag’s lips. “Then, if I am truly free to choose a future, I offer my service to Queen Arielah.”

The tittering crowd was like a nest of eagles stirred.

“Silence!” Solomon’s wisdom obviously fell short when women were involved. He was thoroughly baffled by the Shulammite’s request. “Abishag, though you are a concubine, you are not a servant. Why would you place yourself below your current station?”

“Oh, my king, I care nothing of my
station
. Your counselors have said I am tainted. Perhaps in their eyes I have been, but I know I would be welcomed in my abba’s loving household at Shunem.” She turned to Arielah, her lips quivering as she spoke. “But Queen Arielah once spoke of me as her friend, and since my sister will soon become a bride, the queen will need a friend to care for her. It would be my honor, my pleasure, to serve her for a lifetime.”

Solomon was speechless. What could he say to such a request?

“Solomon.” He turned to see tears streaming down Arielah’s face. “May I speak and offer Abishag a gift—as a gesture of appreciation for her offer?”

He laughed aloud, cupped his wife’s cheeks, and wiped her tears with his thumbs. “I wish you would,” he said so only she could hear. “I have no idea how to respond to the extravagant grace of you women from Shunem.” He chuckled and placed his lips by her ear. “This woman has pledged her life to you in service. Make her gift extravagant, beloved. She’ll be tending my most precious treasure.”

Arielah nodded, eyes sparkling. “Will you help me walk to the edge of the platform?”

Encircling her waist, Solomon stood beside her while she addressed King David’s Shulammite.

“Hello, my friend,” Arielah said, and then she turned to the gathering. “As many of you know, King Solomon’s vineyard in Baal Hamon is quite lucrative, and tenants pay a thousand shekels of silver for its fruit. The only vineyard I own stands before you—broken,” she said, motioning to her still-mending body. “But it’s mine to give. I give myself freely to my husband, and he gives his love in return.” As she turned to Abishag, Solomon heard wonder in his wife’s voice. “My friend, if you are willing to serve me—to tend my vineyard—the king offers you two hundred shekels of silver.”

Abishag gasped and cupped both hands over her mouth, fresh tears coursing down her cheeks. The crowd exploded in celebration, and Solomon laughed. Gathering his wife into his arms, he kissed her cheek and said, “Well, Queen Arielah, giving your serving maid twenty times a warrior’s reward is indeed extravagant, but I approve!” Her giggling filled his heart with joy.

Suddenly, she pulled away. “Solomon, look at her.” Abishag stood alone, smiling awkwardly at the foot of the platform while everyone celebrated around her. Arielah looked pleadingly into his eyes. He nodded, granting permission before she asked.

“Abishag, please come to me.” Arielah opened her arms wide to receive her friend.

The girl’s face lit up as she ascended the dais steps. Abishag tried to bow, but Arielah reached for her, nearly falling into the Shulammite’s warm embrace.

Solomon watched and marveled at Jehovah’s mystery. The woman who selflessly served his abba in death would now tend the woman he loved more than life. Abishag had begun his quest for love, but Arielah had defined its sacred passion. If old Shimei was right, and love, like a vineyard, grew better with time, then surely their love would outshine even the vines of Baal Hamon.