Love’s Sacred Song (7 page)

The prince’s neck turned crimson, making the lingering claw marks more noticeable. “Yes, I remember them.” He scowled. “Why were they bathing with my sisters in the palace if they were daughters of a common merchant?”

“Bethuel is no common tailor, and their ima’s skill in seduction won Shiphrah and Sherah lives of leisure among children of nobility. Neither twin has ever cooked a meal or carded wool, but in the arts of lotions and paints, they are flawless.”

Adonijah waved away the explanation. “Other than winning for yourself the pleasurable gratitude of their ima, I don’t understand how two spoiled, manipulative virgins in Solomon’s harem benefit the Sons of Judah.”

With every kernel of restraint he possessed, Ahishar refused to unleash his anger on this small-minded prince. But neither would he waste his time on long-winded explanations. “Their ima’s gratitude is indeed enticing, my lord; however, it is King Solomon’s appreciation for the Daughters’ diligent service that will aid our cause. When they recount the impossible role of keeping peace in his harem, your brother’s sympathy will no doubt lead him to underestimate their treachery.”

He offered a perfunctory bow, hoping the simple explanation would suffice. Then, as suddenly as Adonijah had appeared, the idea for Ahishar’s diversion materialized.
Solomon’s sympathy!
The thought was so simple yet so profound.

“My lord!” he nearly shouted, and Adonijah jumped like a startled shepherd. “I have a plan that only you can accomplish. It will require all your wit and charm.”

Adonijah looked suspicious. “Don’t waste your cheap manipulations on me, steward. Tell me the plan, and I will decide its merit.”

Ahishar nodded demurely. “The queen mother is resting in the palace tonight. Go to her and ask that she beg Solomon to give you Abishag, David’s Shulammite nursemaid, as your wife.”

Adonijah paused, searching Ahishar’s face. “Solomon would never give me Abishag. He knows giving me one of Abba’s women would be like handing me part of his kingdom.”

“True, my lord, but one of the servants told me that King Solomon had grown quite attached to the girl, and—”

“All the more reason not to ask for her!” Adonijah’s eyes sparked dangerously.

“Please, my lord, hear me out.” Smoldering, the prince fell silent, and Ahishar continued. “A loyal servant reported that Solomon had spoken of his sympathy for Abishag’s plight. She will live in the harem of David’s women, never to marry or bear children because King David made Solomon vow that he would never bed Abishag or any of his women.”

Adonijah lifted a single eyebrow. “So why would Solomon give one of Abba’s women to me?”

“The same servant has observed Bathsheba’s jealousy of the girl Abishag. David’s queen knows her son shares his abba’s lust for beauty. She will be your ally, my lord, to remove this lovely temptation from Solomon’s presence.” Ahishar paused to allow the prince a moment’s consideration, hoping beyond hope Adonijah would show the same shortsighted ambition that foiled his first coup. “You could win Bathsheba’s goodwill and steal one of Solomon’s treasures.”

The two men shared a conspiratorial smile. “Abishag is quite beautiful,” Adonijah said. “But what makes you think Solomon would agree to give her to me?”

“King Solomon cannot have her because of his promise to your abba, and the king’s tender heart will be moved by Bathsheba’s argument for the girl’s happiness.” Pausing only a moment, he added, “We both know your brother can’t deny a pleading woman.”

Adonijah crossed his arms and then cupped his chin, deep in thought. “All right. I’ll do it!” he said with boyish delight.

“I believe you should go at once, my lord, to speak with Bathsheba. I’m sure she’s still awake. Who can sleep with this constant droning of mourners?”

Ahishar bowed to the prince and remained in the penitent position until he heard Adonijah’s footsteps retreating across the marble floor. Lifting his head, he reveled in almost certain victory.
Yes, foolish prince, Bathsheba will hear your request. She may even present it to her son. Then you’ll face Solomon’s fury, and I’ll once again be the undisputed leader of the Sons of Judah.

•
 1 Kings 2:13 
•

Now Adonijah, the son of Haggith, went to Bathsheba, Solomon’s mother. Bathsheba asked him, “Do you come peacefully?”

B
athsheba yawned and snuggled into her double-stuffed woolen mattress. She hadn’t slept since . . . well, she couldn’t remember when she last laid on a sleeping couch. After David’s death this morning, she had joined the servants in preparing his body for burial. It was one of the last times she’d ever see her beloved husband’s earthly shell. The thought pierced her.

After she had helped the servants wash, wrap, and anoint David’s body for burial, Solomon had seen her exhaustion and begged her to remain at the palace rather than return to her private home on the western ridge. She recognized the same weariness on his face and agreed. Glancing around the large, ornately decorated private chamber, she wished she’d returned home. This newly constructed chamber in David’s harem was lovely, filled with fine linen, pottery, and trinkets from distant lands. But she’d escaped the confines of harem life years ago when David built her private home. It was the grandest house in Israel, but David had called it their shepherd’s hut because it was secluded and peaceful, and during the hours he visited there, he could forget palace life.

Tonight, staring out this ivory-latticed window, she wished she could forget palace life and sleep. She tried counting stars. Before that, she’d counted sheep, goats, even herding dogs. But sleep was a miser unwilling to share its peace. Her mind whirred with memories of this morning’s bittersweet moments. She remembered Solomon’s tormented features, watching his abba slip away, but she also recalled David’s confidence in their wise son’s ability to rule.

Then came the dagger to her heart. The beautiful Shulammite lying atop David. Warming him. Caressing him. Loving him.

Tears wet her pillow.
I could have warmed him like that—before five children rounded my figure.
She knew the thought was ridiculous. David loved her. She’d always known she was his favorite, but sharing her husband with other women still tormented her.
Why must a king rule first and love last?

When David took Bathsheba from her first husband, Uriah, she knew that a relationship with the king of Israel would never be normal. But when David’s love for her blossomed, she consoled herself thinking,
Other women share his body, but I possess his heart.
And when their son Solomon was named his successor, she knew that she had won not only David’s heart but also Jehovah’s favor.

Then the Shulammite arrived.

Abishag’s presence had not only shaken the foundation of David’s love for her, it had unsettled an already boiling pot of unrest in the northern tribes. Had Jehovah removed his blessing too?

She snuggled further under a lion-skin cover that David had given her years ago and breathed in the musky scent of her husband. Thankful now that she hadn’t taken all of her personal items to her private home, she listened to the hum of midnight mourning and squeezed her eyes shut. She dreaded tomorrow. Solomon would lead the burial procession to their family’s tomb, and she would follow him on a white donkey. Her eldest son would be the king of Israel—alone, without his abba to guide him.

Can Solomon stem the tide of unrest in the north?
Her heart pounded, and she tried to calm herself, recalling David’s affirmation of his wisdom.
But who will our son turn to for guidance now that you’re gone, my love?
she asked the memory of her beloved. Fresh tears rolled onto her pillow as fear battled with despair.

Their quiet, intellectual son was indeed wise, as David pointed out, but he was young and easily distracted by beauty. Bathsheba remembered how impressed David had been when Solomon suggested the conquered Ammonites serve as temple construction laborers, their work to be considered a portion of their vassal payment. She also remembered David’s frustration when Solomon’s desires squelched his judgment, and their son took the Ammonite princess, Naamah, to be his wife.

Bathsheba squeezed her eyes shut at the memory. “You are too much like your abba,” she whispered in the darkness. “You can’t take a woman simply because she pleases you.”

Solomon had watched Abishag with the same growing fascination. David had recognized it too and challenged their son to rise above the temptation that had almost destroyed his kingdom—and nearly withered his soul. Solomon had promised he wouldn’t bed any of his abba’s women.

“You promised, my son. You promised,” she whispered.

Just then she heard a faint tapping on her door. Puzzled, she wondered who would disturb her this late. “Who is it?”

The iron hinges creaked, and Bathsheba’s handmaid peeked through the narrow opening. “My lady,” she whispered, “please forgive me for intruding, but—”

“Come in, Dalit. I wasn’t sleeping.”

The old woman’s round face glowed with kindness regardless of the hour. “I have some troubling news, my lady, but I’ve already called for an escort of Benaiah’s Cherethite guards to attend us
.”

Bathsheba’s heart pounded. Dear Dalit had been her childhood nurse and was no stranger to peril. It had been Dalit who delivered the news that Bathsheba’s first husband had been killed in battle—at David’s sly command. “What is it, Dalit? What’s happening?”

“Prince Adonijah has returned from En Rogel, and he’s asked to see you immediately.”

“At this hour?” Fear sliced through her, cutting off her ability to think clearly. “No! I won’t see him! Have the escort prepare my donkey to return home.” Bathsheba leapt from her bed and reached for her sackcloth robe and slippers.

Dalit reached out to steady her. “Bathsheba.” The use of her familiar name startled her but cleared her mind to hear Dalit’s words. “I don’t know what the prince wants, but he says it’s urgent. I’ve asked him to wait in the wives’ garden.” Guiding her mistress to a low stool, Dalit began fitting her head covering in place. “Your quick mind and clever forethought secured the throne for your son once before, my lady. Perhaps this rogue prince is up to no good again.” She placed a silver-handled mirror in Bathsheba’s hand and spoke to her reflection. “Find out what the prince wants, and then—as you did before—determine the best course of action.”

Allowing her maid’s words to calm her, Bathsheba took a deep breath and donned her robe and slippers. “All right, Dalit. When the guards arrive, have them escort Prince Adonijah to my chamber.”

The woman bowed quickly and left just as Bathsheba considered summoning Nathan the prophet. It had been his plan that thwarted Adonijah’s coup before. But because of the late hour, she decided to wait and see what the prince wanted before bothering the man of God.

Moments later, Adonijah arrived, and Bathsheba marveled that her beloved David’s features rested on such a hateful young man. Adonijah was only a dozen years younger than Bathsheba herself, and he was truly one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. But he was spoiled and selfish, and David had never corrected his wayward behavior. So he pranced about the palace as if the world owed him its praise.

“Do you come peacefully?” she said in her most regal voice.

Adonijah’s face softened and he looked . . . well, almost kind. “Yes, Queen Mother. Of course I come peacefully.”

Bathsheba almost wept with relief. But could he be trusted? As she studied him further, she noticed his eyes bore dark circles and he appeared thinner than he had days ago, when he’d attempted to steal Solomon’s throne. Tonight he looked almost like the adolescent boy she’d known when she first came to the palace. Her heart softened.

Realizing she hadn’t invited him to sit down, she said, “Would you like some refreshment—honeyed spring water, perhaps?” She moved toward her couch and directed Adonijah to an ivory stool opposite her.

“No thank you, my lady. I come with one humble request. I’m embarrassed, really, but my heart won’t let me sleep, and I haven’t eaten since I left the palace several days ago.”

“All right, Adonijah. You may ask it.”

“As you know, the kingdom was mine and all Israel looked to me as their king, but things changed, and the kingdom is now in Solomon’s capable hands.” He paused and then added, “As was the Lord’s wish.” He began wringing his hands. “I only have one request to make. Please, Queen Mother, please don’t refuse me. I’ve already lost so much.”

Bathsheba shifted uncomfortably on her couch at his uncharacteristic emotional outburst. “Adonijah, I cannot refuse or allow it if I don’t know what you want. Now, what is your request?”

“Please ask your son to give me Abishag the Shulammite as my wife. I have loved her since I first laid eyes on her.” Tears welled on his lower lashes. “I know King Solomon respects you and will listen to your counsel.”

Bathsheba stared at Adonijah, her mind whirring like a spindle. If Abishag married Adonijah, Solomon would no longer need to resist her as a temptation. He would be better able to concentrate on kingdom duties and perhaps even find a lovely bride with whom he could build a true relationship.

Focusing again on Adonijah, she noted his tears. They seemed sincere, and he certainly appeared to be tormented. She had last seen him on the day of the failed coup, after being dragged into Solomon’s courtroom. On that day, he still exuded an air of pompous superiority, though he was obviously defeated. Solomon spared his life on the condition of future allegiance.

Eyes narrowing to slits, Bathsheba asked, “Do you want Abishag because you hope to use her as leverage for another coup since she was David’s concubine?”

He seemed genuinely stricken. “No, my lady. As I said, the kingdom is now in Solomon’s hands. I love the girl.” He bowed. “As Abba loved you.”

The words pierced her. “You know nothing of your abba’s love for me,” she said coolly, remembering the battles in the harem with Adonijah’s ima, Haggith. No doubt he’d grown up with an earful of complaints about the favored wife before him. “I will speak to Solomon on your behalf before tomorrow’s burial procession, Adonijah.” He looked up with a hopeful grin, but she continued before he dared thank her. “Don’t make me regret helping you. I will ask this of my son, but you must remember whom God has chosen as the rightful ruler of Israel.”

Adonijah’s smile never dimmed. “I promise, my lady. I will never forget who the rightful ruler of Israel is.”

Arielah tossed and turned on her straw mattress, unable to sleep in the eerie absence of her brothers’ snoring. She and Ima were alone in their home. Perhaps for the first time ever. Arielah replayed the awful scene in the courtyard when Kemmuel dishonored their abba and Abba banished both sons to the sheepfolds. Her face twisted at the memory.
Why do you insist on hurting him, Kemmuel?
The question haunted her.

Using both hands to rub away the tension in her forehead, she turned her thoughts toward Jerusalem. Abba Jehoshaphat and Reu, the royal messenger, left Shunem shortly after the moon’s zenith. Both men had been exhausted, but they were determined to honor King David and arrive in Jerusalem for the burial procession. Reu thought they could get to the city by sunrise, but Abba knew the northern elders couldn’t travel as quickly as a single courier. He reminded them all that if they arrived too late to join the procession, they could still offer condolences by leaving remembrance stones at the royal tomb.

Glancing again out the small window above her sleeping mat, Arielah saw the first glow of sunrise.
Finally!
she thought.
If I go to the well early, I’ll miss the old gossips, and perhaps I can return to the house before Kemmuel and Igal find me.
She rose quietly and slipped on her woolen robe and leather sandals. When she emerged from behind the cooking stones, she nearly bumped noses with Ima Jehosheba.

“Oh!” Ima stepped back, eyes wide. “Arielah, I was trying to be so quiet. Did I wake you?”

Giggling, she fell into her ima’s arms. “No, I don’t think I’ve slept all night. It’s too quiet.” Pulling away, she saw tears welling in Ima’s eyes. A nod said she missed her sons’ thunderous snoring too. “I’ll go fetch some water from the well and return shortly.”

Ima swiped at her eyes. “Yes,” she said, “but go quickly. Your brothers will have seen your abba leave last night. They’ll know he isn’t here to protect you.”

Arielah reached for the large water jar to balance on her head and carried the smaller pitcher in her hand. Ima opened the door and followed her to the courtyard gate. Glancing toward the well, Ima said, “I see old Ruth is already at the well. Stay in sight of other women and your brothers will leave you alone.” She opened the gate and let her daughter pass.

Arielah pecked her cheek with a kiss and winked. As the sky grew brighter, women descended on Shunem’s well like flies on date cakes. For most, it was the sweetest part of their day, an oasis of gossip, grins, and girl talk. For Arielah, it was pure torture.

“What news?” Edna the matchmaker shrieked when she saw Arielah approaching. “Surely your abba said something of King David’s last hours. And that
messenger
!” she continued without giving Arielah a chance to reply. “He was barely sprouting a beard. I’ll bet he’s not married yet. I wonder if we could make a match for him here in Shunem. Although I realize we normally try to match within our own tribes. I wonder if he’s Judean—”