The Shepherdess

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “Thank you for coming, Abishag.” Her smile and gratitude both surprised and warmed me.

  I bowed low, then rose at her touch. “I am always willing to serve you, my queen.”

  “Come,” she said, leading me into her sitting room. How I missed our time together in these chambers. “I want you to sit to the side, near the window, when Adonijah arrives. Just behind the curtain.” She touched my arm. “Don’t let him see you. Stay hidden as you so often did in the king’s chambers.”

  I raised a curious brow, then slowly nodded.

  “I have a feeling I know what he wants,” she confided at my look. “I want you to be here as witness against him.”

  I carried a similar feeling, but I did not have the certainty she seemed to possess that all would be well. Still, I could not doubt her. I moved to the place she had assigned me. Bathsheba took a seat among the plush cushions in the sitting room. “Tell the guard to let him in,” she said to Tirzah.

  I leaned away from peeking out from behind my cover and tried to slow my breathing lest my nervous tension give me away. Moments seemed to move in slow motion, until at last the guard announced Adonijah’s presence.

  Bathsheba’s confident voice floated to me. “Do you come peacefully?”

  “Yes, peacefully.” From his arrogant tone, I could nearly see the look he always gave me and felt my face heat at the thought. “I have something to say to you,” he added, bringing a flutter of worry to my middle.

  “You may say it.” Bathsheba’s voice held an edge.

  Adonijah cleared his throat, but there was no waver in his tone. “As you know,” he said clearly, “the kingdom was mine. All Israel looked to me as their king. But things changed, and the kingdom has gone to my brother, for it has come to him from the Lord. Now I have one request to make of you. Do not refuse me.”

  It was magnanimous of him to give credit to Adonai, but no words he could utter could mask his insincerity. I clenched my hands, holding back the sudden urge to lash out at him. Bathsheba was speaking, and I forced myself to be the witness she had asked of me.

  “You may make the request,” she said.

  I heard the sound of shifting in a seat, of feet scraping the tiles, and I imagined Adonijah’s sudden discomfort. “Please ask King Solomon . . .” He paused. “He will not refuse you—to give me Abishag the Shunammite as my wife.”

  My breath hitched. Didn’t I know it? I gripped the edges of the chair and leaned even farther from the edge of the curtain, longing to melt into the wall or, better yet, flee through the open window. Had he heard my swift intake of breath? Heat moved from my face to my limbs, and anger slowly replaced my shock. The audacity! He spoke treasonous words. I had belonged to King David and now to his heir, Solomon. Surely Bathsheba would not give in to such a ludicrous request! But my insides melted as I heard her say, “Very well. I will speak to the king for you.”

  Adonijah thanked her, but I barely heard his retreating footsteps past the roaring in my ears. She could not do this. Could she? Was this to protect Naamah, to keep me from Solomon? I would live as King David’s widow forever before I would consent to marry Adonijah!

  Did I have a right to refuse, especially if Solomon agreed to the match?

  I could not move, fearing I might faint. But a moment later, the curtain parted and Bathsheba knelt at my side. “Did you hear?”

  I barely nodded. Words stuck in my throat.

  “I will go at once and seek an audience with Solomon,” she said.

  Tears filled my eyes. I could not stop them. Bathsheba noticed and pulled me into her embrace. “Do not fear, my dear girl. Adonijah has given us exactly what we need to secure Solomon’s reign.” She stood and patted my arm. “Do you want to come with me to the audience chamber? You may wait in the antechamber and listen.”

  I slowly nodded as her words penetrated my racing, anxious thoughts. She was not seeking an audience with Solomon on Adonijah’s behalf.

  She was seeking an audience on Solomon’s behalf.

  Adonijah’s request would soon cost him dearly.

  Tension pulsed in the very air as the queen and I walked—she with purpose, me with dread—through the nearly silent halls. Guards flanked us before and behind. Lamps set in niches in the walls caught the rubies draping Bathsheba’s neck and glittering from her bejeweled robe. Confidence emanated from her. I did not share her feelings.

  She left me in the side antechamber closest to the throne where I would be most able to clearly hear her conversation with King Solomon, then continued on with her retinue of protectors to the main chamber doors and allowed them to announce her presence.

  As Bathsheba neared the raised throne, King Solomon stood. Silence descended upon the court, and my heart beat with a mixture of awe and fear. Here in this place, Solomon did not look at all like the lover in the garden or the favorite son at his father’s side. Power seeped from the throne, from the many guards standing watch, swords at the ready. The brilliant colors and jewels set along the steps leading to the raised dais and the insets in the lion’s-head carvings of the throne spoke wealth and authority. Perhaps King David had carried the same aura of power, but I had not seen it. I had seen only a weak and frail companion, one who seemed unaware of the kingdom around him.

  A twinge of sorrow pricked my heart at the thought of my king. I had not expected to miss him as much as I did, but his loss had changed me. I no longer felt the joy I once did, and Rani did not make nearly so interesting a companion, a friend.

  I stood still, struck by a thought I had not pondered until this moment. I missed the friendship King David had offered me. Me, a poor young girl from Shunem. And yet the king of all Israel considered me his friend, even went so far as to confide in me.

  Tears blurred my vision as I watched in awe and some disbelief while King Solomon descended his throne to meet his mother and bow down to her. Every courtier and guard in the chamber followed the king’s example and also bowed in Bathsheba’s direction. Though they could not easily see me, I fell to my knees as Solomon had done.

  Solomon took his mother’s hand and led her up the steps, called for a throne to be brought for her at his right hand, and returned to his seat.

  “What brings me the pleasure of your visit, Ima?” Solomon said softly, though I did not miss the endearment he seemed unashamed to say even in such a public setting. He smiled at her, and I caught a hint of the man I had come to know, not simply the king who now reigned here. If not for his mother, he would not be king at all, I reminded myself. She had protected him then, and she was protecting him still.

  “I have one small request to make of you,” Bathsheba said. “Do not refuse me.” I could see the glint of fire in her gaze. Solomon seemed to notice, for he paused a moment.

  “Make it, my mother. I will not refuse you.”

  A slight frown rested between Bathsheba’s brows, but she quickly covered it with a smile. “Let Abishag the Shunammite be given in marriage to your brother Adonijah.”

  The previous silence could not compare to the awkward heaviness, the absence of breath, that lingered in the chambers now. A heaviness that weighted my heart and held me frozen to the place where I stood. But the mood abruptly transformed with Solomon’s sudden roar, a lion loosed from his cage.

  “Why do you request Abishag the Shunammite for Adonijah? You might as well request the kingdom for him—after all, he is my older brother—yes, for him and for Abiathar the priest and Joab son of Zeruiah!” The two men who had conspired against Solomon to set Adonijah up as king.

  I leaned closer to the opening in the antechamber, my heart beating as though in tune with a war drum. Solomon’s knuckles whitened on the lion’s-head arms of the chair, but as he met his mother’s gaze, a look of understanding swept over him, even peace. He drew in a breath and straightened, his hands suddenly releasing their heavy grip on the chair.

  He looked to his mother who gave the slightest nod, as though his response was exactly what she’d expected
. Then he turned to address the crowded hall of courtiers and guards, his expression hardened. “May God deal with me, be it ever so severely,” he said, his voice carrying its full weight of authority, “if Adonijah does not pay with his life for this request! And now, as surely as the Lord lives—He who has established me securely on the throne of my father David and has founded a dynasty for me as He promised—Adonijah shall be put to death today!”

  My stomach turned over, and my thoughts felt as though they moved through thick mud. Truly, Solomon was not a man to be trifled with but a king to be feared and obeyed.

  I leaned into the wall for support as the king summoned the chief guard, Benaiah son of Jehoiada, and said, “Go and strike down Adonijah.”

  I told myself to breathe as Benaiah offered a short bow, turned on his heel, and marched out of the chamber. King Solomon stood and helped his mother to her feet, and together they left the room.

  9

  By day’s end word had reached me of Adonijah’s death, Abiathar the priest’s banishment, and the death of Joab, King David’s former commander, between the horns of the altar. By week’s end King Solomon had also given orders to Shimei, the man who was said to have cursed King David, not to leave Jerusalem lest he too die a traitor’s death. Solomon had at last rid the kingdom and himself of all who had opposed him, of those whom his father had warned him to repay in blood.

  I wished I had not been privy to such knowledge when I attended the king. I had no heart for vengeance, even when it was exacted in justice. And though I had feared Adonijah, despised him more than a woman ought to despise any of God’s creation, I did not rejoice in his loss. So much bloodshed was nothing compared to the blood of war, I reminded myself, but I struggled to accept it.

  It did not help that weeks continued to pass without a word from Solomon or Bathsheba.

  My mood slipped into melancholy, something I had not experienced at any great length since Ima passed into Sheol. But now . . . now I questioned everything.

  Why did the sun shine so brightly when I longed for clouds to blot its warmth? Why did the food carry such a bitter taste? Why was the water in the mikvah not warm?

  The bitter gossips of my youth filled my thoughts. I was becoming just like them!

  But I could not stop myself. While I lay on my bed, my heart turned heavenward. Why did You make me? Why allow me the enjoyment of knowing King David’s kindness only to be the cause of Adonijah’s death?

  Still Solomon kept his distance. I was as invisible as I had been in Dekel’s household, though at least there the sheep had kept me company, and even Batya’s scolding acknowledged my existence.

  I searched my heart for some sin, some law I must have broken to cause my life such loss, such indifference by those living around me. Naamah had succeeded in keeping Solomon to herself. Bathsheba had not called for me since Adonijah’s death.

  I retreated to the women’s quarters with Rani as my only companion. But the girl seemed to tire of my silence, and as the days passed, I grew more listless.

  “Perhaps you should play one of King David’s songs, mistress,” Rani said one day in her continual attempt to cheer me. “Or we could work on the tiles together. There is much you could teach me and so much I want to learn.”

  She said the words for my sake more than her own, as I knew Rani preferred to visit the cooking rooms and talk to the other servants more than she cared to spend time with me in my current state. How self-absorbed I had become!

  “I liked your songs,” she said, still coaxing me.

  I forced a smile.

  “Perhaps a walk on the roof would revive you,” she suggested when I shook my head at her first comments. “You cannot stay within these rooms forever, mistress. You are always welcome to eat at Bathsheba’s table in the women’s banquet hall. Let me fix your finest robes and you can join them tonight.”

  Perhaps she spoke wisdom. My self-proclaimed isolation had only fed my feelings of abandonment. But I did not have to allow myself to remain here. I was secluded by choice.

  “All right,” I said with a slight nod.

  “The king will surely notice you.”

  Rani’s assurances brought the slightest hint of hope to my heart. But a moment later I realized her error. “The king will not see me, my friend. I will be eating with the women.”

  But his mother would notice, and Naamah would notice, and the one with the greater influence over Solomon would decide whether I was worth remembering.

  The banquet that night did indeed revive my spirits. Bathsheba hosted foreign wives of dignitaries, and Naamah was clearly the first wife among the women of the court whom Solomon had inherited from his father. I was among this group and tried to talk about trivial matters with one of the younger concubines. She seemed pleasant enough, and the flutists and harpists and later the dancing jugglers lightened the burden on my heart.

  But I noticed the slightest frown fringe Naamah’s brows when she glanced in my direction. Memories of her visits to King David’s rooms on Solomon’s arm surfaced, and I suddenly understood her struggle. Solomon had paid me undue attention during some of those moments. Surely Naamah had noticed. For the first time since my attraction to Solomon, I imagined how I would feel in Naamah’s place.

  Servants distracted me as they milled about, carrying golden platters filled with cups of spiced wine and sweet pastries. I nodded and smiled at something the woman next to me said, but I did not really hear her, for I could not shake the memories or the jealousy that still moved across the room between Naamah and me.

  Suddenly the room seemed too warm, the friendships too forced. I could not stay and abide the hurt I had surely caused Solomon’s wife. My very being here posed a threat, and the only escape was to retreat to my chambers and hope somehow to convince Solomon to let me return to Shunem. If he was willing to compensate me enough, I could live on my own, tending the sheep and goats, and return to the fields I loved. I would not need a man to love me. I had the beauty of creation to feed and comfort my soul. In those places, I knew Adonai loved me. I needed no one else.

  I stood abruptly, not seeing the large Nubian servant behind me, and nearly collided with him. “Forgive me!” I said, stepping away from his teetering tray. I breathed a relieved sigh when he righted the tray and none of the wine spilled.

  “Think nothing of it, my lady. I should have been more aware.”

  Of course he would say such a thing. A servant would never think to put the blame on a master, even such an insignificant one as I. “No, no,” I said, wanting to ease his irritation, which surely lay behind his broad smile. “I should have looked before I stood.” I nodded to the man and ducked behind my seat, then straightened and walked gracefully toward the banquet hall doors.

  No one stopped my exit, to my great relief. Bathsheba had been engaged in conversation with the ambassador’s wife from Egypt, a visit no one had expected given Egypt’s disdain for our people. But this particular pharaoh appeared to be impressed with Solomon’s rise to power and seemed to want to keep peace between the two nations.

  I drew in a breath, suddenly longing for something other than these stone halls. I made my way through the labyrinth of palace twists and turns until I came to the stairs leading to the roof that overlooked all of Jerusalem. I had brought the king here on the good days when the chill did not seep deep into his bones.

  Lights shone from the houses below me, and moonlight added to the glow of tall sconces that lit the corners of the parapet. Night breezes brought a refreshing chill to my heated skin, heat that came from the fresh knowledge of what I must do. Though my heart did not want to follow where my path clearly led.

  I moved to the edge of the parapet and took in the brilliance of Jerusalem’s evening glow. My breathing slowed and peace followed. It was good to be free of Naamah’s presence. Leaving this place was the right thing to do. If Solomon would allow it.

  I pressed both hands against the stone rail and lifted my gaze to the stars, little dot
s of sparkling jewels. A half moon tilted like a ship at sea, though I had never seen one, only heard Solomon speak of them when conversing with his father.

  Oh Solomon. How will I let go of my love for you?

  “They are beautiful, are they not?”

  I startled and turned so quickly I nearly lost my balance. But his hand steadied me.

  “My lord?” I slipped quickly to my knees and bowed low. “May you live forever, my king.”

  Silence followed my remark, though I heard him clear his throat as though my actions surprised him. He bent to grasp my hand and pulled me to my feet and into his arms. “I did not follow you here to be treated as your monarch.” He tipped my chin up. His lips grazed mine.

  “You followed me here?” I had not heard his footfalls, nor noticed anyone in the halls before or on the steps behind me.

  “Does that seem so impossible? A servant told me you had come. When my mother sent word that you had joined her banquet and that you were the loveliest woman in the room . . .” His voice trailed off, and his boyish smile caused a flip in my middle. “I had you followed.”

  I could find no words to respond to such a thing, so I simply nodded. He touched my nose and stroked his fingers along my cheek. “I am sorry I have neglected you.” He paused and glanced away a moment. “I feared you might harbor ill feelings toward me . . . because of Adonijah.” He looked at me then, his gaze searching.

  “You did what you had to do with Adonijah,” I said, trying not to remember the last words I had heard fall from Adonijah’s lips and the arrogant way he had said them as he requested my hand in marriage.

  Solomon did not speak. I searched his face, caught the fleeting look of vulnerability. “Had you hoped to marry him?” he asked at last.

  “No,” I said quickly. “I was quite relieved not to marry him.”

  He placed his fingers on the pulse at my throat. I swallowed, knowing he could feel the very beating of my heart. “I have missed you,” I said softly. “Have missed the music we played in your father’s rooms.” I lowered my gaze, sensing his desire.