The Judgment

by D. J. Niko

  His face hardened. “Adonijah, who is not even your son. Why has he come to you?”

  Bathsheba lowered her eyes. “He believes you will not deny me.”

  “I have never denied you; it is true. But each request must be judged by its merit. I do not promise I will grant this thing, but ask it anyway.”

  “Adonijah wants to take a wife. He asks to be given Abishag the Shunammite.”

  Solomon took hold of the throne’s armrests and slowly sat back. His face was expressionless, but his eyes burned with insult. “Does he, indeed? Does he truly think he deserves the virgin who ministered to my father as he lay dying, all while Adonijah”—he spat out the name—“made merry with the men of the court, exalting his own name? What he asks is an affront to my father, to me, and to my kingdom.” He stood. “I never should have let him live.”

  “My lord . . . what do I say to him?”

  “Tell him nothing. I must deliberate on this. I will give you my answer by sundown.” He offered a hand to help her rise from the chair. “Good day, Mother.”

  Bathsheba’s golden bracelets chimed as she hurried out of the room. Solomon wrapped his mantle around his shoulders and walked out behind her.

  On the hour before sundown, Zadok received word that the king wanted to meet him at Gibeon. The priest made his way to the mountain posthaste. There he found Solomon sitting beneath an olive tree, his arms wrapped around his knees and his gaze fixed upon the city. He did not turn around as Zadok approached him from the back.

  “I have spoken to the Lord,” Solomon said.

  Zadok lowered himself with some effort and sat next to the king. He offered no words.

  Solomon spoke in a soft, even voice. “As I sat here weighing my decision, sleep came over my eyes and I leaned into this old tree trunk. In my dreams I saw a brilliant light and heard a thundering voice say, ‘What is it you wish for, Solomon?’ I looked away for fear of being blinded. I didn’t know what to say. And the voice continued: ‘Your father, David, was my loyal servant. This I do for his sake. Now ask what you will, and I shall grant it.’

  “I realized then the voice was the Lord’s and fell to the ground, lying prostrate before him. And I said, ‘O Lord, beloved God of Israel, I am but a child. How can I judge your people, whom you have chosen, when I know so little about the ways of the world? If I ask anything, O Lord, it is an understanding heart to know the difference between good and bad, so I can lead your nation with fairness and compassion but also with a firm hand toward those who trespass against you.’

  “And the Lord said, ‘Do you not ask for honor and abundance and long life?’ And I replied, ‘What good are those things if a heart is empty of truth?’ Then the light diminished and in its place came a terrible darkness, and I thought I had displeased the Lord.” He turned to Zadok.

  “Do not fear the darkness, Solomon,” the priest said. “The divine takes many forms. Spirit can exist in absolute beauty as easily as it can in bleakness. There is a duality to all things.”

  The young king nodded. “This I know now, for the Lord said, ‘You shall have what you ask and more also. Behold, I grant you wisdom the likes of which has never dwelled in the heart of a mortal. And though you have not asked it, you shall have boundless riches, victory over your enemies, and peace in your kingdom for all your days. You shall stand apart from all who came before you and all who will follow you.’”

  “This fate has been written,” said Zadok. “The Lord has chosen you. Do you remember what your father said to you before he died?”

  A stiff breeze swept across the mountaintop, tousling Solomon’s raven curls. He wrapped his mantle more snugly about him. “He said, ‘My son, I go the way of all the earth. The time has come for you to be strong and to lead our people. First and foremost, keep the ways of the Lord as it is written in the law of Moses. If you shall keep the Lord’s commandments and fear his judgments, you will be shielded from enemies and our nation Israel will prosper. Behold the Lord’s promise to me: ‘If your children and their children walk along the righteous path and stand before me pure of heart and mind, your kingdom will be established forever.’ This is your legacy, Solomon. Do not forsake it.”

  Zadok had stood beside King David as he spoke to his son for the last time. He was pleased Solomon had taken heed of the words, for he would have to bear their weight for his lifetime. “The Lord gives generously to those he favors. But such favor does not come without conventions. You must put Yahweh first, before your own earthly desires. Hear the advice of this old man: do not stray, or all will be taken from you.”

  Solomon gazed at the far horizon and sat in silence. His face was radiant, yet a vague sadness dwelled behind his eyes.

  Zadok knew what he was thinking. “What of Adonijah, my lord? Have you considered his fate?”

  “I have,” he said softly. “By wanting to wed Abishag, who was chosen from young women in all the land for the sacred duty of caring for the king of Israel, my brother is sending a clear message. Though he knows she must remain pure for carrying out with honor the grave task appointed her, he asks to defile her virginity. That is a sin before the Lord and a challenge to my sovereignty. This I cannot allow. I have sent word to Benaiah, the captain of the host, that Adonijah must die this day.”

  There was no uncertainty in Solomon’s voice. Zadok admired his resolve. It could not have been easy to order the death of a man who shared his own blood. “Your brother had the opportunity to live. In spite of his trespasses, you gave him his freedom; all he needed do was follow the path of virtue.”

  “Adonijah chose his own destiny.” Solomon sprang to his feet and offered a hand to the old man. “Come, Zadok. Let us not delay the inevitable.”

  As the sun painted the clouded sky above Jerusalem in shades of copper and pearl, Solomon and Zadok came down from the high place. By the time they returned to the city, day had departed—and with it a youth’s naïveté.

  From that moment, Solomon never looked back but plunged into his appointed task. Now, five years on, they stood before the stone shell that would become the temple of the Lord and the fulfillment of a promise.

  “My lord.”

  Solomon turned around.

  With head bowed and hand over his heart, the superintendent of the temple construction project stood a few steps behind the king.

  “What is it, Itai?”

  “My lord, a young man seeks to see you. He has traveled on foot from the hill country of Ephraim to ask for work.”

  “You need not bring such matters to me, Itai. It is up to you to evaluate and hire the workers.” Solomon started to leave.

  “My lord, he insists. He says his father was in service to your father.”

  The king looked annoyed. “Many men dedicated their lives to King David. That does not put me in their debt.”

  “He brings you this.” Itai held out a hand. In it was a triangle of faded indigo wool with frayed edges.

  Solomon frowned as he regarded the piece of cloth. He took it from Itai’s hand and rolled the wool between his fingers. “Bring him to me.”

  The prefect bowed and hurried away.

  Solomon studied the wool by turning it and holding it up to the light.

  Itai returned with a man who looked to be about Solomon’s age. He wore the knee-length tunic of a simple man and a turban of blue and white braided tightly around his head. The hard angles of his face were exaggerated: his nose was straight and sharp as the chisel of the stonemasons; his brow jutted forward; his cheeks were hollow beneath protruding bones. He was of thin build but didn’t appear weak. Zadok attributed it less to his constitution than to the raptorlike look in his eye.

  “This is he, my lord,” Itai said. “He calls himself Jeroboam, son of Nebat the Ephraimite.”

  Jeroboam kneeled before the king and bent forward so that his forehead scraped the dusty ground.

  “Rise, Jeroboam.” Solomon’s voice boomed across the mount.

  He did as commanded and stood
tall with his eyes fixed upon the king.

  Solomon held up the fabric. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “My lord the king, it is a piece of the cloak of King Saul, who hunted your father. It was cut by David’s sword in the cave at Ein Gedi.”

  “How have you come to have it?”

  “My father was with David in the cave. He was one of the men who followed him during the days of his rebellion and wished to see him anointed king. In Ein Gedi, your father’s enemy was delivered into his hands, but he chose not to kill him. Instead, he cut a corner of Saul’s mantle with a sword that could have just as easily been used to claim a life.

  “Even Saul, who was consumed with hatred, realized how admirable David’s actions were. There could have been a bloody battle in Ein Gedi that day, but because of this”—he pointed to the fabric—“King Saul retreated, sealing David’s fate.

  “Your father discarded the piece of the cloak, but my father saw something in it and picked it up. He kept it for long years as a reminder of what a man’s moral character should be.” Jeroboam placed a hand upon his heart. “Now it belongs with you.”

  A slight smile crept upon Solomon’s lips. Without moving his gaze from the bold stranger, he handed the cloth to Zadok. “What is it you want, Jeroboam of Ephraim?”

  “Work, my lord. I am able of body and strong of mind. Before he died, a year ago, my father instructed me to walk from Zeredah to Jerusalem”—he gestured toward the temple construction—“to help build the Lord’s house. I need not be paid. The honor would be enough reward.”

  “It is a long journey from Zeredah,” Solomon said. “And it would be a long journey back.”

  “I would be prepared to undertake it should you send me away. But I beg you not to.”

  The king turned to his superintendent. “Itai. Do you need stone haulers?”

  “I do, my lord.”

  “Show Jeroboam what to do.”

  Jeroboam again lowered himself on bent knee and bowed his head. “Thank you, my lord. I will not fail you.”

  “It is not easy work. You will labor hard.” He swung one end of his mantle over his shoulder. “It is how a man proves himself.” He walked away.

  Zadok followed, barely able to keep up with the young king’s spry gait. He contemplated Solomon’s sense of fairness, his tendency to give trust and generosity up front and let people either earn it or chip away at it. Those who proved themselves worthy prospered; there was no tolerance for the rest. That pliability born of benevolence, combined with unwavering strength when the situation called for it, had won him the favor of everyone from kings to paupers.

  Solomon spoke over his shoulder. “We must make haste, Zadok. Tonight we feast in honor of Hiram of Tyre. His caravan will arrive at any moment.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Zadok’s voice was labored.

  The king stopped and waited for the old man to catch up. It was almost as if he had forgotten his priest’s age.

  Zadok stopped before him, leaning onto his walking stick with both hands.

  Solomon put a hand on his shoulder. “I want you and Benaiah to sit on my right tonight. And make sure my mother and Nathan the prophet are honored guests.”

  The priest nodded.

  “Hiram has been a good friend to Israel—first to my father and now to me. This evening’s feast is most important. We must take our alliance with Tyre to the next level.” He narrowed his eyes and looked toward the city. “Jerusalem will be the greatest city in the East. It will be exalted by the faithful and feared by its enemies. It is the Lord’s plan; I am merely executing it.” He turned back to Zadok. “Many negotiations will take place tonight. I will need your experience and wisdom, Zadok, old friend. I want you to speak in my ear.”

  “I always have and always will, my lord.” It warmed him to utter those words. He was unconditionally devoted to his king.

  Solomon squeezed Zadok’s shoulder with a firm hand and said no more. He turned and walked toward the palace.

  Zadok straightened his back and braced himself for the long journey down. He mulled the king’s words: We must take our alliance with Tyre to the next level. Foreign lands and their monarchs were central to Solomon’s rule and instrumental in the expansion of his kingdom. Zadok felt a vague needling sensation in the pit of his stomach. The law of Yahweh warned against aligning with non-Hebrews, for they could turn the hearts of Israel’s children toward strange gods.

  Solomon was walking a fine line.

  5

  The banquet room was set with a cedar-plank table that stretched from one end of the hall to the other. On each place setting sat a glazed pottery bowl stamped with the winged lion insignia that had become the king’s mark. Clay cups were placed next to the bowls, ready to receive wine. In the middle of the table were vessels filled with fruit and footed dishes piled high with plump dates.

  Around the table were long benches and at least a score chairs, each seat occupied by a member of Solomon’s court: captains and officers of the army, mighty men bred for war, governors, judges, brothers and kin, decorated servants, prophets. The king and his honored guest had not yet arrived.

  Chatter, like the drone of bees, filled every corner of the room. Zadok took his place at the middle of the table, next to the high-back, carved-wood seat reserved for Solomon. He nodded to Benaiah, the stout army captain whose presence was so calm and quiet it was hard to imagine the lethal nature of his sword.

  No sooner had Zadok lowered himself onto his chair than a footman stood by the doorway, sounding an elongated brass trumpet. Following five short bursts and one long one, everyone stood. The room was as still and quiet as a tomb.

  “Their Highnesses King Solomon of Israel and King Hiram of Tyre,” the footman announced.

  Solomon walked in first. He was dressed in a long gown the color of the Mediterranean in summertime, cinched at the waist with a belt woven of metal and leather. A violet mantle with fringed ivory lining was draped luxuriously across his body and secured at one shoulder with a round buckle encrusted with jewels. The twelve points of his golden crown radiated from his head like the rays of the sun.

  In unison, the banquet guests placed their right hands upon their hearts and bowed to their king.

  Solomon turned toward the doorway and held out a hand in welcome to his guest. Hiram entered the room, and the two kings bowed to each other. Hiram’s dress was exotic, flamboyant even, surely influenced by the extensive trade his country had undertaken with Egypt and the lands to the east. He wore a brocade gown of Tyrian purple silk with golden embroidery at the hem, neckline, and trumpet sleeves. His bejeweled gold headdress extended his head by a span, making up for his lack of height. He was resplendent in his finery, though he had aged since Zadok last saw him, during the reign of David: now his full black beard looked as if it had been dusted with flour.

  The two men walked past Solomon’s genuflecting subjects to their place at the table. Solomon sat to Zadok’s left and bade everyone be seated. Servants came in through the back door with platters of charred meat and bladders full of wine.

  After the wine had been poured, Solomon raised his cup. “Tonight we feast in honor of Hiram, esteemed king of Tyre. Eat and drink to your hearts’ content, friends. The Lord be praised for our plenitude.”

  He took a loud gulp and turned to Hiram. “How was your journey, old friend?”

  “Alas, it gets longer as the years pass.” He laughed jovially. “But it was worth undertaking to witness what the son of the great David has achieved with his kingdom. Construction of the temple seems to be coming along magnificently. This surely would have pleased your father.”

  “We are proud of our progress,” Solomon said. “Thanks in no small measure to you and your generosity. The cedar logs you have sent by sea are the finest my eyes have seen.”

  “I have asked the best craftsmen in all of Lebanon to hew the timber. This I pledged to your father near the end of his life. He came to me and said, ‘Hiram, I endeavor to
collect the finest and most precious materials so my son and successor can build a house for the God of Israel. My son is but a babe; what does he know about such things? I want you to send me your best cedar and fir and algum that I may provide for Solomon. In exchange I shall give you all the food you desire for your house and for your servants’ houses.’”

  Solomon reached for a date and bit into it. “I have ordered my men to load your camels with wheat, oil, and honey. When you desire more, send word to me and I shall provide it.”

  “Your kindness overwhelms me.”

  “Speak nothing of it.”

  Hiram gnawed on a lamb rib until all that was left was bone. When he finished, he dipped his fingers in a clay bowl filled with rosewater. “Tell me, Solomon. What more can I do for you?”

  Solomon sat back and glanced furtively at Zadok.

  The priest nodded slightly, indicating the fruit was ripe for picking.

  “There is something,” the young king said.

  Hiram leaned forward. “Name it.”

  “Gold.” He paused. “I require a thousand talents of gold of supreme quality for overlaying the cedars that will cover the holy of holies from the floor to the roof, and for carving the cherubim that will guard the ark of the covenant, and for the chain that will be set in front of the altar. Whatever the sacrifice to glorify the Lord’s house in the highest, I will make it.”

  “You ask a great deal. Tyre—nay, all of Lebanon—does not have that kind of gold.”

  “I speak not of your own supply, only of your ability to procure it. You have a fleet of ships . . . and your men know the sea in a way my men do not. I can send a hundred servants to sail together with your seamen to the source of the finest gold: Ophir.”

  “Ophir is very far away, my lord Solomon. The journey there and back again will take three years at the least. And the waters are very treacherous.”

  Solomon put a hand on his ally’s shoulder. “If we do not venture, we will not gain. There are enough riches there for both our kingdoms. I say we should claim them.”