Love’s Sacred Song

by Mesu Andrews

  Miriam was well acquainted with most of the men in the room. Her husband, Bethuel, had become the city’s most fashionable tailor and the court’s most gullible buffoon. While Bethuel sewed ornate couches and pillows for the king’s highest-ranking officials, his wife enjoyed intimate relations with his customers, opening political doors a tailor’s needle and thread could never unlock. Their twin daughters spent most of their lives waiting for their parents at the palace and had consequently grown up alongside royal heirs and noblemen’s children.

  But the maidens had learned more than manners of royalty. They were experts in deceit and seduction, second only to their ima Miriam.

  “Our Daughters of Jerusalem will teach Solomon’s current foreign wives to worship Jehovah and respect our heritage,” Ahishar explained lightly, keeping his true intent carefully hidden. “And I will work with Shiphrah and Sherah to ensure that any future foreign wives report a joyous marriage to their homeland. In this way, we will aid the Lord’s prophecy for Solomon’s reign and enjoy peace with nations on every side.” A wry smile raised one corner of his lips. “After all, a happy harem means a peaceful palace.”

  The advisors nodded and murmured congratulations to each other, though none had participated in the decision. Ahishar masked a wave of disgust. How could these men be satisfied with their crumbs of power when a banquet of ambition lay before them? Had they no imagination? Even his fellow Sons of Judah seemed fooled by the duties he’d concocted for the Daughters of Jerusalem. Couldn’t they see that when Shiphrah and Sherah served the exact opposite purpose in Solomon’s harem, Judah and Israel would finally be forced into civil war?

  The twins would encourage the king’s five foreign wives to worship their pagan gods, thereby enraging Judeans and Israelites alike. The Daughters of Jerusalem would then ostracize the few northern Israelite wives of both David’s and Solomon’s harems, showing blatant favoritism to the royal Judean women. When the Israelite wives complained—and they would most certainly complain—Shiphrah and Sherah would facilitate their grievances to their families back in northern Israel, hoping to stir more hostility. With reported paganism and favoritism rampant in the harem, northern Israel would undoubtedly strike, and King Solomon would be forced to declare war.

  Ahishar’s smile widened. But will Judah fight for a king who allows his women to worship pagan gods and rule his household? Judah would demand a stronger leader, and Ahishar would muster allegiance from the well-trained Judean military. Their five hundred thousand professional soldiers could overpower the ill-prepared eight hundred thousand northern tribesmen armed with winnowing forks and scythes. Solomon’s youth will be his downfall, Ahishar delighted silently, and Judah will be mine—the nation she was meant to be.

  Realizing the room was silent and all eyes were on him, Ahishar felt his cheeks burn. “Forgive me, my friends,” he said, shaking his head as if rattling stray thoughts aside. “I was just contemplating how much more smoothly King Solomon’s daily life can progress if he can live in peace with his women.” Unfurling a parchment, Ahishar laid it on the edge of the platform and lifted a candle from its base. “This decree affirms your support of the Daughters of Jerusalem. You may affix your personal seals to this document as your vote of approval.” Tipping the candle, he dripped a dollop of beeswax at the bottom and tugged at his leather necklace, lifting his seal from beneath his robe. He rolled his small cylinder across the warm wax as the first vote. “Next?”

  Seven of the men rose from their couches, but Abiathar, the old high priest, shouted, “Wait!” The advisors paused and glanced in his direction. “I have more questions. I believe we should discuss this further,” he said, searching the faces of his compatriots for support.

  Instead, the other council members exchanged awkward glances and looked to Ahishar for rescue. The palace high steward issued a subtle nod to four rough-looking soldiers at the rear of the throne hall. The guards advanced and stood directly behind Abiathar’s couch.

  “Palace matters fall under my purview, my friend,” Ahishar said. “And as you said before, it’s hardly a matter to pull you away from your warm bed. Why discuss it further?”

  Elihoreph was the first council member to step forward and press his seal into a fresh dollop of wax. The other Sons of Judah followed, their confident strides assuring Ahishar of their support, even in matters of which they had no knowledge. The high steward nodded graciously, more certain than ever that the less they knew, the more power he wielded.

  Next came the Israelite loyalists, and finally Abiathar. Hesitating beside the parchment, seal poised in his hand, he whispered, “I know you are up to something, Ahishar, but without proof or Benaiah’s strong presence, I cannot determine what.” His bristly eyebrows drew together, creating a single tuft like lamb’s wool above his eyes. “But I suppose two silly maidens in a harem can’t cause much harm.” Abiathar sighed and affixed his final seal to the parchment.

  Nodding silent direction to the burly Judean watchmen, Ahishar left no doubt that the meeting was over. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your faithful service to our king.” The watchmen opened the rear doors, and the soft sounds of mourners’ wails filled the courtroom. “Please return to your chambers and get some sleep. We convene court early for a few last items of business before we bury our beloved King David in the morning.”

  Sober nods and glistening eyes were the only answer. As retreating sandals exited the throne hall, Ahishar’s expression remained somber, but he silently reveled in this victory. One step closer to Judah’s rise to power, he ascended the marble stairs and gazed at King David’s throne. Glancing right and then left to ensure privacy, he melted into the finely embroidered purple cushions, placing his hands on the lion’s-head armrests. This throne will be mine someday, he thought, inhaling the overpowering aroma of cedar.

  A heavy wall tapestry fluttered. “Who’s there?” he said, leaping from the throne.

  “So, my palace weasel, it appears the Sons of Judah continue undaunted though my rebellion failed.” Prince Adonijah appeared out of the shadows and approached the dais. “Shall I bow, Ahishar?”

  The steward’s heart pounded. “No, my lord! No! I had no idea anyone was watching!”

  “Obviously. A man can be executed as a traitor for sitting on the king’s throne.”

  Adonijah’s smirk sent Ahishar’s mind reeling. I am leader of the Sons of Judah now. You had your chance to be king and squandered it with shortsighted planning. But his success rested on the ability to deceive. “My lord Adonijah, I fear for your safety. It was my understanding that King Solomon banished you to your home in En Rogel.”

  Adonijah’s face shaded, red as a pomegranate. “Solomon did not banish me! I chose to return home for a time, but I am the rightful leader of the Sons of Judah, and I will be king!”

  Ahishar bowed once more. “I meant no disrespect, my lord, and of course, you as King David’s son are the rightful leader of the Sons of Judah.” Ahishar had to think quickly. Adonijah’s return could draw unwanted attention to the Sons’ activities. The Mighty Men would undoubtedly be scrutinizing Adonijah’s every move. I must divert his attention from the Sons of Judah.

  “What is this plan about the Daughters of Jerusalem, Ahishar? If you’re taking care of the details, I assume it somehow benefits the Sons of Judah—and you.” Adonijah tugged at his collar, covering the fingernail scars on his neck.

  Ahishar smiled at the rogue prince. “Ah, yes. I believe you might remember Shiphrah and Sherah, my lord. The twin virgins of Bethuel, the royal tailor. They once resisted your advances”—the steward paused and then bowed—“foolishly, of course.”

  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 nobilit
y. 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.

  7

  • 1 KINGS 2:13 •

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

  Bathsheba 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 challe
nged 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.”