by Mesu Andrews
Jehoshaphat was humbled by his friend’s confidence and trust. His fears that the Shulammites would think him a traitor to the tribes and resist his support of Solomon’s reforms had been relieved in a most peculiar way. Many Shulammites confided that because he had championed God’s law in the face of Kemmuel’s rebellion, Jehoshaphat had been proven beyond reproach in their eyes. He had won their undying respect and deep sympathy. Those who might have questioned his motives before lost all doubts when Kemmuel was cast from that ledge on Mount Moreh.
Jehovah’s ways are unfathomable, Jehoshaphat pondered this morning. “Do you miss him?” he asked, finally breaking the silence. Two Sabbaths had passed since that awful day.
“I don’t think we ever had him,” Jehosheba said sadly, “but yes, I miss him. I miss hoping for him.” Her tears moistened the bend of his elbow, where her head lay. “I hate it when you make me cry in the morning,” she said, and they both tried to laugh a little. He felt her grip tighten around him. “Will Abishag’s family be among the crowd that welcomes the king today?”
Jehoshaphat’s heart squeezed a little. “I hope so. I’ve talked to her abba, and he assures me they’re happy for Arielah, but . . .”
“But?”
“But he has warned me to be diligent and get every detail of the agreement in writing.”
A long silence stretched between them.
“She loves him,” Jehosheba said finally. “And we know Jehovah has chosen her for this purpose.” Planting a kiss on his cheek, her eyes sparkled. “What other details do we need?”
He wrapped his arms around her and smothered her with kisses. She giggled like a maiden, and he gazed into the windows of her soul. “Are you ready to prepare our daughter to meet the king of Israel?”
The thunder of horses’ hooves announced King Solomon’s approach and shook the ground beneath Arielah’s slippered feet. Lotioned and bejeweled, she felt a little silly in the blue linen robe and gemstone head covering the king’s messenger had delivered at dawn.
She’d been awakened by an awful pounding on the door in the early glow of morning. “King Solomon sends a gift for the prince’s daughter!” a royal servant had squawked louder than any rooster. Ima Jehosheba accepted the package kindly while Arielah peeked out from where her sleeping mat lay behind the cooking stones. Ima had rushed her into their bedchamber, removed Arielah’s woolen tunic, and banished her worn sandals to a shelf in the corner.
“A whole day of primping is necessary for a newly betrothed bride,” Ima had said.
“We’re not officially betrothed,” she reminded Ima, “until the king approves of me and signs the agreement.” Ima waved away her words like a fly from rising dough and continued primping. When finally Ima Jehosheba placed the polished bronze mirror in Arielah’s hands, the image was a stranger. Gone was the rugged shepherdess she’d seen reflected in the mountain streams. She saw herself, but better. Even her cheeks were almost healed of their blisters. She was a shepherdess dressed for a king.
Drawn back to the moment by the approaching chariots, Arielah watched the caravan race across Jezreel’s lush green plain. A veiled carriage jostled on four golden orbs. “Abba! Look! It’s as if four giant suns carry the coach across the valley!”
Jehoshaphat’s easy laughter calmed her. “Yes, my lamb, that’s Solomon’s carriage.” Leaning down, he spoke over the growing noise around them. “The king described it to me last week, but I must admit, my imagination fell short. He said it was acacia wood, and every detail—down to the last spoke—was covered by hammered gold.”
“Oh, Abba! I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
Jehoshaphat kissed the top of her head and tilted her chin. “I have.” With a wink, he released her.
She giggled, looking right and left, and pecked a quick kiss on his cheek. The Shulammites graciously tolerated their affection, knowing abba and daughter shared a precious bond.
Jehoshaphat’s family waited at the front of an entire village. Every man, woman, and child stood behind them—in physical presence and in heart—gathered outside the cactus hedges surrounding their city wall. North and east of the prickly and the pointed, however, grew lovely vineyards and groves of fruit trees. Shunem’s landscape seemed as contradictory as her people’s frayed emotions. Of course, they were honored that Arielah would become Israel’s treaty bride, but Abishag’s shame was not forgotten.
Glancing over her shoulder, Arielah glimpsed the expectant faces of Abishag’s family. For the hundredth time, she wondered if a treaty wedding would heal their wounds or tear open half-healed scabs. Merchants’ gossip had brought hope with Prince Adonijah’s marriage proposal, but horror replaced it with word of his execution. Abishag was assumed to be in David’s harem. Assumed to be. No one could attest to seeing her in the palace.
Focusing again on the procession, Arielah noticed the king’s Mighty Men following Solomon’s carriage. “Abba, is it normal for a betrothal procession to include such a large military presence?”
He patted her hand and gave a shrug. “What is normal for a king?” His attention returned to the procession, but Arielah thought she sensed unspoken concern in his reply.
The parade again stole her attention—this time the royal flocks and herds. Running and leaping behind the king’s herdsmen, they left their aromatic contributions to the Jezreel Valley’s rich soil. Arielah stole another glance at Abba. It was the responsibility—and privilege—of the host to provide meals for his guest. So why did the king bring his own flocks? Again, was this normal, or would Abba consider the king’s flocks an insult to his hospitality?
“Look at that carriage!” Edna the matchmaker shouted, intruding on Arielah’s thoughts.
Purple and blue veils flowed through golden rings around the outer framework. Arielah longed to run to the coach and fling open the door. Solomon, you are mine! A slight giggle escaped her lips. Abba smiled down at her, and she was glad he didn’t know her thoughts.
Arielah had never experienced a man’s kiss, but the tenderness she witnessed between her parents made her ache for it. She saw the way their eyes held each other, the way Abba took Ima’s hand and gently closed their bedroom door each night. She allowed the giddiness of a young girl to consume her, tracing her lips with her finger. Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth! she thought with a playful grin.
This time she looked at Ima and discovered her looking back with a deeply furrowed brow. Oh my. Perhaps imas could read their daughters’ minds.
Arielah ducked her head shyly as the royal stampede pounded closer. She reached for Abba’s hand. Moments later, she felt the gentle touch of Ima’s grasp wriggling into hers. Tightening her grip on both parents, Arielah felt her hands tremble—or were theirs shaking too?
Solomon was almost here.
The treaty bride agreement was really happening.
“Be at peace, my lamb,” Abba whispered in her ear. “Your heart will win his devotion. Indeed, you were created for this moment in Israel’s history.” He squeezed her hand, and the trembling eased.
Finally the royal procession slowed, but a lone rider sped forward on his sleek stallion and skidded to a halt when he reached Arielah and her parents. He positioned his mount directly in front of the king’s carriage, effectively blocking her view. After a quick dismount, he slapped the horse on its hindquarters, sending it in the general direction of a panicked stable boy. Clearing his throat, the herald crowed, “People of Shunem, the king of Israel, Solomon, son of David, has arrived!”
He paused. When no wild applause erupted, he issued a disgruntled huff. Another attendant placed a stool on the ground in front of the carriage, and the steward stepped up to open the door.
Finally! Arielah thrilled silently. Probing the cabin’s interior, her eyes caught a momentary glimpse of pillows and fine linen just before she met the glaring disdain of one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. She heard herself gasp. She had expected Solomon’s masculine features, but instead
a second maiden emerged from the carriage! The two stepped out of the king’s coach in a flurry of linen and pearls, their eyes hurling daggers at Arielah.
The Daughters of Jerusalem. Arielah should have expected them. Abba had warned about Ahishar’s plan to “train” the Daughters of Jerusalem. Abba had understood the steward’s sinister message. Not only would the twins accompany the king on this journey, but they’d also aid in Ahishar’s quest to divide Israel.
Arielah returned the twins’ stares and considered her enemy. They stood side by side as though one would topple over if the other moved. They wore identical purple robes with gold thread woven into delicate designs. Sheer linen scarves and belts accented their soft curves. The woman on the right looked at Arielah with a superior smirk, revealing a slightly crooked front tooth. The woman on the left boasted the only other distinguishable physical difference—a beauty mark just above her snide grin. Both wore gold necklaces, rings, and bangles, accenting vibrant eye paints and flowing veils. These maidens were stunning, and everything about them was calculated to intrigue a man.
Jehoshaphat leaned close so only Arielah could hear. “They are beautiful, my lamb, but do not fear them. We do not yet understand their game, but Jehovah will give us wisdom.” Abba touched her cheek, and her heart warmed. She closed her eyes in silent gratitude. He knew her so well. In Abba’s presence, her greatest fears were exposed and conquered, and his love enfolded her like a woolen blanket.
The Daughters of Jerusalem approached. The one on the right gasped. “This little goatherd cannot be the proposed bride!” Gliding like a willow in the breeze, she offered a condescending hand. “Greetings, little shepherdess.”
Before Arielah could respond, the other twin sidled up to her sister. “My, how painful your face must have been to show such lasting scars.”
Jehoshaphat stepped forward, tipping the sisters back on their heels.
“Forgive me,” the first twin said, “we haven’t been properly introduced.” Issuing a scathing glance at the steward, she stepped back and bowed in unison with her sister.
Clearing his throat again, the steward obeyed the silent command. “I present the Daughters of Jerusalem. The fair maiden on the right is Shiphrah, and on the left is lovely Sherah.”
Arielah felt utterly exposed and intolerably flawed. An antagonizing smile spread across Shiphrah’s perfect face. “It is our duty to prepare you for the king’s harem, little shepherdess.” Lowering her voice to be heard by only Arielah and her family, she sneered. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a more impossible task.”
Fury creased Abba’s brow. He leaned in and ground out the words, “You will speak to my daughter with respect. She will be your queen.”
Fire lit in Shiphrah’s eyes, and she stepped close to Jehoshaphat, whispering seductively, “So you say.” Arielah heard garbled phrases, but the last words were clear. “Ahishar sends his regards, prince of goats.” Shiphrah stepped back to rejoin her sister, bowing humbly as if offering Jehoshaphat total submission.
Rage bubbled up inside Arielah. How dare she speak to her abba that way! But the crowd’s collective gasp drew her attention to the king’s carriage. The Daughters of Jerusalem grudgingly turned from their verbal battle, relinquishing the attention they seemed to crave.
Arielah’s heart pounded. She saw him. The face that dwelt in her dreams now appeared at the doorway of the resplendent carriage.
18
• SONG OF SOLOMON 1:2–6 •
[Beloved] Your love is more delightful than wine. . . . No wonder the maidens love you! Take me away with you—let us hurry! Let the king bring me into his chambers.
[Friends] We rejoice and delight in you; we will praise your love more than wine. . . .
[Beloved] Dark am I, yet lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem. . . . My mother’s sons were angry with me and made me take care of the vineyards.
Solomon waited in the carriage. He should have stepped out the moment he heard the herald’s introduction, but fear bound him to the seat. Shiphrah and Sherah suggested he wait in the coach until they stepped out to prepare Jehoshaphat’s daughter for the greeting. But they were just being kind. He hated to think that his fear might have been obvious.
He heard footsteps approaching the carriage door, and a swarm of bees stirred in his stomach.
Benaiah’s face appeared in the doorway, and his warm, confident eyes held no derision. “Come, my lord. Your friends are waiting to greet you.”
Solomon nodded and let out a sigh. This journey into the heart of northern aggression had sounded so logical when Jehoshaphat had suggested it, but Ahishar had raised valid concerns after Shunem’s judge left Jerusalem. His high steward had confided the hostilities King David’s advisors had experienced while selecting Abishag as nursemaid. Solomon decided then to double his royal guard and remain in the carriage for the duration of his journey north—no mingling with northern travelers for the son of David.
Bending under the doorway, he faced the waiting Shulammites who stood three camel lengths away. Would they hold Abishag’s fate against him? Stepping onto the footstool, he halted. Benaiah continued, but Solomon was in no hurry to follow.
Shiphrah and Sherah stood in front of the crowd, and Solomon silently thanked Ahishar for sending them as companions for the journey. On the second day of their jostling through the wilderness, Shiphrah had ventured an interesting question. “What if Jehoshaphat’s daughter is as ugly as a frog?” she’d asked, wide-eyed. “You will have risked your life for nothing!”
Solomon smiled at the memory.
“King Solomon, I pre—” Benaiah began, but stopped when he realized Solomon remained at the carriage. Returning to the coach in six long strides, the commander appeared annoyed—and then his features softened. “Solomon,” he whispered, “I would not escort you into an ambush. Jehoshaphat is our friend.”
The king studied his top soldier. Had Benaiah become too friendly with Israel’s district prince? Benaiah had seemed different since returning from Shunem. Though away from the palace only five days, his tolerance for Ahishar had plummeted. Whenever the high steward mentioned aggression from the northern districts, Benaiah accused him of agitation and bigotry. Perhaps Benaiah’s defense was stirred by sympathy. He’d mentioned that during the single day he’d spent in Shunem, he’d witnessed Jehoshaphat’s son stoned. Maybe both men having lost sons forged a deeper friendship than Solomon realized.
“Are you ready, my lord?” Benaiah’s eyes held no censure, no lingering annoyance.
“Please order another guard to accompany us,” Solomon whispered. “I wish to be flanked on both sides as I approach the single most hostile village in Israel.” He hoped his commander perceived the mild censure. Solomon wasn’t prepared to wager his life on a Sabbath-old friendship, even on Benaiah’s good word. The commander bowed and signaled for a second guard to approach.
Walking between the double guard, Solomon stepped from the stool. Still glancing right and left, he remained alert for the slightest hint of attack and halted two paces before the crowd.
“King Solomon,” Benaiah began again, “I present to you Prince Jehoshaphat, his son Igal, his daughter Arielah, and his wife Jehosheba.” He motioned the northern family forward to meet their king.
As they drew near, Solomon for the first time allowed himself a moment of curiosity. Ahh, the shepherdess. Emboldened by the presence of his guards, he took a step closer but couldn’t get a glimpse of the girl who stood behind her abba. “Shalom, Prince Jehoshaphat, governor of Israel’s tenth district.” A soft rumble fluttered through the crowd, and Solomon feared that he’d incited hostility with a simple greeting. He watched for the glint of a sword or an approaching rebel, but instead he heard a calm, kind voice.
“Shalom, my king.” Jehoshaphat bowed and stood before him with a warm smile and a hand extended in friendship.
Focusing on the man he’d met just over two Sabbaths ago, he saw genuine welcome in Jehoshaphat’s eyes—no hostility or
hidden motive, as Ahishar had warned. When Benaiah had returned with the terrible news of the stoning in Shunem, he’d offered no details—only that Jehoshaphat was a righteous abba who carried out judgment on a rebellious son. Glancing at the large young man behind Jehoshaphat, Solomon wondered if having a remaining heir was the reason for Jehoshaphat’s enduring gentle spirit. Fine lines around the governor’s eyes and mouth showed signs of sadness, but the subsequent changes in Benaiah’s character seemed more pronounced than those of the man who had lost his son. The commander had returned to Jerusalem with no patience for Ahishar, causing a palace civil war between the king’s top two advisors.
Stepping forward to grasp Jehoshaphat’s offered hand, Solomon finally warmed to the idea of this northern visit, a short reprieve from palace chaos.
And just beyond her abba’s shoulder . . . was Arielah.
“You’ve chosen . . . beautiful day . . . meet . . . beautiful betrothed.” Jehoshaphat was speaking—quite loudly, actually, presumably for the benefit of the gathering. But Solomon heard little of it, so consumed was he with the young woman standing beside her abba.
This girl was quite different from Abishag. Abba David’s Shulammite possessed a beauty rivaled only by the Daughters of Jerusalem. But this girl . . . What has happened to her face? He tried not to stare at the patches of skin peeling from her nose and cheeks. Yet underneath the damaged skin, there was a natural beauty that shone. This little shepherdess possessed an earthy stateliness.
Jehoshaphat was finishing a sentence. “. . . So honored to have you—”
“May I?” Solomon motioned toward Arielah.
Jehoshaphat’s expression registered surprise, and Solomon cursed himself silently. He must be more polite.