by Mesu Andrews
Stroking Marah’s hair, he held her close. Was she really so different than he? She offered pleasure to wealthy men. He offered marriage to wealthy nations.
“Lead me to your chamber,” he said. “We will indeed feast on love until . . .” He paused, thinking of Arielah’s words. “We’ll feast on love until the day breaks and the shadows flee.”
Marah’s smile lit her countenance. She led him and his stallion down a narrow street where red veils glowed in lamp-lit windows. “Oh, a shepherd’s verse. How lovely.”
Arielah waited long into the night for Solomon’s return, but she heard nothing after his angry shouts subsided. She yearned to rush into Shunem’s streets and declare her love, agreeing to whatever he demanded of her. But she knew Solomon must choose to return. He must step toward her in the dance of love Abba described.
When she finally drifted to sleep, Arielah experienced the fitful sleep of a lovers’ quarrel. She dreamed of searching for Solomon in Shunem’s southeastern district, calling for him, but to no avail. In the fog of dreamland, she passed two guards, opened a red-veiled door, and found Solomon watching Marah. She was dancing.
Arielah bolted upright in her bed, cold and clammy, shivering in the predawn darkness. Why had she dreamed of Marah? They’d been like sisters after Marah was orphaned at five years old. Abishag’s family had adopted the girl, but when Marah became promiscuous, Abishag’s abba accused her before the city elders. She was convicted of immoral acts worthy of stoning, but Jehoshaphat showed mercy and spared her life.
Arielah still remembered Marah’s white-hot rage. “You elders are hypocrites,” she screamed. “Whose sons made me this way?” In her twisted heart, she vowed vengeance on the judges and their families.
Arielah couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t erase the memory of her dream—Marah dancing before Solomon. Surely the king of Israel would not visit a common harlot. But her self-assurances faded as she considered Marah’s hatred of Jehoshaphat’s family.
And Solomon’s fury would make him vulnerable to her adept manipulation.
Arielah rose from her mat, slipped on her woolen robe, and picked up her sandals, then tiptoed around Igal and Reu as they slept in the family’s main room. Abba’s words echoed in her mind. Love grows like a dance . . . sometimes pursue . . . other times step back. When she saw Marah dancing in her dream, she knew it was time to pursue Solomon.
She glanced at her parents’ bedchamber and offered a silent prayer. Jehovah, give me the courage to forgive Solomon—no matter where I find him. She continued rehearsing Abba’s words as she hurried out the door and into the courtyard. A man’s character is defined by more than a single decision. The words terrified her but propelled her toward the southeastern side of the city.
The predawn glow threatened her anonymity on the rough side of town. Marah’s home stood separate from the other harlots’ hovels. The common prostitutes barely survived in the crumbling, tattered section of Shunem’s southeastern wall. They received Marah’s castoffs, men a respectable harlot—if there was such a woman—would never entertain. Marah’s customers arrived by appointment, while the other women paraded through the streets after dark and concluded their business by dawn. All of them redefined love with dark and dangerous meanings, but Marah was most dangerous of all. In her arms, love meant exploitation and ultimately power. Marah was the champion of her trade.
Cold morning air enlivened Arielah’s senses. Dew covered every surface, causing dust from the streets to cake her sandals. An old straw mat shifted on the path, and a furry creature scurried into a hole. She shivered but continued her march. Turning the corner, Arielah saw the glimmer of lamplight in the windows. Her heart pounded wildly when she saw Marah’s red veil garishly displayed on the door. It was the prostitute’s signal to other suitors. Marah still had a customer though it was almost dawn.
The dream flashed in her mind: Marah dancing, shedding her veils as Solomon watched hungrily. What if it were true? What if Arielah found Solomon in Marah’s arms?
Suddenly two rough hands seized her and shoved her against the stone wall. Her head snapped back and hit hard, causing her vision to blur. A panicked scream escaped before she could stifle the cry.
“King Solomon does not need more company.” The words were a growl, seething between clenched teeth.
Arielah’s vision cleared, and through the shadows, she saw two men. One of them recognized her at the same moment her disbelieving tears began to flow. “Benaiah?” she breathed.
“Arielah! Please forgive me. What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” His eyes shifted to the other guard standing beside him. “Hezro, go back to guard the door.”
The man saluted his commander, right hand to heart, and Arielah spoke the moment he stepped away. “Have you seen him? Is he really in there—with her?”
Benaiah squeezed the back of his neck, releasing a long sigh. “I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t stop the tears. Trying to distract herself from the moment, she asked, “Did you hear Solomon at my window last night?”
His eyes were kind, patient. “Actually, I left for Megiddo after you went to bed. Solomon’s escort from Jezreel came to Shunem and questioned the old guard at the north gate. One of the watchmen rode to Megiddo to alert me, and I arrived to discover Solomon had been approached by a woman at the well.”
As if announced by his high steward, Israel’s king emerged from the red-veiled door, light from Marah’s clay lamps illuminating his weary face. “Hezro,” the king said, clapping the guard on his shoulder, “so you’ve found me. Did Benaiah send you?”
“Solomon?” Arielah’s voice sounded strange in her ears, like someone else spoke his name. Benaiah placed a hand on her arm. His strength and protection gave her courage.
Solomon’s head snapped toward her. He seemed dazed for a moment, and then sheer horror registered on his face. “Benaiah, how could you bring Arielah here?”
The captain’s hand tensed on her arm. “She found you, my lord, with no help from me.”
Solomon’s head fell forward. Unbearable silence. Benaiah was the first to shatter it. “Hezro, come. We’ll wait for the king at the southern gate.” Squeezing Arielah’s arm, he added, “I’ll make sure the city gates remain closed until after dawn.”
She closed her eyes and nodded her understanding. The commander had just ensured their privacy until daylight. No one on this side of town would disturb them. They were all tucked in their beds alone after a long, busy night.
Arielah waited until the two soldiers disappeared around the corner, and then she looked at the disheveled robes of her betrothed while he scratched at the dirt with his toe. She felt rage. Humiliation. Defeat. “Why did you choose her?” Arielah’s voice sliced through the morning air.
He didn’t look up. “Because you refused me.”
Arielah ran at him, her hand raised, aching to slap him. He lifted his chin, waiting for the blow.
A man’s character is defined by more than a single decision. Abba’s words echoed in her mind.
She stopped less than a handbreadth from Solomon’s face. He winced. She let her hand fall to her side.
He opened his eyes, and disappointment shadowed his expression. “Hit me, Arielah.” Unshed tears filled his eyes. “Jehovah knows I deserve it—and more.”
“Yes, Jehovah knows!” she cried, and then glanced at the homes around them. Lowering her voice, she said, “He alone knows why you would crush my pure love and polish a cheap substitute.”
“Because your love is impossible!” he shouted in a whisper. “It’s unattainable, and I don’t understand it!” Grabbing her shoulders, he drew her close, their lips nearly touching. She felt the warmth of his breath in the cool morning air. “Leave me alone, Arielah.” He pushed her away. “Just go. I’ll make restitution to your abba somehow. I’ll find a way to appease the northern districts.”
“The northern districts?” She could barely speak past her pain. “This”—she pointed to Marah’s
door—“is not about the northern districts. This is about a decision you made to intentionally hurt me!” She watched a war of emotions on Solomon’s face, and then she stared at the dusty path between them. How many steps would it take to bridge the gap his betrayal had created? Glancing up again, she saw that Solomon’s head was bowed. “You talk of ‘restitution’ to my abba, but what about me, Solomon? What will you do to restore my trust?”
Before she could brace herself, he rushed at her again. He closed the distance between them, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her. “I can never atone for what I’ve done. Don’t you understand? I understood that embracing last night’s darkness disqualified me to ever hold your light.” He released her and stepped back. “You can’t forgive this, Arielah.”
She looked down at their feet, the gap between them gone. Love grows like a dance, a series of steps, a string of decisions, Abba had said.
“I can choose to forgive you, Solomon, and I can even love you still.” She paused at the wonder on his face. “If you will let me.” Her mouth spoke the words before her heart felt the emotion. He had hurt her deeply. This was not the Solomon of her dreams. This man was real, flawed, not easy to love. But Abba was right. In order to build the love she longed for, both she and Solomon must take steps to live it out.
“How could you ever love me after what I’ve done?” Tears dripped into his curly black beard. “I slept with a harlot, Arielah.”
His confession nearly caused her to retch. Lord Jehovah, she prayed, he’s right. How can I love him? Give me Your love for him. Seeing self-loathing in Solomon’s eyes, she knew he was repentant, but for how long? Was it an enduring sorrow or a fleeting regret? “You said you chose a harlot because I refused you. I’m telling you now,” she said firmly, “I have never refused you, Solomon. I have simply asked you to wait, to set aside your fleeting passion and choose a love that considers another before yourself.”
Arielah watched tears erupt from the deepest places in Solomon’s soul. His shoulders shook, and he covered his face. “This love you speak of does not exist!” Arielah reached up to comfort him, but he looked startled and stopped weeping as if remembering a long-forgotten dream. “Abishag.” He whispered the name into the morning air and then met Arielah’s gaze. “I saw that kind of love when Abishag cared for my abba.” Sadness replaced the wonder in his voice. “I will never be that kind, Arielah. It’s simply not in me.” His hands fell limp at his side, his stare vacant. His lifeless bearing was more terrifying than his sobs.
Placing her arms around his shoulders, she guided him away from Marah’s door, thankful the woman hadn’t intruded. Solomon followed her direction, and the two found another quiet street and settled onto a bench at the weaver’s back door.
Solomon regained a measure of awareness but still refused to look at her. “I’m the king of Israel,” he said. “But I’m not like Abba David, Arielah. He was a warrior. I’m a negotiator. He built Israel, the nation, by winning battles. I am building Israel, the kingdom, through wise covenants.” He swallowed hard. “You were right when you said last night was about you, but you must also understand, it was a decision that will affect my kingdom.” Pressing both fists into his eyes, he rested his elbows on his knees and released a deep sigh. “With what shreds of honor I have left, I will go to your abba, confess my wrong, and seek his guidance to keep peace in the north.” Finally, lifting tear-filled eyes, he gazed longingly at Arielah. “I release you from the treaty bride agreement. Your love would starve to death in my harem.”
Arielah’s heart stopped, and a sob escaped. “No!” She could say no more, her throat too tight, her emotions too raw. “No!”
Solomon held her, rocked her. “Beloved, I cannot bear the thought of hurting you again.”
“But it was your choice to bed Marah that hurt me!” She controlled her whispered shout, hoping no one heard—yet realizing that the whole town would hear the well gossip by midday.
He traced the line of a tear down her cheek. “It’s not just Marah, Arielah. You told me in the meadow and again at your window. You want all of me, my singular devotion.” Gathering her again into his arms, he whispered, “A king can make no such promise, beloved.”
As if they were adrift on the stormy Sea of Gennesaret, she clung to him, tossed and torn by the reality of his harem. She’d spent so much time dreaming of Solomon, she’d given little thought to lying in his arms moments after he’d held another. Could she commit to this life? Loving this man and saving her nation—even if she never received the love she longed for in return?
The eastern sky was brightening. Their time was slipping away. Sitting up, she tilted his chin to meet her gaze.
A sob escaped his lips. “Please, beloved, don’t make me look into your eyes. I can’t bear the thought of saying good-bye to those beautiful eyes.” He laid his head on her shoulder like a child.
“From the first moment these eyes saw you,” she said, “I loved you. I signed our wedding agreement because of that love.” Lifting his head with a gentle nudge, she met his gaze once more. “You signed the treaty agreement because it will unite Israel. My prayer is that you will someday choose to love me as I love you. However, if that day never comes, I will live in your harem knowing with deep certainty that I am loved by God—Jedidiah.”
He gasped. “My name. No one has ever called me by that name.”
The wonder in his eyes assaulted the wall around her broken heart. “I overheard you and Abba talking about the name Jehovah gave you at birth through the prophet Nathan. God loved you at birth, before you’d established any goodness or worth.” She looked at his lips and imagined them kissing Marah. Her stomach turned, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Lord Jehovah, help me. I cannot forgive him in my own strength. “I don’t know what lies you believed that convinced you to settle for darkness when you could have waited for light, but I know this . . . Jedidiah. God’s love always forgives—even when our love fails.”
She watched understanding dawn in his eyes. “I believed I could never equal your love,” he said, wonder seeping into his voice.
A sprig of hope budded in her soul. “You see, it is not my love you should envy or imitate, but the sacred love of Jehovah to which we should both aspire.”
With the same hand that had caressed Marah, he lightly touched her cheek. “With all my heart,” he whispered, “I want to know this love, Arielah.” His expression had changed, humility and hope seeming to nudge aside pride and self-loathing.
But has your heart truly changed?
The rooster crowed, and the weaver chose that moment to fling open his door and shake out a rug. “Oh my!” he sputtered. “King Solomon! Forgive me . . . Arielah . . . what?”
Arielah wiped the tears from her cheeks and took Solomon’s hand, coaxing him to his feet. “Shalom, Dodo. The king and I appreciate the use of your bench this fine morning!”
The weaver stood gawking as Arielah led Solomon down a narrow street to Shunem’s southern gate. Benaiah stood beside several watchmen and nodded approvingly when the couple passed him on their way to Jehoshaphat’s home.
Solomon slowed when he realized their destination. “You want me to talk with your abba now?” His steps came to a halt at the courtyard gate. “Arielah, wait. How do I begin? What do I say?”
“Abba heard some of our conversation at my window last night.”
“Oh no!” Solomon buried his face in his hands, crimson instantly consuming his neck. “I might as well ride back to Jerusalem right now. He’ll never agree to let you be my bride after what I said—”
Arielah placed a quieting hand on Solomon’s warm cheek. “He gave me this charge: a man’s character is defined by more than a single decision, and love is made of more than a single step.”
Solomon’s eyes softened at the redemptive hope.
Arielah reached for his hand, opened the gate, and started walking toward the house. “Now follow me into my parents’ bedchamber, where we can talk privately.” Though her he
art was still heavy as a millstone, she nearly giggled at the shock on Solomon’s face.
“I am not barging into Jehoshaphat’s bedchamber at dawn!” Solomon’s voice echoed in the morning stillness just as the cedar door swung open on leather hinges.
“Good morning, King Solomon.” The prince of Shunem stood somberly at his front door.
Solomon glanced behind him, wishing Benaiah had accompanied him to meet Arielah’s abba. She tugged on his hand, urging him into the family’s main room. He nodded his greeting. “Good morning, Jehoshaphat. I, uh . . . I . . .”
“Would you like some warm goat’s milk and figs?” Jehosheba sat near the cooking stones, her tone kind but not overly inviting.
Perhaps they’re poisoned. “Thank you, no.” Solomon offered a half smile and nod, quickly surveying the room. The hulking brother, Igal, and the palace courier, Reu, were seated by a leather table mat in the center of the room. In the dim firelight and rising dawn, he could barely make out their faces, but everyone seemed more sad than angry.
“Why don’t you join me in the bedchamber, my king?” he heard Jehoshaphat saying.
Startled at the invitation, he cast a questioning glance at Arielah, who said, “I told you, it’s the only private room in our home, my lord.”
Jehoshaphat ushered both Solomon and Arielah into the small chamber. Stacked wool-stuffed mattresses lay in the corner with a bedside table and lion-skin rug completing the modest furnishings. The prince did not offer any polite chatter or formalities. “Solomon, my son, I’d like to hear what’s on your heart this morning. How do you feel about what has happened between you and my daughter?”
Solomon’s initial apprehension grew to panic. How could he begin to describe his tangled feelings about Arielah? The meadow? Living without her in Jerusalem? The desert ride from Jezreel? Last night in Marah’s arms? He winced at that thought. “I’m not sure, uh . . .” Oh, Jehovah, give me wisdom!