by Mesu Andrews
“These are the words of the agreement,” Benaiah’s voice boomed, “as it was signed in Shunem on the eighth day of Iyar. I, Benaiah ben Jehoiada, commander of Israel’s hosts, testify as friend of the bridegroom to its authenticity.” Turning to Solomon, he bowed and offered up the scroll.
Receiving it, the king handed it to Jehoshaphat. “Arielah is my wife, and I am her husband from this day forward.”
The men bowed to each other as the scroll was exchanged, and a whoop of celebration nearly rattled the shields hanging on the courtyard walls. Jehoshaphat embraced Solomon in an abba’s hug and then gave the scroll to Arielah as her lifelong treasure. Benaiah raised his hands for quiet, but the guests would not be stilled. Solomon recognized his friend’s distress, and knowing Benaiah’s aversion to public speaking, he thought it a good time to employ Nathan’s suggestion.
“Ahishar!” Solomon shouted, scanning the courtyard for his high steward. He spotted the man racing toward the dais. Patting Benaiah’s shoulder, Solomon chuckled and said, “Don’t worry, old friend, help is on the way.” It was at that moment that he actually saw Benaiah’s face—his stricken countenance, a shroud of pain. “Benai—”
“Yes, my lord?” Ahishar appeared, cheerful and eager.
Solomon had no intention of replacing Benaiah as friend of the bridegroom. He could read the accusation on his commander’s face. “Ahishar, I’d like you to quiet the crowd whenever Benaiah has an announcement to make as friend of the bridegroom.”
Benaiah’s eyes squeezed shut; his scar throbbed.
“My commander remains the host of these wedding festivities. I simply ask that you act as his high steward for the wedding, similar to the way you serve me at court.”
“I think that’s a splendid idea, my lord!” Ahishar’s enthusiasm would undoubtedly be a pebble in Benaiah’s sandal for the next thirty days.
Turning to his friend and commander, Solomon extended his hand and spoke quietly while Ahishar silenced the guests. “I meant no disrespect, Benaiah.”
The man’s expression softened, his giant paw grasping Solomon’s wrist.
“Now, make sure you move through the blessings and riddles quickly so my bride and I can enjoy our yichud.” The king winked and received a welcome smile from his friend.
Arielah fought panic, watching her feet and the mosaic tiles in the hallway where Solomon was leading her.
“Just a little longer, beloved.” His voice was laced with concern. “I’ll take the veil off as soon as we enter my chamber.”
She couldn’t stop shaking. How did any bride survive a wedding day? The frightening mikvah had turned into a joy, but the Daughters’ dark presence during preparations had clouded Arielah’s happy day. Solomon’s nearness during bedeken had nearly driven her mad with desire, but then to be blindly led among tittering maidens as they giggled and danced for a king’s pleasure—well, the already soaring summer temperatures made Arielah’s hot temper even more stifling under the veil.
But it was the child with the cloth that had frightened her.
Clutching the small red square of fabric, she lifted her hands beneath her veil and inspected the stitching again. Marah’s needlework. She and Arielah had sewn the same designs as girls a hundred times. Tears rolled down her cheeks. How could Marah be in Jerusalem? How dare she rejoice with the crowd at her wedding?
They halted, and Arielah saw the sandals of two large guards, warriors’ sandals laced to the knee. “Thank you, Ima,” Solomon was saying to Bathsheba.
She felt Jehoshaphat’s hands grasp her shoulders and draw her close to kiss her veiled forehead. “Abba,” she whispered, holding out her hand, revealing the traitor’s cloth.
“Where did you get this?” He fairly shook her.
“Shhh!” she said, certain Shiphrah and Sherah were watching and listening. “A little boy placed it in my hand during the processional. I thought he was giving me a gift like some of the other children, but when I saw what it was, I . . .”
Abba pulled her into a ferocious embrace and spoke in a strained whisper. “I’m so sorry, my lamb. Today is to be a day of rejoicing.” He swayed with her slightly—soothing, infusing her with peace. “Do not let your enemy triumph by robbing you of this moment. You have waited to become Solomon’s bride all your life, and you are about to experience God’s greatest gift.” Pausing, he squeezed her once more and then added, “Remember, my precious girl, yichud is your gift to each other. Let no one spoil it with distractions.”
His words soaked through the veil, penetrated her soul. When he released her, she took his hand and pressed Marah’s cloth into his palm. “I won’t need this, Abba. You can burn it.” No one could see the slight smile on her face, but it didn’t matter. Jehovah was lifting her spirit.
Arielah felt another embrace, the scent of saffron. “Remember the blessing, my lamb.” Ima’s tone was light, reassuring. Arielah was thankful she hadn’t heard the ugly truth of Marah’s presence.
A kiss on her cheek, and she heard Bathsheba’s voice. “I count you as my first daughter.”
Arielah’s breath caught, and tears welled in her eyes. Yes, this was a joyous day.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Solomon said, cradling her elbow, “my bride and I will say good night and good-bye. Please make our guests feel welcome while we enjoy our seven days of yichud. And, Benaiah . . .” He paused. Arielah felt a slight jolt as if he’d grasped his friend’s shoulder. “When we rejoin you for the remaining Days of Marriage celebration, you’d better plan some contests I can win. I need to impress my bride, you know.”
“You’ve always been good at puzzles, my king.” The commander’s voice held as much pride as any loving abba.
“We look forward to welcoming your bride to the harem.”
Arielah’s heart skipped a beat. That giddy voice ground her nerves like a stone grinds wheat.
The other Daughter of Jerusalem added her wicked taunt. “Your yichud meal awaits, young lovers! Eat and drink your fill!”
“Thank you, friends.” Nudging Arielah forward, Solomon added, “Benaiah, please wait here. I’ll have Hannah deliver the purity cloth for you to display to our guests.”
Arielah’s heart leapt to her throat. The shaking returned.
Solomon must have sensed her distress and gently encircled her waist. Leaning close as he’d done during bedeken, he whispered, “Forget about everything else, beloved. Think only of my love for you.”
No distractions. Different words but the same advice as Abba had given. Thank you, Jehovah, for wise men in my life. She leaned into her husband’s guidance, hearing the clicking of retreating sandals behind her.
Solomon led her forward and then stood before her. She held her breath. He lifted her veil.
Finally! The air had never smelled so sweet or felt so refreshing. And when she saw her surroundings . . . “Ohhh!” she said, twirling in a circle, trying to take in the splendor. “Is this the bridal chamber?”
Solomon chuckled softly. “No, beloved. This is my meeting room, part of my private chambers.”
She ran to the giant table, felt the smooth finish of its surface. Then to the couches, the tapestries—she even knelt down to inspect the rugs.
“What do you think?” he asked, clearly amused.
“I think we could fit half of Shunem in here!” she said, delighted.
“Would you like to see our garden?”
“We have a garden?” she squealed.
Arielah rushed in the general direction of Solomon’s pointed finger and discovered a veritable Eden. Standing in silent wonder, she examined the beauty and aroma of Solomon’s spring-fed plants and trees. An almond tree stood central in the garden with a lovers’ bench tucked beneath it. “I smell dill and cinnamon, and those are the most beautiful mandrakes and henna blossoms I’ve ever seen.”
He snuggled in behind her, and she turned to wrap her arms around his neck. “Thank you, my love.”
Solomon lifted her into his arms. “N
ow, let’s explore our bridal chamber.” He bounced his eyebrows and spun her in a full circle of delight. Solomon pushed open a door just beyond the last rosebush, and the aroma of their union meal overpowered the flowers.
“Oh, Solomon,” Arielah whispered, “I’ve never seen such beauty.” Breathless at the ambiance of paradise, she and her groom fell silent. A riotous blend of flower petals covered the floor, and rose petals decorated the white sheet on their bed. Lamplight and braziers cast an ethereal glow through the multicolored sashes draped through golden rings on the bedposts.
Hannah waited in the corner.
“How did you do all this?” Arielah wriggled out of her groom’s arms and rushed to embrace her maid.
“Well, I . . . uh . . .” the girl stammered, awkwardly patting her mistress’s back.
Arielah released her. “You have served us beyond my imagination. Thank you.”
A timid smile curved her lips. “Your abba’s aide, Reu, spent most of the evening helping me.” She smiled up at Arielah, a twinkle of romance lighting her eyes. “He offered to acquaint me with the palace too, but then his ima Elisheba arrived and put a stop to that.” Her face clouded slightly, but she bowed to address Solomon. “I beg your pardon, my king, but Elisheba, your palace cook, was rather offended when I insisted on making your yichud meal according to our Shulammite recipes. She made me promise to confess that the lentil stew is all my doing and she had no part in it.” Hannah peered at Arielah from beneath a furrowed brow, and the new bride bit back a giggle.
Solomon chuckled outright. “I’m sure your lentil stew will be quite tasty, Hannah.” Clearing his throat, he motioned to the small adjoining chamber in the corner.
“Oh!” The young maid’s eyes registered understanding, and Arielah felt her cheeks flame. “Mistress, I’ll retire to my room now, but I’ve tied these bells on a string so you can ring them during your days of yichud when you need nourishment.” Holding out a strand of five gold bells, the maid cast a final shy glance at Solomon.
“Thank you, Hannah.” The king nodded. “I believe we have all we need for the moment.”
She bowed, turned, and left the chamber before Arielah could even say good-bye.
Arielah giggled. “I think my maid was afraid of being a nuisance.”
“I think your maid was very perceptive.” He slipped one arm around her waist and drew her close. “Are you hungry?” he asked, leaning over her, crushing her to his chest. He brushed her cheek with his beard, inhaled the perfume at the curve of her neck.
She felt light-headed, closed her eyes, let her head fall backward. “I . . .” She couldn’t think. What had he asked her?
Before she could speak again, he covered her mouth with his—just for a moment. A full but gentle kiss. “I said, are you hungry?”
The kiss left her breathless. “Yes. Hungry, yes, but I want the blessing.” He raised an eyebrow, and she realized her mistake. “I mean, I want to sing my blessing for you.”
He smiled, looking pleased. Taking her hand, he led her to the bed. He drew back the beautifully draped sashes and cleared away the scattered rose petals. He sat down and patted a place beside him on the soft woolen mattress.
Arielah paused. Instead of sitting down as he expected, she knelt and touched his hand to her forehead—obeisance to her lord. Then she began the song Ima had taught her with the tune Bathsheba had sung in the mikvah.
My heart is stirred by a noble theme
as I recite my verses for the king;
my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer.
You are the most excellent of men,
and your lips have been anointed with grace,
since God has blessed you forever.
Gird your sword upon your side, O mighty one;
clothe yourself with splendor and majesty.
In your majesty ride forth victoriously
in behalf of truth, humility, and righteousness;
let your right hand display awesome deeds.
Let your sharp arrows pierce the hearts of the king’s enemies;
let the nations fall beneath your feet.
Your throne, O God, will last for ever and ever;
a scepter of justice will be the scepter of Your kingdom.
You love righteousness and hate wickedness;
therefore God, your God, has set you above your companions
by anointing you with the oil of joy.
All your robes are fragrant with myrrh and aloes and cassia;
from palaces adorned with ivory
the music of the strings makes you glad.
Your sons will take the place of your fathers;
you will make them princes throughout the land.
I will perpetuate your memory through all generations;
therefore the nations will praise you for ever and ever.
Arielah finished the song as Ima and Bathsheba had ended it. Precisely. Abruptly. She waited for his response.
Silence.
The chamber was full of shadows cast by lamplight, so she couldn’t see his expression. But he said nothing. Did nothing. She had offered him her blessing, but she feared that somehow she’d offended him. Rising from her knees, she stepped over to take her place on the bed, and the shadow cleared from his face.
She saw his tears.
Jaw flexing, he was fighting for control. “Beloved, I’ve never heard anything so beautiful in my life.” He buried his face in her neck and sobbed. Then in one fluid motion, she was in his arms, and he covered her like a blanket. His kiss was gentle, his love the culmination of every breath she’d ever taken. He caressed her cheek, searched her eyes. “Did you write the song, or is it a northern tune?” His eyes held an awed delight she’d never seen. “I’ve never heard it before.”
Brushing his hair from his forehead, she engraved his expression on her heart. She would remember this moment forever. “It is our sacred song, my love.” She began her story of the mikvah and their imas’ shared tune. They laughed in wonder at Jehovah’s dominion.
His eyes danced. “I’ve been working on another shepherd’s verse for you.” Tracing his finger down her neck, her shoulder, her arm, he leaned over her. “You are a garden locked up, my bride, a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain. You are a bountiful orchard of pomegranates with choice fruits, with henna . . .” He kissed one finger. “With nard . . .” Kissed another fingertip. “Saffron.” A kiss. “Calamus.” A kiss. “And cinnamon.”
Each kiss sent fire racing through her.
“With every kind of incense tree, with myrrh and aloes and all the finest spices. You are a garden fountain, a well of flowing water streaming down from Lebanon.” He turned her hand over and began a string of kisses at her palm, working up her arm. “I long to be washed by your fountain.”
Without pause, she said, “Awake, north wind, and come, south wind! Blow on my garden, and let its fragrance fill your heart. You’ve given me your garden, Solomon. Now I give you mine. Come and taste its choice fruits.”
Tenderly, joyfully, they shared the firstfruits of the marriage bed.
Arielah lay beside Solomon, gazing at the ceiling of their bridal chamber in the afterglow of dawn’s ecstasy. Solomon’s voice was a gentle whisper. “I have enjoyed my garden, my bride. I have gathered my myrrh with my spice. I have eaten my honeycomb and my honey. I have drunk my wine and my milk. You, beloved, have quenched every desire of my heart.”
Tears formed, but she had determined not to cry. “Our seven days of yichud are over, my love. We must return to our wedding guests, but part of lasting love is creating yichud within our daily lives.”
Solomon placed a finger at the corner of her eye, tracing a path for the escape of her tear. He’d become sensitive to her slightest change in emotion. “Let’s just stay here. Our guests won’t miss us.”
She gathered his hand, kissed his palm. “We must join the musicians and dancers in entertaining our guests, but we can return to yichud every night.” She sounded so brave,
but her heart was breaking. Fear threatened to rob her of breath. Would she have to leave the bridal chamber after their thirty days of marriage were over? Would he assign her a place among the other wives in his harem?
“I have never known a love like this,” Solomon said, looking more like a boy than a king. His tousled hair and short linen tunic showed his comfort in her presence. “Never have I trusted anyone so completely, Arielah. You have great power, my wife—power to break my heart if you so desire.”
“My only desire is Jehovah’s best for you.” Cautiously but determinedly, she ventured the truth once more. “I still desire your whole heart, and I’ll never settle for less.”
To her surprise—and delight—he didn’t refuse. But neither did he commit. Instead, he seemed lost in thought, his eyes distant. Arielah snuggled into his chest to enjoy their last few moments alone before rejoining their guests.
“Arielah,” he said, rolling over, coiling the linen sheets around them. He paused, lying on his back, and she looked down into his clear, content gaze. All worry, all burdens of his kingdom seemed far away. “For the first time in my life,” he said, “I understand how a man can be thoroughly satisfied by one woman. We will share this chamber from this day forward, Arielah. I need not ‘browse among the lilies’ any longer. You will be my only flower.”
Speechless, she searched his expression for some sign of mischief. If he was teasing, she would torture him slowly and let Benaiah help her! “You’re certain?” she asked, joyful tears dripping down on his cheeks.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything—except perhaps Jehovah’s wisdom,” he said.
She buried her head in his chest. “I love you. I love you,” she whispered.
He kissed her deeply and then held her face gently. “And I love you.” His eyes answered any lingering doubts his kiss left behind. “Now, let’s hurry and greet our guests so we can return to this chamber tonight!”
She giggled and slid off the mattress, then donned the linen robe Hannah had provided for her first walk to her private preparation chamber in the harem. Though she dreaded the experience, the promise of forever soothed the sting.