by Mesu Andrews
Solomon stared at the hand on his shoulder, and the steward quickly removed it. Solomon was in no mood to build a relationship with this bowl-eared man. Though his one-time chief secretary had been cleared of conspiracy charges before last Sabbath, Solomon still replayed the scene of the man’s interrogation in his mind.
Solomon had ordered the throne hall emptied, leaving only himself, Benaiah, and Elihoreph in the imposing courtroom.
“How did you discover Ahishar was a traitor?” Benaiah began, standing over Elihoreph, who knelt before the king.
The chief secretary’s hands were cupped before him as if holding the answers to the king’s quest for truth. “I overheard Mahlon and Elisheba talking about Ahishar’s involvement with the Sons of Judah.”
“So you lied in my courtroom,” Solomon said. “You said you heard Ahishar with your own ears!”
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but no,” Elihoreph said all too calmly. “Remember my exact phrase. I testified that I heard the words with my own ears. I didn’t say I heard Ahishar speak them.”
Solomon tried to recall the man’s exact testimony. Since Elihoreph was chief recording secretary, the written transcript would no doubt reflect whatever words best served him. So Solomon asked a question to which there was no written record. “So tell me, Elihoreph, if you knew of Ahishar’s involvement in the conspiracy, why did you wait until your queen was beaten before alerting Benaiah to the danger?”
The man’s calm exterior cracked slightly. “When Mahlon and Elisheba realized I’d heard them talking, Mahlon begged me not to tell anyone for fear that Ahishar would make good on his threats to torture Elisheba’s son, Reu.” Elihoreph sniffed back some emotion. “What was I to do, my lord? I wasn’t sure whom I could trust among your leaders.”
The man seemed convincing, but Solomon wasn’t satisfied. “Bring Mahlon to my courtroom. I want to hear his version of the story.”
Elihoreph cast his first uneasy glance at Benaiah. “I . . . well, our friend Mahlon . . . he . . .”
“What?” Solomon thought surely he had caught the secretary in deceit.
“Despite my protective silence, Ahishar discovered that Mahlon had confided secrets to Elisheba, and . . .”
“And what?”
“Ahishar tortured Mahlon and had his tongue removed.” The secretary swallowed hard, and Solomon’s sense of shrewdness turned to regret. How could he proclaim the presence of God’s wisdom when his own high steward mutilated a scribe, attacked a queen, and only Jehovah knew what else—all without a hint of suspicion from Solomon?
“We can summon Mahlon to this courtroom,” Elihoreph offered, “but I’m afraid he’ll only nod when asked to testify.”
The king had no stomach for more interrogations. Benaiah brought in other witnesses who testified to Elihoreph’s unyielding loyalty to the king, so the chief secretary was cleared of involvement in Ahishar’s deceit and promoted to the high steward’s position. However, both Benaiah and Solomon remained cautious in his presence. They remained cautious in everyone’s presence.
Benaiah burst through the courtroom doors, startling Solomon back to the moment. His resolute march up the center aisle made Solomon groan. “What, Benaiah? I can tell by your face it’s bad news.”
The big man glared at Elihoreph. “I’d like to talk in your private chamber—alone.”
“All right, my friend,” Solomon said, hoisting himself off the throne. “Elihoreph, go to bed. Dream of beautiful women who love you dearly and give you fat babies that grow up to take care of you in your old age.”
The steward was utterly speechless. Precisely the point. Solomon followed Benaiah toward the hidden door behind his throne, bowing under the tapestries when the big man shoved them aside. His private meeting chamber was a bevy of activity, but a single nod ordered a cup of wine and cleared the chamber for the king and his commander.
“So what makes you pout like one of my wives, Benaiah?” Solomon asked, folding his legs beneath him on the goatskin rug by their customary ivory table.
Benaiah wasn’t amused. “I can’t find a second witness willing to testify against the others involved in Arielah’s assault.”
Solomon felt anger warming his neck and cheeks. “How hard can it be, Commander?” He tried to control his venom, but his voice began to quake. “You have Oliab, and he’s told you the names of the other watchmen that helped him. Get one of them to testify against the others. Make a deal. Promise one of them I’ll be lenient. Lie! I don’t care what you have to do to get them into my throne hall, but do your job, Benaiah!” He slammed his hand on the table, upsetting the cup of wine that a servant had placed in front of him. The red liquid dripped from his face, beard, robe, and hands.
Benaiah handed him a cloth he had tucked in his belt. With utter calm, he said, “The other attackers have vanished. We’ve searched their homes, asked their neighbors and families where they might be, but they’re gone. Oliab has testified that he knows of only two others involved in the plan . . .” He hesitated. “You’re not going to like what I have to say. Are you sure you want to hear it right now?” He motioned to the wine staining the king’s robe.
Wiping his face and hands, Solomon said, “Yes. Tell me.” Offering the wine-soaked cloth back to his friend, he met his gaze and dared him to distress him.
“Oliab swears it was the Daughters of Jerusalem who ordered him and his partners to attack Arielah.” The commander’s scar throbbed, and Solomon swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
“That is ridiculous.” He kept his voice subdued, emotionless. “They are young maidens who have lived and socialized in the palace most of their lives. How would they ever have occasion to communicate with men like Oliab and his friends?”
“They are beautiful young women surrounded by hungry Judean guards, men who would willingly carry messages for maidens trained in seduction by their ima Miriam.” Benaiah lifted an eyebrow, and Solomon recalled the questionable reputation of the girls’ ima. He’d heard some of Abba David’s advisors joke coarsely about the tailor Bethuel’s wife.
“But you have no proof—and no second witness against Shiphrah and Sherah either.” His voice sounded more hopeful than unbiased.
“No . . . and no.”
“My lord.” Elihoreph knocked but didn’t wait for an invitation before he fairly ran into the room.
“A door was intended to make people knock!” Solomon shouted. “Guard! Who let this fool walk into my chamber without permission?”
But before he could chew anyone’s ear off, Queen Sekhet appeared with only a single Nubian guard at her side. “I must see you now.” She stood feet apart, arms crossed—a warrior’s stance.
Solomon squeezed the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he addressed Queen Sekhet first. “You will not barge into my chamber and command me. Leave now and knock on my door, waiting outside for permission to enter.” He matched her stare, waiting for her to yield. Finally, with a menacing scowl, she turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind her.
“And you!” Solomon said to Elihoreph. “Your fear of my Egyptian queen does not excuse your impertinent entry to my chamber. You too must knock to gain permission.” When the steward started to speak, the king silenced him with a raised hand. “Permission is denied, Elihoreph. I dismissed you earlier. I do not want to see you again until sunrise unless the ark itself is on fire! Understood?”
Duly repentant, the steward bowed just as a loud pounding was heard on Solomon’s door. Elihoreph’s eyes bulged. “Do I have to walk past her to leave your chamber, my lord?” Terror was etched on his features. Solomon almost said yes just to watch him squirm.
“No, Elihoreph. You may leave through the throne hall door this time.” Glancing in Benaiah’s direction, he saw the stifled grin. As the steward left, Solomon waved aside his chamber servants. No doubt Sekhet would take off their arms if they opened the door too slowly. Hesitating with his hand on the lock, he threatened his commander, “You
stop your laughing or I’ll aim her fury at you!”
Benaiah held up hands of surrender as Solomon opened the door.
Sekhet entered alone, her Nubian guard evidently dismissed for the night. “All your servants may leave. The commander may stay.” She walked directly to the table where Benaiah sat and lowered herself on the goatskin rug beside him.
Solomon’s weariness fled, as did his servants and guards. Shaking his head, he joined his friend and the Egyptian queen at the table. “Sekhet, my bride, we really must discuss the boundaries of your authority.”
Benaiah laughed out loud, but the lion-wigged woman appeared confused. “I am a queen, you are king, and they are servants. I see no problem with this.”
The commander scratched his beard and tilted his head as if to say, Yes, Solomon, explain the problem to us.
“Is there a particular reason you barged into my chamber, Queen Sekhet?” Solomon’s weariness returned, sapping any patience for his Egyptian wife’s etiquette lesson.
“Why haven’t you visited Queen Arielah since her beating?”
The air suddenly grew tense, all amusement gone.
Solomon stared at his sandals. “Benaiah, you may go.”
“No,” Sekhet said. “He may stay.”
“Your boldness grows tiresome, Queen Sekhet.” Solomon pinned her with a stare. “I do not wish to discuss Arielah with both of you in the room.”
“And why is that?” Benaiah spoke softly, but the eyes that met Solomon’s were determined to have an answer.
“She has asked for you,” Sekhet added, placing her hand over his. Her sudden tenderness startled him.
“What is this? Did you two plan to ambush me?”
Sekhet glanced at Benaiah and offered a comrade’s nod. “Your commander and I have become acquainted in the time we’ve spent with Arielah and her family.” Returning her gaze to Solomon, she said, “I have seen love work a miracle in your queen’s life, my husband. You should see what your God has done.”
Shocked, he couldn’t speak. He’d avoided seeing Arielah for over two Sabbaths by staying busy, reassuring his other wives, making grand pronouncements about catching the offenders. All the while his guilty heart screamed, You are to blame. How could he face Arielah when the last time he’d seen her was through a broken door of anger and neglect? The two faces before him pleaded silently, but they didn’t know, didn’t understand the depths of his shame. How could he ever look into Arielah’s dove eyes when all he would see there was the reflection of his broken promises?
“Please leave, both of you.” He rose from the table and walked toward his sleeping chamber.
“Solo—” Benaiah stopped his familiar address. “My lord, she has already forgiven you. Just go to her.”
He stopped but didn’t face them.
“Be a man.” Sekhet’s voice was filled with venom. “Be a king.”
He didn’t answer. He stood alone, cold and unmoving, until he heard their retreating footsteps. And then the door clicked shut.
Swallowing his third fig, Solomon washed it down with goat’s milk and watched the Daughters of Jerusalem fairly float into his private chamber. Their flowing veils created an ethereal presence, and he wondered for the millionth time if he was making a mistake. “Welcome to my breakfast table,” he said brightly. “Please join me.” He motioned them to the two goatskin rugs beside his ivory table.
The twins bowed in unison, precision being one of their strengths. “We are honored,” Shiphrah said, daintily descending to her knees. “What service have we rendered that we should deserve the privilege of breaking the fast with our king?” A slight quiver niggled at the corner of her forced smile. Sherah knelt on her goatskin, eyes darting from her sister to the king, seeming equally unnerved.
“I have reached a decision that will affect my harem, thereby affecting you two.” He watched their reactions carefully, this invitation a test of their motives. “I have delayed my court proceedings until after midday in order to visit Arielah.”
The twins exchanged concerned glances. “My king.” Sherah spoke first. “Do you think it wise to see your poor wife in her current state?”
“And what state is that?” he asked, challenging the slow-witted twin.
“My sister simply asks,” Shiphrah intervened, “that you consider the shepherdess and her feelings before you go. She might be embarrassed by her disheveled appearance.”
Solomon could feel his anger rising. “She is a shepherdess no longer, Shiphrah. She is my wife and your queen.”
Color drained from both women’s faces. “Of course, my lord,” Sherah conceded. “The queen might feel inadequate before you.” Something flashed in her eyes, and then she smiled sweetly.
“Arielah has never been inadequate.” He held her gaze and signaled the end of his meal. A chamber servant poured water on his hands as he held them over a silver bowl. “I’d like you to accompany me to her chamber,” he said casually and then watched uncertainty color their cheeks. “I plan to give her divorce papers, and you two will serve as my witnesses.”
The hint of a smile crossed Sherah’s expression before she tucked it into wide-eyed concern. “Oh, my king, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize she displeased you so thoroughly.”
“She doesn’t displease me, Sherah, but I cannot ensure her safety in Jerusalem until we completely destroy the nest of vipers called the Sons of Judah.” He leaned over the small table, grinding out the words. “And we will destroy everyone conspiring with the Sons of Judah.” He relaxed onto his rug, wiping his hands dry.
“Well, I should hope so!” Shiphrah huffed, coaxing Sherah to nod affirmatively. “None of your wives are safe. If these traitors are bold enough to attack one queen, they could surely attack any of the others.”
“They do not want the others.” Solomon’s throat tightened with emotion. “They want the one I love.” The Daughters lowered their eyes and fiddled with their veils. He didn’t dare confide that it was love that prompted his divorce, love that was about to alienate the only woman who had ever captured his heart. “Elihoreph!” he shouted, causing the twins to jump. “Where is that divorce scroll?”
“You may enter, King Solomon,” Hannah said, opening her newly repaired chamber door. Arielah watched the girl cast daggers with her eyes.
But it was Solomon who captured her attention. She was seeing him for the first time in almost two full moons. “Solomon,” she whispered too softly for anyone to hear. His eyes were downcast, seemingly afraid to look her way. He searched the room, nodded at Abba and Ima, and hesitated when he saw Queen Sekhet. Then finally—almost painfully—his gaze wandered to Arielah’s bed.
He didn’t gasp. It was more of a blow, as if someone had landed a fist in his gut. His complexion grayed; his shoulders sagged.
Would he turn and go? The thought seized her with fear. She lifted her hand, beckoning him to come, but he stood rooted to the floor.
“Welcome, my king.” Ima Jehosheba stepped forward, lacing her hand inside his elbow, directing him toward Arielah’s bed. Nudging ever so gently, she spoke softly as they walked. “We are grateful you have come.”
As he drew nearer, his resistance grew until he pulled his arm from Ima’s grasp. He was a single pace from Arielah’s bedside. Close enough to speak, far enough out of her reach. The silence became awkward, and finally he spoke. “You are beautiful, my darling,” he said in a raspy voice. Clearing his throat seemed to strengthen his resolve. “You are as lovely as Jerusalem, when her troops are arrayed with banners.”
She watched him wince. Surely he must realize how ridiculous that sounded. She was not beautiful. She had asked to see her reflection in a mirror and had seen her emaciated face covered with half-healed green and yellow bruises around her eyes. Half-healed lips and new patches of hair testified to the scourge that had been used on her head. “Jerusalem’s troops are not majestic to me, my love,” she whispered. “It was troops such as those who did this to me.”
His
face twisted in sorrow, tears immediate. “Turn your eyes from me, beloved.” His voice broke in a sob. “They overwhelm me.”
He stepped away, and Arielah tried to reach out. But the pain was still too great.
“Poor dear.” Shiphrah pushed past the king and stood by Arielah’s bed. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal.”
Sherah followed her sister’s lead, blocking Arielah’s view of her husband. “Yes, but you’ve emerged the victor!”
Solomon loudly cleared his throat and returned to Arielah’s bedside, still out of reach. He had wiped his eyes and affixed a regal bearing. “Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from Gilead,” he said. “Your teeth are like a flock of sheep coming up from the washing. Each has its twin, not one of them is alone.” With the cold repetition of his tired shepherd’s verse, her heart shattered into smaller pieces. “Your temples behind your veil are like the halves of a pomegranate . . .” His voice trailed off. Did he realize the indifference on his features cut her more deeply than the scourge had?
“Is your heart so completely shallow that it holds only old shepherds’ verses from our wedding procession, Solomon?” Her whisper drew him a step nearer, and he leaned over her to listen. The scent of him, aloe and frankincense, overwhelmed her. Through tears, she pleaded, “Is there no life-giving spring of new words for me, my love?”
He drew a breath and held it. Standing over her, he looked up and slowly exhaled. The eyes that gazed at her again were cold, unfeeling. “I have sixty queens and eighty concubines—and have had virgins beyond number—but you, Arielah, my dove, my perfect one, have always been unique.”
The words sliced her heart in two. Unique? “A lily among thorns” he’d called her in Shunem’s meadow that awful day when he’d become a stranger. Now he was her husband—but he’d become a stranger again.
His words stole her breath, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. With icy calm, he drove the words deeper. “You are surely your ima’s favored child for a reason, and you’ve even won the favor of many queens. Some even praise you while they lie in my arms.”