Love’s Sacred Song (30 page)

Authors: Mesu Andrews

Tags: #FIC042030, #FIC042040, #FIC027050

Ahishar met his gaze, unflinching. “When
you
can wield your words as well as you wield your sword, I will let you address the crowd.”

Benaiah stepped back and shoved him away. “You will
let
me?” He laughed mirthlessly. “Well, let me remind you that for the next thirty days, you have no responsibilities in Solomon’s palace.”

The big man stormed away, leaving Ahishar shaking with rage. “I have many responsibilities, Commander,” he mumbled, resolutely weaving through the procession entering the palace. He found the king’s brother Nathan. “My lord, excuse me,” he said, interrupting the prince’s long pull on a wineskin.

A sideways glance and a sneer. “What is it, Ahishar?” Solomon’s younger brother had never liked him.

“I’m concerned about Benaiah, my lord. He seems nervous in front of such a large and prestigious crowd.” Pausing, he measured the prince’s response, but who could tell if he was even listening? He was poking one of the other princes. “My lord, did you hear me?”

“Benaiah is fine, Ahishar. Next question.”

With every shred of control he had left, Ahishar swallowed the bile in his throat. “I simply offer my voice, my lord, should it prove necessary that an expert address the crowd.”

With a bow, he allowed the prince and the processional to proceed. Prowling the borders of the celebration, he watched Solomon and the shepherdess arrive in the courtyard. The royal couple ascended a dais and faced the audience, the king’s attendants lining one side while the shepherdess, her family, and her attendants stood on the other. Ahishar noticed Prince Nathan lean over and whisper something to the king.
Could it be?
The steward held his breath while Solomon listened intently to his brother. After a short exchange, the king patted Nathan on the shoulder—and shook his head. No. The answer was no.

Benaiah stepped forward and began reading the treaty agreement aloud. The festive guests were utterly silent, seemingly enthralled by the romance of the moment. Ahishar fell silent as well—except for the outraged grinding of his teeth.

•
Song of Solomon 4:12, 16; 5:1
•

[Lover] You are a garden locked up, my sister, my bride; you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain. . . .

[Beloved] Let my lover come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.

[Lover] I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride.

S
olomon studied every detail of his bride’s petite form while Benaiah continued reading their betrothal agreement.

“I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you in righteousness and justice, in love and compassion. I will betroth you in faithfulness . . .”

Solomon listened to the words and pondered the depth of their meaning. He loved Arielah today immeasurably more than he had when he signed that scroll more than a year ago.
Is it possible to love her more a year from now?
The thought intrigued him, challenged him, delighted him.

“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. “Now, 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;