Despite the king’s calm words, Ahishar had walked swiftly along the corridor until he could cross through the gateway to the women’s passageways to throne room and court. Once past that gateway, he had nearly run to bring
the king’s wives the king’s message. All very well for King Solomon to say, “No need for haste”—
“For he is king, after all, and need not confront a gaggle of women as proud as peacocks and fierce as geese,” as Ahishar pointed out to Elihoreph, when he had returned to the great court to find that the king had tired of waiting and vanished. “And now the king has gone, and when the Colchian princess
does
arrive—whenever that may be—I will have to find
him.”
The chief scribe shook his head and sighed. “King or no, I should have been informed where he goes; how am I to record the wedding properly if I am told nothing?”
“I will tell you as soon as I myself know, Elihoreph.” Almost Ahishar wished he had not allowed himself to confide in Elihoreph, for the chief scribe collected slights as other men did silver.
Still, Elihoreph means well, and he is one of the few who truly understands how difficult my tasks can be.
“Well, I hope the new princess won’t be troublesome. Do you know the last one brought not one scrap of a record of her possessions? My scribes were expected to tally all her dowry goods, and her slaves gazed at them during the entire task as if they were robbers. I tell you, Ahishar, sometimes I wonder if it’s worth being a king’s man at all. Don’t you?”
“Of course not; I only wish King Solomon would take greater care, sometimes. He is too heedless of his rank.”
“Yes, and of ours.” Elihoreph fingered the ivory tablet that hung upon a scarlet cord about his neck, token of his royal office. “Well, he was the youngest son, after all. It’s not as if he were born to be king.”
“True, true. Still, King Solomon is wise and just.”
“Oh, yes, yes, he is just—no one knows that better than I, who record his deeds,” Elihoreph added, and Ahishar nodded agreement, for under King Solomon’s tolerant, prudent reign, the kingdom basked in a golden calm. A man might tend his vineyard, herd his flocks, without fear. A merchant need not worry as he traveled, for the king’s roads were safe from robbers.
In the span of three lifetimes, the land of Israel and Judah had been altered beyond imagining, grown from an alliance of brawling tribes to a kingdom—and an empire. Within the lifetime of three kings.
Saul. David. And now Solomon.
Few mentioned King Saul now, for his achievements were shadowed by madness, and overshadowed by his successor’s blazing glory. King David’s
legacy was empire, an empire King Solomon strengthened with alliance and trade, with a strong army and with judicious marriages. All roads led to Jerusalem the Golden, crossroads of the world.
“Yes, I say King Solomon is just and wise,” Elihoreph announced, as if any might doubt either the king’s virtues or Elihoreph’s loyalty.
“Wise and just.” Ahishar stared across the sunlit court at the Lion Throne and the scepter that lay upon the seat, waiting for the king’s return.
Peace, and justice, and prosperity
—
“Still,” Elihoreph began, “sometimes I wonder—”
“Sometimes I wonder what it was like to serve Great David,” Ahishar said. “It must have been glorious.”
Another royal harlot.
From his post before the Horse Gate, the prophet Ahijah watched the slow approach of King Solomon’s newest bride. The procession advanced in a clamor of brass timbrels shaken by black-robed attendants—priests of whatever foreign abomination the Colchian princess groveled before. False gods, false women, defiling Yahweh’s city—
And the king does nothing.
No, worse; the king greeted these abominations with smiles, with open arms.
Now the Colchian’s escort passed through the great gate, set unclean feet upon the stones of Jerusalem. Men clad in flowing fringed gowns, their soft faces painted like a harlot’s; women garbed in crimson leather trousers laced tight about their thighs—those creatures alone were enough to set fiery teeth gnawing below Ahijah’s heart, clear sign of Yahweh’s anger. But there was more, and worse. There was the Colchian herself, sitting brazen in an ebony cart inlaid with silver moons and serpents. A cart drawn by dogs.
Abomination upon abomination.
Ahijah pressed his fist against the fire searing his chest. Dogs—no wonder fangs seemed to gnaw him from within. Black beasts as large as donkeys, harnessed in scarlet leather and led by small boys clad in collars hung with silver bells—
unclean, unfit to set foot within Yahweh’s city.
Goaded by the fire within, Ahijah stepped from the shadow of the Horse Gate into the path of the black dogs. He held up his staff before them; the children leading the animals halted and looked back to their mistress. Ahijah raised his gaze to the royal bride. Above a silver veil, eyes dark as sloes and flat as a serpent’s stared back.
“Come no farther, for you offend Yahweh, affront the living god with your harlotries and unclean beasts.” Ahijah gained strength as he spoke and knew he had read the signs rightly. “Go, our king does not need your vile wealth.”
The Colchian princess said nothing, and Ahijah knew she did not understand.
Of course she does not; a foreign witch speaking no known tongue! Folly upon folly, King Solomon!
Ahijah turned to the onlookers, those men and women who had gathered beside the road to watch King Solomon’s newest bride arrive.
“Are you lost to shame? Will you let such a creature enter King David’s City?” Ahijah demanded. No one moved, or spoke; many slid their eyes away, as if hoping the prophet would not notice them. And before Ahijah could berate them further, a man clad in the purple and gold of King Solomon’s high officials strode past the dogs to stand before Ahijah.
“Greetings, Prophet. The Great Lady Dacxuri thanks you for your welcome.” The interpreter smiled broadly and bowed, continuing, “Now I beg you, in the king’s name, to stand aside.”
“And I order you, in Yahweh’s name, to turn back. Turn back before it is too late.”
“We are already late,” said the interpreter. “King Solomon is waiting.”
As Ahijah gazed into the Colchian’s night-cold eyes, a new pain speared hot behind his eyes. The princess seemed to shimmer before him, her face ringed with pulsing light, light that burned and pierced—
Hands pressed to his face, Ahijah stumbled back, shielding his blinded eyes. By the time he could see again, the foreign witch and her corrupt attendants had entered into Jerusalem, continued on their way to King Solomon’s palace. Behind them, small clay figures littered the street, luck-idols tossed by the Colchian’s servants. As Ahijah watched, men and women scooped up the idols, laughing.
Suddenly weary, as if he had grown old between one breath and the next, Ahijah leaned upon his staff.
If no one else has eyes to see, I have.
He bent and caught up one of the little idols, stared at a clay dog’s head, its pointed snout painted black and red. Slowly, Ahijah closed his fingers over the blasphemous thing.
I see, and I will make others see as well. Somehow, I will stop these abominations. I swear it upon the Law.
So vowing, Ahijah stood upright and began to walk slowly, as
if he were an old man, along the broad high road that led up the hill to the king’s palace.
King or no, he is only a man in the eyes of Yahweh.
So Ahijah reminded himself for the fortieth time as he waited in the great courtyard for King Solomon to pass by. What, after all, was a king but a man whom others chose to obey?
And when men weary of obedience to one who is no better than they, then they see the error of their ways and return to obedience to Yahweh’s Laws.
And to Yahweh’s prophet,
a small voice hissed.
No. No, I will not listen. I, too, am only a man.
But a man who heard Yahweh’s voice, who carried Yahweh’s word. That, too, was truth—which was why the silent lure possessed such power. But Ahijah refused to yield to that seductive trap.
I am no better than any other. I am Yahweh’s messenger, that is all.
He clung to that thought as to a lifeline, a chain strong enough to bind him to his endless task. For Ahijah had that day stared into Abomination’s black eyes, stood firm against alien seductions.
Now I will stand firm against King Solomon. I must show him how gravely he has offended, tell him that Yahweh orders me to chastise him.
Just as the prophet Samuel had chastised King Saul, and the prophet Nathan rebuked King David.
So will the prophet Ahijah reproach King Solomon, turn him back to the path set before our feet by our own god. If he will listen, and heed. If he will not—
If King Solomon would not heed, then what? Surely if Yahweh’s favor were withdrawn, King Solomon’s proud dreams would fade like mist upon sunrise.
For I am right and the king and the priests wrong. Why will they not see? O Yahweh, how have I failed that I cannot make them see the pit they dig before their own feet?
Pain lanced behind his left eye, a hot spear of burning light. A warning, a sign that Yahweh’s patience was not limitless.
I will make this king see your will, Lord. I must—
His silent struggle so absorbed him that, when the king strolled through the rows of cedar columns that edged the public courtyard, Ahijah did not notice until the easy laughter of the king’s companion beat upon his ears. Amyntor of Caphtor, one of the many foreigners infesting the palace like locusts devouring standing grain. Forcing himself to ignore the fire behind
his eye, the keen fangs gnawing within his stomach, Ahijah drew a deep breath and slammed the tip of his staff against the smooth stone beneath his feet.
“Solomon! Listen and heed!”
The king stopped, and turned; his face revealed nothing save smooth courtesy. “Welcome, Ahijah. You look weary, come and rest easy as we talk.”
Ah, the king himself had granted an opening; Ahijah seized upon it. “How can Yahweh’s prophet rest easy when abominations defile Yahweh’s land? When vice profanes His people?”
Solomon’s expression did not alter, but even a dozen strides away, Ahijah could sense the king’s withdrawal, his unwillingness to heed the truth. And beside the king, the Caphtoran regarded Ahijah with amused contempt, as a man looks upon the antics of a foolish child.
The king came forward, hand outstretched. “This is neither the time nor the place for such words. Come and we will speak quietly together.”
“What better time? What better place? I speak as Yahweh commands, and Yahweh’s words are not to be whispered in corners but shouted from the housetops.”
Solomon smiled; neither smile nor welcome reached the king’s eyes. “Very well, Ahijah; speak as you will. What have you to tell me?”
Perhaps today the king would listen—truly listen.
I must try.
The prophet stood straight as his wooden staff. One hand clutched the smooth wood, the other clenched into a fist. “I have come to warn you that you go too far, O King. Do not mock, but heed Yahweh’s words before it is too late.”
“I do not mock,” Solomon said. “I try to heed the Lord’s words, Ahijah.”
“Yet you wed strange women, consort with them and with their gods. You court Yahweh’s wrath—and your crown will not shield you.” Ahijah opened his fist and flung what he had held at Solomon’s feet. A dog’s head gazed up at the king with sightless clay eyes.
“That is what your latest bride brings as dowry, O King! Idols and abominations. Remember Yahweh’s first and greatest commandment!”
“I do,” the king said. “That commandment is that we shall have no other gods before Him. That commandment I keep, Ahijah; these others all take lesser precedence than the Lord. I myself worship only our own god.”
“Can you still say that truly, King Solomon, who dare not even speak Yahweh’s name? Does not your heart turn to your foreign women? And do they
not turn your eyes to their foreign gods, their idols of wood and stone?”
“Answer me a question, Ahijah.” King Solomon spoke in the soft voice the king used to soothe, to disarm. To deceive. “Do the idols in my wives’ temples possess any power? Are they truly gods?”
“Of course they are not! Can wood and stone possess power?”
“And if such idols are mere images, with no more power than my daughter’s doll, then what harm can it do merely to look upon them?”
“It is a sin against Yahweh! They must be smashed, smashed and burned to ash, their temples destroyed. All must be banned from this land, or Yahweh’s anger will destroy you. The king’s house—this so-called palace—must be cleansed of idolatry and abominations! Unclean beasts walk its halls, its walls reek of wickedness and unholy practice! Beware, O King, lest your feet be set upon the road to disaster!”
“I thank you for your warning, Ahijah. Truly I shall endeavor to do what is right.”
“Then send the Colchian witch away, and her corruption with her. Put away all the idolaters you have taken to wife. Cleanse your palace of foreigners, cleanse King David’s City of abominations. Purge our land of temples and groves to false gods and falser goddesses. Only then will Yahweh’s will be done.”
“I hear your words, Ahijah, and I thank you for your care of our people. But—”
“But you will not yield to Yahweh’s will.” Scorn edged Ahijah’s words; anger burned beneath his heart. “You flout our god’s commandments. You consort with strange women and evil men. Today all Israel and Judah watched false gods and their wanton priests enter the gates of King David’s City. You have turned Yahweh’s people into idolaters and harlots.”
The prophet paused to draw breath; the king seized the moment’s grace. “Is that all, Ahijah? For I have many calls upon my time today—including worshipping at our Lord’s great Temple. The Temple that I built for our god and His glory.”
“His glory? Or your own?” Ahijah stared into the king’s cool eyes and found only rejection there. “I see the king will not listen.” Ahijah’s words fell into the silence like cold stones. “Remember, Solomon, son of David—what Yahweh has chosen, He can repudiate. You are but a man. Heed and obey before it is too late.”
“I will consider your words, Prophet. And I will pray for guidance, as you have asked I do.”
“And you will not put away even one of your sins.”
“I will do as I have sworn, Ahijah.”
“And so will I.” The prophet’s eyes gleamed bright with scorn. “Go, then—go to your foreign bride, submit to yet another strange woman. But remember that even a king is not above Yahweh’s Law.”
Ahijah did not give Solomon a chance to answer; he turned his back on the king and walked away. Behind him, he heard Amyntor of Caphtor ask, “Why do you endure that unkempt fellow, my lord king? Only say the word and half-a-dozen of us would happily—”
“No! He is a prophet, not to be touched in anger.”
“—bathe him for you,” Amyntor finished smoothly.
And as Ahijah strode away, he heard King Solomon laugh.
Anger burned righteous through Ahijah’s bones, carried him through shadows and light until he reached the great gate of Solomon’s palace. There strength abandoned him; suddenly weak, Ahijah sat upon the ground beneath an olive tree and pressed a fist to the searing pain that flared below his heart. That King Solomon refused to heed him was bad enough—but that he should laugh—
He laughed at me. Laughed at me, the voice of Yahweh. Once he would not have dared.
Once prophets were great men in the land; once prophets were heeded. Feared. But now—
Now my words go unheeded and sinful men mock Yahweh’s will.
Not for the first time, Ahijah wished he had been born in the long-ago days when the great prophet Samuel had reigned as the undisputed voice of the Lord of Hosts. Samuel had made kings, and broken them, too.
But somehow, in the years that stretched between Samuel’s day and Ahijah’s, such power had slipped from the grasp of prophets. Today it was kings and high priests who counted, rich, slothful men who followed their own wishes and called that path straight and godly.
Ahijah knew better.
The path of riches is the path of fools and of sinners.
Abruptly he rose and strode out of the palace gate, down the hill to the great market
street. His face was stern; his eyes darted from side to side, weighing each corruption, each iniquity he passed.