Love’s Sacred Song (28 page)

The crowd quieted, though his bride seemed to tense.

“Please, beloved, will you accompany me to the carriage?” A wave of dread washed over him as he realized she might say no. She had a habit of doing so. He chuckled to himself when she bowed and proceeded to the waiting coach.

When they arrived, Solomon thrust his hand inside. “Come, Shiphrah and Sherah, out you go!”

Arielah made a miserable attempt at hiding her pleasure. The twins pouted as they exited to stand outside the open door.

Arielah accepted Solomon’s offered hand and stepped into her wedding carriage. “This is like one of my mountain caves.” She giggled, ducking her head and curling into the small space. “Except for the soft pillows, of course.”

He could hardly step up, he was laughing so hard. “Only you, beloved, would compare this wedding coach to a cave!” Securing her hands in his, he knelt before her in the cramped floor space. Words rushed out in an excited whisper. “Shiphrah and Sherah were furious when you knew that Ima Bathsheba had given me Abba’s crown as a wedding gift. They seem a bit concerned that I might favor you over the other wives.” He winked and noted her delight. “But Ima has given me another gift—a gift she helped compose for you. But you cannot laugh.”

“All right.” She touched the corner of his mouth. “But I cannot keep from smiling in your presence.”

He gathered courage from her affection and took a deep breath. “Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from Mount Gilead. Your teeth are like a flock of sheep just shorn, coming up from the washing. Each has its twin; not one of them is alone.”

Arielah giggled and cupped both hands over her mouth.

“No laughing!” he said, his own voice a gentle chuckle. “Ima helped me with the words, but my shepherd’s verses are not as eloquent as Abba David’s.”

Arielah grasped both his hands. “Your words are more precious to me than a thousand of King David’s songs.”

All sound suddenly stilled.
More precious than my abba’s songs.
No one had ever valued any of Solomon’s skills more than King David. Her dove-gray eyes affirmed the truth in her heart.

“Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon, and your mouth is lovely. Your temples behind your veil are like the halves of a pomegranate.” Reaching up to cup her cheek, he gently traced his thumb from her chin to the hollow of her neck—and felt her shudder. “Your neck is like the tower of David, built with elegance; on it hang a thousand shields, all of them shields of warriors.” With a sly grin, he held both of her hands again and offered a mischievous wink. “Your breasts are like two fawns, like twin fawns of a gazelle.” Arielah’s eyes widened and she let out a prim gasp, but before she could utter her righteous protest, he added, “Gazelles that browse among the lilies.”

Arielah’s smile turned to wonder. “That night, at the window on our wall, I told you foxes ruin our vineyard because you browse among the lilies.” She threw her arms around his neck. “You were listening!”

Solomon slipped his arms around her narrow waist. The warmth of her body made him dizzy. She drew back, seeming to realize what her embrace did to him. Her cheeks flushed, and he continued his verse. “Until the day breaks and the shadows flee . . .”

“Yes, I said that too.” She giggled.

“I will go to the mountain of myrrh and to the hill of incense,” he said, closing his eyes, drawing in the scent of her. Recapturing her gaze, he kissed her hands. “All beautiful you are, my darling; there is no flaw in you.”

Arielah clasped her hands over her heart, and tears threatened the kohl around her lovely eyes.

“The Shulammites are becoming restless, my king.” Shiphrah’s voice threw a bucket of well water on their intimate moment. “Please hurry, I’m frightened.”

Solomon offered an apologetic smile. “We must go now, beloved.” He watched Arielah’s radiance dim. “Please,” he said tenderly, “leave your cedars of Lebanon, my bride. Come to Jerusalem, to my palace of cedars. Descend the crest of Amana, from the top of Senir, the summit of Mount Hermon. Leave your lions’ dens and the mountain haunts of the leopards. This is a dangerous place. Come to Jerusalem, where you will be safe in my arms.”

Arielah wiped away a tear, a smudge of kohl where the dirt had been yesterday. “I will gladly come to Jerusalem with you, my love, but have no doubts—Jerusalem will never be a safe place for me.”

Shock and confusion wrestled with the ache inside him.
Arielah is still afraid?
He sensed her fears stemmed from more than just his other wives. But what? He would speak with Benaiah about increasing her personal guards. Gathering her in his arms, he called for those best suited to the immediate task. “Shiphrah, Sherah!” Their faces appeared in the doorway. “Arielah needs your care during our three-day journey to Jerusalem.”

Both women nodded as Solomon descended the step. “Jehoshaphat!” he shouted. “Have you announced to your kindred the plans we finalized during last night’s feasting?” Surely this news would lift his bride’s spirits.

Jehoshaphat stepped forward, bowed, and could barely speak through the wide grin on his face. “No, my lord. I wanted you to have the privilege of telling your northern kinsmen of the decision.”

Nervous chatter rippled from the front rows of finely dressed wedding travelers to the back row of the shabbiest town beggars. Solomon’s booming voice silenced them all. “We will escort Prince Jehoshaphat and his family to the queen mother’s home on Jerusalem’s western ridge, where she has invited my bride, Arielah, to reside until I come with my attendants to bring her into my house of cedars as my wife.”

Thunderous applause rose from the crowd, but Solomon raised his hands to quiet them. “And in honor of my beautiful bride and our northern kinsmen, we will celebrate the traditional Shulammite Days of Marriage rather than the seven-day Judean wedding feast—”

The rest of Solomon’s announcement was lost in the celebration. Men sent up cheers, and women rained down tears. Everyone congratulated each other on the fine maiden they’d raised in their midst.

Solomon raised his voice above the din. “Prince Jehoshaphat, would you like to speak blessing over your daughter before we begin our journey?”

Jehoshaphat nodded and joined Solomon beside the carriage, waiting for the Shulammites to quiet once more. “Today our beloved Arielah leaves my household to create her own home with the man Jehovah has chosen for her.” Turning to her, Jehoshaphat recited the familiar abba’s blessing: “Listen, O daughter, consider and give ear: forget your people and your abba’s house. Your groom is enthralled by your beauty; honor him, for he is your lord. May you increase to thousands upon thousands, and may your offspring possess the gates of their enemies.” Reaching for her hand, he touched it to his forehead, a sign of respect to Solomon’s new queen.

Another cheer from the crowd, and Solomon joined the rejoicing. Stepping forward to close the carriage door, he found Arielah crying black rivers of kohl, while the twin beauties sat like statues across from her. He retrieved the linen cloth tucked in his belt and offered it to his bride. “Beloved, as tradition dictates, I will not see you again until I take you as my bride to the palace.” She smiled and nodded, and he closed the door.

She will soon be mine!
He marched triumphantly to his chariot and grasped the sidewalls. “Away, Benaiah!” His commander’s skillful hands slapped the reins on the stallions’ backs.

Solomon scanned the happy Shulammites as the chariot pulled away, when suddenly he felt as if one of the horses had kicked him in the stomach. There, in the back of the crowd by a donkey laden with supplies, stood Marah. Her head was uncovered, dark curls falling past her waist. Red and purple veils adorned her robe, wrapped tightly to reveal her soft curves.
Lord Jehovah, she can’t be among the wedding guests traveling to Jerusalem.

“Turn around.” Benaiah chuckled, his huge paw steadying Solomon in the lead chariot. “You’re sure to fall if you keep looking behind you.”

The king set his gaze on the road to Jerusalem and marveled at his commander’s unwitting insight.

•
 2 Samuel 11:3 
•

David sent someone to find out about her. The man said, “Isn’t this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam?”

A
rielah’s empty stomach complained loudly. “I may starve by the time Solomon and his attendants come for me tonight.” Jehosheba and Hannah exchanged patient grins as they continued working fragrant oils into the bride’s hands and feet.

The three had slept comfortably in a large chamber in Queen Bathsheba’s home—Arielah and Jehosheba sharing a wool-stuffed mattress and Hannah enjoying her own smaller mattress in the servants’ quarters behind an embroidered tapestry. Jehoshaphat and Igal had traveled with Solomon’s escort to the palace. They would spend today as Solomon’s guests, engaged in games of skill and competition, singing and celebrating.

“Arielah, my lamb,” Ima said, working an especially stubborn callus from her heel, “yours is not the only stomach begging for bread this morning. I’m sure Solomon anxiously awaits tonight’s yichud meal.”

Arielah’s heart nearly leapt from her chest at the mention of yichud.
Do all brides fear that portion of the wedding when the bride and groom consummate their union—and the guests celebrate a few rooms away?
No matter how many generations had practiced the tradition, she couldn’t bear the thought of the most intimate act of her life occurring while the wedding audience awaited. A shiver worked its way from her head to her toes.

“Are you cold, Arielah?” Ima’s brow furrowed in concern.

She shook her head and avoided Ima’s eyes. Her stomach rumbled again, and Hannah giggled. “Oh! Will my stomach make more noise than the wedding procession?”

Ima chuckled at her frazzled daughter, and Arielah knew she sounded like a spoiled child. But the three-day journey in the wedding coach with Shiphrah and Sherah had completely unraveled her already frayed nerves. The wedding fast, begun last night at sundown, simply added to her ill temper.

A soft knock sounded on the heavy cedar door, and Hannah’s eyes rounded like the polished bronze wall mirror. “Perhaps it’s Queen Bathsheba!”

Jehosheba continued massaging her daughter’s feet, and Arielah arched her eyebrows at her inexperienced maid.

“Oh, forgive me!” Hannah said, receiving the silent command. She set aside the aromatic oils and lunged toward the door.

“Gently, Hannah,” Jehosheba coached. “Greet the queen mother with dignity and grace.” The maid nodded, wide-eyed, eager to please.

“Shalom.” A regal woman entered, slender and beautiful—but unadorned in her loveliness. No black kohl outlined her eyes, no lapis powder shone blue around them. “I am Bathsheba, and you, my dear, are as exquisite as my son described you.” She walked toward Arielah with the grace of a willow tree, barely stirring the air as she moved.

“My lady.” Arielah stood and started to bow but felt a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“You need not bow, little one. You are about to become a queen in Israel.” And then the willow tree bowed to Arielah.

“Oh, no!” She reached out to touch Solomon’s beautiful ima but hesitated. How could she touch the queen mother of Israel? “Please, my lady—why would you bow to me?”

“Because, little shepherdess”—she searched Arielah’s soul as she spoke—“I honor the woman who has touched my son’s heart. I recognize the gleam of love in his eyes when he speaks of you—the spark I once saw in his abba’s eyes.” Sadness shadowed her countenance.

Just then a loud knock resounded on the chamber door. All eyes turned once again to Hannah, and Arielah teased, “Well, we know it can’t be servants with the noonday meal!”

Bathsheba’s melodic laughter captured Arielah. She marveled at the similarities between the grand lady and her son. The queen mother’s smile dimmed when Hannah opened the door.

“My lady,” a large, hairy guard said, “King Solomon sent the Daughters of Jerusalem to help with the bride’s preparations.”

For the first time that morning, Arielah was glad she hadn’t eaten. The food wouldn’t have stayed in her stomach.

Bathsheba stepped forward. “Shiphrah and Sherah,” she said as the twins pushed their way past the guard, “you may remain here in Arielah’s chamber. The bride and her ima were about to follow me to the mikvah for her purification bath.”

Arielah’s cheeks flamed. She glanced at Ima Jehosheba and saw the same stricken countenance she felt. A groom’s ima could demand attendance at his bride’s purification bath—and an examination by a physician—if she questioned the bride’s purity. “My queen,” she said, bowing to avoid the woman’s gaze, “have I given any cause for you to doubt—” She felt a slight touch lifting her chin and looked up into kind eyes.

“Fear not, little one.”

Swallowing hard, Arielah nodded and held out her hand to Ima Jehosheba. The Daughters of Jerusalem whispered and grinned as Bathsheba followed the hairy guard from the room. Arielah and Jehosheba exited, and two more watchmen provided rear guard, all now following the queen mother through cedar hallways and down a long stone staircase. Silence reigned. Arielah didn’t want to venture more questions and be humiliated in front of the three men.

Upon reaching the bottom step, the first guard opened a heavy cedar door and peered inside. Seemingly satisfied by its state, he stood at the door and bowed as Queen Bathsheba entered the mikvah chamber. Sounds of trickling water drew Arielah, reminding her of her mountain streams. She and Ima stepped past the guard into an enchanting place. Every sight, sound, and smell tickled her senses. But what humiliation lay ahead?

“Thank you, Oliab,” Bathsheba said icily. “You and your men may close the door when you leave.” The guard inclined his head in a partial bow and was gone before Arielah could ponder the tension the watchman seemed to rouse. “Do you like my mikvah?” the queen mother asked gently.

Arielah’s heart was pounding in her ears. “It’s beautiful, my lady.”

They were alone. No physician. Lamps in wall niches provided a lovely glow, and incense burned in braziers around the bath.

“Water from two cisterns and a small drain in the bottom make this mikvah living water,” the queen explained, “always flowing, never stagnant.” Arielah nodded but said nothing, hoping an explanation was soon to come.

Bathsheba wandered over to a bench and removed her outer robe. Dressed in her tunic alone, she stepped into the mikvah. “Please join me,” she said, wrapping her hair into a knot atop her head.

Ima Jehosheba cast a questioning glance at her daughter. Arielah shrugged. In keeping with the rules of hospitality, both women followed their hostess and removed only their robes, keeping their tunics, and knotted their long hair.

Bathsheba spoke as her guests readied for their bath. “When I saw Oliab and his henchmen at your door with the Daughters of Jerusalem, I knew you needed a rescue. Rumors from the palace tell me the twin daughters of Bethuel are causing havoc in my son’s harem.” She glanced at Arielah with a wry smile. “We won’t have many opportunities to speak privately when you become a queen. We must make the most of our day.”

Relief washed over the new bride like this warm bath. She’d descended the mikvah steps and now stood shoulder deep in the most refreshing, buoyant moment of her life. A giggle erupted before she could contain it. Both hands clapped over her mouth as if wild horses had tried to escape. Bathsheba’s melodic laughter opened the floodgates, and even Ima Jehosheba laughed out loud, enjoying the utter freedom of three women relaxing in a mikvah.

Bathsheba relaxed against the side, resting her head against a hollowed-out stone, eyes closed. “Would you like me to send my maid Dalit to help with your preparations when we finish our bath?”

“Well . . .” Arielah shared a grin with Jehosheba. “My ima and Hannah applied my cosmetics for the procession, but I think they’d be relieved to have a more experienced hand paint my eyes and lips for the wedding.” Ima nodded her silent assent.

Bathsheba lifted her head and asked gently, “Arielah, do you
want
to wear kohl and lapis around your eyes and those awful crushed carmine beetles to redden your lips?”

The thought and taste of it had sickened Arielah when she’d endured it for the wedding procession. “No.” A wide smile began. She liked this woman more with every breath.

“The moment you walk into Solomon’s palace, you are a queen. The only person you must please is your king. Does my son wish you to wear these paints on your lovely face?”

“I believe he likes me better with dust in my hair and dirt under my nails.”

Bathsheba laughed with the confident elegance of a woman who had fought and won her position. “Well, that might not be a good idea. But let him appreciate your true beauty.” Touching Arielah’s cheek, she grew thoughtful. Eyes glistening, Bathsheba cupped her chin and turned her face right and left. “Your natural beauty will set you apart from the others. It will serve you well in the days to come.”

“Thank you for encouraging her, my lady,” Jehosheba said.

Bathsheba released Arielah’s chin and nodded in Ima’s direction. “Your daughter’s beauty radiates from within, like her ima’s.”

Ima Jehosheba’s cheeks pinked. “I’m relieved my girl has found a friend in Jerusalem.”

Arielah was surprised by Jehosheba’s words—not that they were inappropriate or misplaced, but because she rarely entered a conversation.

“Indeed, you both have a friend in Jerusalem,” Bathsheba said. Seemingly intrigued by this gentle woman, she asked Ima, “Where is your family from, Jehosheba?”

“My abba was a farmer in Nain.”

The queen’s smile grew distant, her brows knit together. Turning to Arielah, she asked, “Have you decided which blessing you’ll recite to Solomon after your yichud meal?”

The question seemed an odd turn in the conversation, and Arielah’s heart skipped at the mention of yichud. “No,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I thought I might compose my own shepherd’s verse.”

Bathsheba nodded, quiet, thoughtful.

“What is it, my lady?” Arielah asked with a grin. “I don’t presume to know your thoughts, but your expression says you have more on your mind.”

The lady winked and began humming a tune, her voice echoing in the rock-walled chamber. The water amplified the sound, and recognition lit on Ima Jehosheba’s face. She joined the queen, haltingly at first, a few notes and then more, as she seemed to remember the song from her past. Their voices united and blended in haunting harmony, and then suddenly, abruptly, the music stopped. The two women stared at each other in wonder.

“I’d almost forgotten it,” Ima Jehosheba said, grasping Bathsheba’s hand. “I sang it to Jehoshaphat as my gift of blessing.”

“I sang it to David,” Bathsheba whispered almost reverently, “though our marriage didn’t begin with the traditional yichud.” A single tear escaped her bottom lash.

The matriarchs were sharing some holy moment, and Arielah felt completely lost. “Would one of you please tell me what just happened?”

Laughter echoed off the water and rock. “I believe this moment has been etched in eternity,” Bathsheba said, cupping Arielah’s face between her hands.

“My eternity with your son began years ago, my queen.” At Bathsheba’s puzzled expression, Arielah added, “From my birth, I was chosen. From age seven, I knew for whom.”

Brushing Arielah’s cheeks with her thumbs, she said, “Perhaps Jehovah was at work even before your birth, little one. Your ima and I have a common heritage as farmers’ daughters, and the tune of the blessing we just shared was known in our day among village brides. The song of blessing you sing to your husband at yichud becomes as intimate as the act itself. It becomes your love’s sacred song.” Glancing at Jehosheba, she kissed Arielah’s nose and released her. “I’m going to get out of this bath before I shrivel like a raisin, but you and your ima stay in this peaceful place to prepare your yichud blessing for Solomon.” As she moved toward the mikvah steps, the water swirled around her. Suddenly she stopped, turned. “Every bride fears yichud, Arielah. But if your whole heart is focused on blessing your husband, the rest of the night becomes your blessing as well.”

For the first time, Arielah heard the word
yichud
and didn’t feel as if her skin would spontaneously peel off. “Thank you,” she whispered, but Queen Bathsheba had already climbed the mikvah steps, donned her robe, and walked toward the door. “Wait!” Arielah said. “Shouldn’t Ima and I return to my chamber for preparations?”

The queen lifted a single eyebrow. “The Daughters of Jerusalem are in your chamber at the king’s command. He has chosen them as your virgin attendants to ‘help’ with your preparations.”

Arielah’s heart ached. She hadn’t considered attendants. Her only friends were a ram named Samson and a ewe called Edna.

“But while the twins are in my home,” the queen continued, “they will obey my command or be escorted back to the palace. Take your time learning the blessing. Then return to your chamber when you’re ready. I’ll send my servant Dalit to assist your handmaid.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Arielah said.

The queen mother fell silent, her eyes welling with tears.

“What is it?” Arielah asked.

Seeming to struggle for control, she said, “I wish my David could have met you. He would have loved you—and been proud of our son.” She covered her face, turned, and was gone.