| Chapter 1 1:1 The song of songs, which is Solomon's. Beloved 1:2 Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. 1:3 Because of the savor of thy good ointments thy name is as ointment poured forth, therefore do the virgins love thee. 1:4 Draw me, we will run after thee: the king hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine: the upright love thee. Solomon paused. He stared at the fresh parchment spread in front of him. Once more, he remembered her voice, soft and sweet, and the last words she had said to him. Those words had haunted him for 30 years and now, at the end of his life, there seemed to be nothing else that held any purpose or meaning for him. His eyes slowly rose to the portico overlooking the courtyard. He could see the temple glinting as the early morning sun touched the guilded edges of the balustrade. This reminder of his greatest achievement only deepened the blackness that had descended on him in the last months. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Nothing, that is, but those precious memories that grew more vivid daily, haunting and convicting him. He slowly rose from the table and moved to the portico. His gaze swept across the courtyard still cloaked in the morning shadows. As his eyes focused on the familiar features of the garden surrounding the central fountain, his mind was flooded with the memories of her. The sound of her laughter, the sensuous way her body moved, how her eyes held his when he was describing his plans for the future. A future that had held so much promised but now seemed a futile waste. But the most painful thoughts were of those last words, spoken through her tears. They had cut him like a hot blade, leaving a searing scar across his life and altering the very history of a nation. She had left that day. He would never see her again. But his youth had blinded him to that inevitability. Only now in his old age had he realized how wise she had been. He had always considered her his intellectual equal but he now knew that her wisdom in this matter had far exceeded his. If only he could go back to that day. How different his life would have been. His shoulders gave an almost imperceptible shrug, and a long sigh stirred the stillness. The sparrows rose in cacophony of song and muffled wings as the flitted from branch to branch in the old apple tree at the end of the courtyard. Their songs only deepened his black nostalgia serving to remind him of the hours spent with her under its branches. He turned his back on the scene as he had done so long ago. He straightened his shoulders and strode with new purpose to the waiting parchment. He would tell their story. Though it would be couched in his poetic language and her name could not be written, the story of their love would be at last told. Let Ahijah, Jeroboam and Hapshat frown and rage as they would. He could no longer deny the recognition of his feelings and the acknowledgment of this his greatest accomplishment and failure. The world might never know the whole story but he would leave something behind. A song for her and all other lovers. A song that would speak to them of love between a man and a woman as only Yahweh himself could have conceived it. Once again he faced the blank surface and the quill moved over it with word after word as the wisest man on earth wrote about the happiest moment of his life. The words seem to flow with his memories. First from her then from him. Exchanges between two lovers who were of one mind, one soul, and one flesh. Chapter 2 1:5 I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon. 1:6 Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me: my mother's children were angry with me; they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept. 1:7 Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where thou makest thy flock to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turneth aside by the flocks of thy companions? The sun beat upon the canopy with an almost solid presence. The air was stifling and the surface of the sand shimmered with the heat as if the air above it was melting into a wave swept liquid. Makeda hardly noticed the heat. She was absorbed with a scroll spread across her lap. As the palanquin swayed in a slow undulating motion provided by the camel’s steps, she studied intently the calligraphic writings before her. The words were Hebrew. They spoke of King Solomon of Israel. This was the account of how two women, both claiming to be the mother of a male child, had been brought to the King to have him decide the parentage of the child. She read intently wondering how the King would be able to decide which mother was the real one. Suddenly her eyes grew large and she uttered an audible gasp. Solomon had ordered one of his men to take a sword and cut the child in half. How is this wisdom she thought. As she read on, one of the women begged that The King not kill the child but let the other woman keep him. When the King had heard this, He gave the order to give the child to the woman who had begged for his life. Solomon had judged rightly which woman was the true mother of the child. Makeda marveled at the story and silently wondered if any man could truly be as wise as she had heard Solomon was. This is exactly why she was now enduring the heat and dangers of this trip. She had decided a year ago to find out what kind of man this King Solomon was. As Queen of her people, she felt a great interest in learning more about this man. Since Israel was a major trading source for her country’s spices and minerals, a better understanding and relationship with the king could only strengthen the security of her own people. Of course she also was extremely curious about Solomon for her own reasons. The stories told not only of Solomon’s wisdom, but also of his wealth and the great marvels of construction he had built. There were also tales of his physical beauty. She knew well how such tales could exaggerate the truth. Still, she had read some of his beautiful poetry and had been moved by the soul behind the words. If the truth came within striking distance of reality, then this Solomon must indeed be a remarkable man. In truth, the young virgin Queen was becoming infatuated with the myth of Solomon and had taken the remarkable step of traveling the 500-league journey to Jerusalem to see for herself just how close the arrow had landed to the mark. Her intense curiosity, in fact, was the only reason she would ever have embarked on such a hazardous and lengthy journey. That and of course the dream. She trusted her advisors, especially Hareem, whom she had appointed regent in her absence. But Kingdoms had been lost in far shorter time than the three months she had already been away. She felt secure that her contingency plan would prevent any thoughts of usurping the throne from reaching reality. But it was always a risk to leave such power in hands other than your own. The cost of the journey had also been the subject of much heated discussion. The 120 talents of gold and camels laden with spices and fine fabrics destined as gifts for Solomon were a considerable percentage of the treasury. But she had determined that coming before such a renowned and powerful ruler without a display of wealth could weaken her position in any negotiations with Solomon. Finally, her advisors had reluctantly agreed to the trip and the accompanying gifts. The caravan had left Sheba almost three month earlier and was now approach the end of the journey. When they had reached the border of Israel, a contingent of officials and soldiers sent from Jerusalem had met them at the outpost of Kadesh Barnea to escort them to Solomon’s capital. Now, only a day away, the anticipation she felt had grown to almost unbearable hights. The tension she was experiencing was explainable only by the acknowledgement that she was concerned with the impression she would make on Solomon. She slipped a delicate silvered mirror from her case and stared critically at her reflection. Her mouth was full and turned down slightly at the corners giving the impression of a permanent smile with a touch of mischief. Her nose was wide above her lips but finely shaped. It gently sloped toward her forehead making a smooth transition at the brow. Her eyes were set wide and shaped like almonds from Egypt. They were the deepest pools of brown with tiny flecks of gold that gave them a sparkle. They were framed by finely arching brows and high rounded cheeks. Her hair fell in dark ringlets around her shoulders, cascading to the small of her back. Her skin was a dark mocha with highlights the color of summer honey from B’rith, smooth and fine as polished ebony. She frowned at this thinking about whether Solomon would approve. The women in his country had the light skin of the oriental Babylonians. Would he find her dark skin beautiful or would he think her base? She wiped the thought away with a brush of her fingers through the dark strands of hair at her temples. The multiple looped earrings gave a melodic tinkle as if in complaint at being disturbed. She thought of the many suitors who sought audience with her and of the many songs written of her beauty. Yes, in her land she was praised for her beauty and her compassion for her people. But the thought of meeting the approval of Solomon stirred the insecurities of her youth and reminding her of the scars still visible on her leg. Scars left by the attack of a pet jackal. Her father had slain the hapless animal in a rage. The pain and anguish of that day and the long months afterward remained sharp in her mind. She still had a slight limp, which she had learned to hide with much practice. Suddenly, she heard the scuffing of horse hoofs as a rider drew up to her palanquin. As she peered through the semi-transparent fabric, she heard the Hebrew words of the rider. He was informing Amran, the high priest that they were approaching Beersheba. He further explained that there were facilities prepared for them where they could rest before entering Jerusalem tomorrow. Although he spoke in Hebrew, she clearly understood his every word. She had been tutored by Amran for the past year in the Language of the Israelites and was fluent in both the spoken and written forms. Amran dismissed the soldier with assurances and thanks for the considerations. The horse and rider wheeled and returned to the head of the column. A flinty smelling cloud of dust slowly drifting away on a breeze that was wafting from the East, the direction of the great Salt Sea. A definent change in the air was occurring with every step the caravan made. The acrid smells and stinging air of the Negev had slowly been replaced with the cooler winds blowing across vineyards, fields freshly sprouting the new growth of grain and Orchids still in bloom with the promise of summer fruit. Makeda now pulled back the fabric portal and looked out on the gently rolling hills covered with the green of vegetation. Wispy cedars spiraled toward the sky while a grove of Oaks marked the junction of a small hill and the valley floor. A small stream flowed in the valley and could only be detected by the fringe of emerald green along its border. In the distance, She thought she could make out a flock of sheep or goats descending a mountain. At this distance she remarked to herself how they looked like undulating waves of shinning black hair on the mountain’s buff colored flanks. Her senses were refreshed with the sweet perfumes of flowers and the verdant colors of a Palestinian Spring. She understood well why this land was referred to as one flowing with milk and honey. Everywhere was the richness and sensuousness of nature in harmony with man. And over everything was the life-giving taste and smell of moisture in the air, a smell long absent during the crossing of the wilderness. Amran had turned at his Queen’s appearance and now bowed before her. He stated, "The Israelite Captain has provided facilities for us my Queen. We are to reside at the city called Beersheba tonight and prepare for your meeting with the King Tomorrow." Makeda glanced away from the verdant landscape and said, "I heard and understood Amran. Inform my maidservants of this and make sure they are prepared." Amran spoke in some perplexity, "My Queen, are you sure this deception is necessary. After all, Solomon has never seen you and cannot have formed a negative opinion of you." Makeda calmly responded to old and trusted teacher, "I know how you feel dearest Amran, but I have my reasons for not allowing a report to preceed me into Solomon’s court. I prefer to see his eyes when he first sees me. Only then can I know his true feelings. It is important for the negotiations that I have knowledge of the nature of the man I will be dealing with." Almost as an afterthought she added, "I must know if I can trust this man. I can only know that if I can see his soul unguarded for the brief moment when he first sees me. In that moment I will know what is in his soul. It will show in his eyes. That is why I must get close to him and why he must not have time to prepare for that moment." Amran slowly shook his head, "My Lady sounds more like she is preparing to meet a suitor than a head of state." Makeda laughed lightly and said, "well they are both men aren’t they? And men all have the same thing on their mind whether suitor or King!" Becoming serious, Makeda turned to Amran and said, "Remember the dream Amran. The very future of our nation may hang in the balance of this meeting. I must know if Solomon is the one. When I see his eyes as they behold mine I will know." At this Makeda closed the flap and sank back into the softness of the palanquin. She listened with amusement as Amran shuffled off muttering to himself something about children, royalty and women in general. She became contemplative, gazing off into an uncertain future that rushed headlong to meet the present. Would he be the one? There was no way of knowing until their eyes met. Then she would know if the dream were true. She shuddered, not from fear but from the impact of what this would mean to her future. Emotions of excitement, fear and longing stirred in her mind with these thoughts. As her eyes closed in sleep she prepared to dream The Dream again. Maybe this time she would see her lover’s face and know him. Chapter 3 Daughters of Jerusalem 1:8 If thou know not, O thou fairest among women, go thy way forth by the footsteps of the flock, and feed thy kids beside the shepherds' tents. Beloved 1:9 I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharaoh's chariots. 1:10 Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck with chains of gold. Daughters of Jerusalem 1:11 We will make thee borders of gold with studs of silver. The room was heavy with the sounds of weeping women. Muffled sobs seemed to erupt from unidentifiable sources bouncing from the cedar paneled walls and ringing like dropped shekels on the tiled floor. Light filtering through the shrouded windows created glowing islands as swirling motes trace the shafts back to their source. Dark hooded shapes floated through the beams and for a moment became recognizable as the light traced their shape. Then, as vaguely seen creatures of the sea, glided into the darkness with only a hint of their identity. Solomon hesitated as he scanned the room. The old King was dying and had sent for him. At this moment he felt danger as the hair on his neck bristled. He well understood the threat to the heir of a weak monarch. His father had almost lost his crown to his son Absalom. Adonijah, Solomon’s half-brother, had staged a coup in an attempt to steal the crown. Only the quick actions of his mother, Bathsheba, and the profit Nathan had secured the throne for Solomon. This call from David could only mean one thing. Solomon’s hold on the throne was tenuous. He was certain that David was going to charge him with the settling of some old debts. In this way the old man would secure the throne from his deathbed. Solomon stepped forward and the hovering shapes parted leaving a path open to the King’s chamber. As he strode toward the richly carved Cedar door hushed whispers brushed his ears like the wind in the high boughs of the forest of Gedi. The door swung slowly open as if by sorcery. The room inside was strangely bright and Solomon could identify the bent figure of his mother sitting next to the bed of David. As he entered the room his father’s eyes turned and fixed him with his gaze. Although rheumy and lined he still sensed the determined will behind them that had made the young shepherd a giant killer and propelled him to Kingship. With a weak motion of his hand David ordered the others out of the room. The one exception was the stupid bed-warmer, Abishag. She remained with David constantly to provide him with warmth from her body and supply fodder to his amazingly still active libido. She had been selected for her nubile body and beauty, not her intellect. Solomon felt some tinge of disgust for his father. His mother had been relegated to virtual obscurity because of him. She was now referred to as the wife of Uriah when mentioned at all. A weak cracking voice issued from the bearded David. "Solomon", he rasped. "Come to me." As Solomon approached the bed a sickening stench rose to his nostrils and the pungent spices meant to cover it only amplified the sweet smell of death. Solomon winced and silently wondered how the others could stand to be near the old man. "Solomon", David gasped as if pulling the words from some deep place in his belly. "I am about to go the way of all the earth. So be strong, show yourself a man, and observe what the Lord your God requires: Walk in his ways, and keep his decrees and commandments, his laws and requirements, as written in the Law of Moses, so that you may prosper in all you do and wherever you go, and that the Lord may keep his promise to me." David began a hacking gurgling, cough that lifted his head from the stained, soaked linens. Abishag, was there like some hovering carrion bird to support his neck and wipe the sputum from his beard. As the spell ended he brushed her off with a weak elbow and she drifted back to her perch until she would be needed again. David continued,"If your descendants watch how they live and if they walk faithfully before me with all their heart and soul, you will never fail to have a man on the throne of Israel." "Now you yourself, know what Joab, son of Zeruiah did to me—what he did to the two commanders of Israel’s armies, Abner, son of Ner and Amasa, son of Jether." David became visibly agitated. The sallow sunken cheeks blossomed with patches of red as the memories of the event flooded back. "He killed them, shedding their blood in peacetime as if in battle, and with that blood stained the belt around his waist and the sandals on his feet. Deal with him according to your wisdom, but do not let his gray head go down to the grave in peace." At this the King sunk back and tried to summon his few remaining reserves. He was shaking as almond leaves in the hot summer breeze as he reached over his body and clutched Solomon’s arm with a gnarled grasp that felt almost painful in the bone against flesh grip. Lifting his body forward David said,"But show kindness to the sons of Barzillai of Gilead and let them be among those who eat at your table. They stood by me when I fled from your brother Absalom." Solomon saw in David’s eyes a glimmer of gratitude at the thought of the men that had remained loyal to him during Absalom’s revolt. Then they clouded as he gave his final charge. "And remember, you have with you Shimei, son of Gera, the Benjamite from Bahurim, who called down bitter curses on me the day I went to Mhanaim. When he came down to meet me at the Jordan, I swore to him by the Lord: "I will not put you to death by the sword.’ But now, do not consider him innocent. You are a man of wisdom; you will know what to do to him. Bring his gray head to the grave in blood." With this final injunction David released Solomon’s arm and rasp out a long rattling sigh. Then there was silence except for the whimpering Abishag perched in the corner. David, a man after God’s own heart, slayer of Goliath, anointed by God to be Israel’s greatest King, writer of the Psalms, adulterer and murderer. David, his father, dead and finally at peace. Solomon turned away and walked through the door. A voice cried, "The king is dead. Long live King Solomon." Solomon turned his head slightly, thinking of what the old man had charged him, then back to the front. With a deep breath he strode swiftly through the genuflecting mass and into the early evening. There was grim work ahead and he knew the stakes were even that by this time tomorrow he would be the undisputed King of Israel or he would be dead. One way or another, there would be blood shed this night and he planned on it not being his. |
