|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
“She says you hit her!” Zeriah hissed. Solomon rolled his eyes. They both stood on the outer balcony of the “room of the heavens” in the fading late summer twilight.
“I did not hit your sister. I gave her a nudge out the door,” Solomon defended himself.
“Why were you so cruel to her? She was trying to please you!”
Solomon sighed angrily and walked away from Zeriah and down the balcony. Zeriah stalked after him. “Her poem disgusted me. It ought to disgust you,” he said.
“This is who we are!” Zeriah nearly screamed. Solomon could see a few faces look up from down below. “We don’t serve your God. We serve Molech and Baal and the Queen of Heaven. I thought you loved us and accepted that!”
“Have I not accepted your idol worship?” Solomon snapped back.
“Yes, that is why I am confused!” Zeriah yelled. Her eyes bugged and a vein in her forehead looked read to explode. “You act one way and then another. Do you accept who we are or not?”
Solomon sighed again, avoiding the gaze of his wife. This is becoming far too much trouble. He felt that familiar irritation and restlessness rise within him. He had never felt it with Zeriah before. Now it rose with a vengeance.
“I cannot allow this to continue,” Solomon whispered. “You are my wives, queens of Israel. You cannot act like pagans!”
Zeriah curled her lip into a sneer. “Then perhaps you should stone us. Or hang us. You cannot ask us to become something we are not. We won’t play the coward like your Rebecca, who gave up her Egyptian identity--”
“That is enough!” Solomon yelled, raising his hand. Zeriah stared at him defiantly. She smiled. “Yes, oh wonderful and wise king, strike me. Strike me before your subjects below. You will give them yet another tale to tell of how mad and foolish you have become.”
With utter shock Solomon saw the total hatred and malice Zeriah had toward him. He had never seen it in her eyes before, but it burned bright and clear now, as if this last year she had carefully hidden her true feelings for him, but now allowed them to blaze forth. He staggered back, feeling weak and empty. He loved Zeriah and this was how she treated him? He shook his head, turning away. No, she does not hate me. She loves me. Why would she hate me? You’re being a fool, Solomon. Show some compassion to your wives for once!
Solomon placed both hands on the rail and slumped toward the balcony wall. “I’m sorry. Tell Xyla I’m sorry.”
Zeriah turned away without a word. Solomon stood alone on the balcony as the sun set, wondering how the most powerful king on earth could feel so incredibly helpless.
Solomon clawed his way through the growing stacks of paper on his study desk in the library. Caleb carefully scribbled down important notes in his ledger scroll. He searched desperately for a certain paper but could hardly keep his mind from wandering. His restlessness gnawed away at him, no longer in the background, but a hungry monster feeding on his very soul.
I’ve got to do something! I’m going to die of stress if I don’t!
Solomon threw down the papers and sighed heavily. Pleasure. Pleasure has been the means that has most quickly soothed my stress and calmed my heart. I need pleasure.
Solomon frowned. But I no longer find pleasure in Zeriah, or her seven sisters . . . perhaps nine wives are not enough. He faintly felt a longing for his first bride. Perhaps I should ask Rebecca to come back from her palace. No, she hated him, he knew it.
“Can I do something for you, my lord?” Caleb asked, worried as he looked at Solomon.
Solomon sighed loudly and pushed his seat back, rising to his feet. “Does it feel hot in here to you?”
Caleb crinkled his forehead. “It is the dead of winter outside, my lord. You are warm?”
Solomon swore and began to pace. “I’ve got to relax.”
Caleb rose to his feet. “You may rest for the day, my lord. I can handle the rest of this business.”
Solomon nodded as Caleb began gathering his scrolls. Solomon gazed out one of the slitted windows of the library. Heavy snow, rare for Jerusalem, fell from the dark, blue clouds, covering the city in a soft blanket of white.
Pleasure. I need pleasure. Well, why not? Am I not the king? You know, Zeriah’s words echoed through his mind, since you are the greatest king ever, you can have as many women as you want. Or is this forbidden to even one so great as you?
Solomon turned to Caleb as his administrator headed for the door. “Caleb, how many slave women do we have working in Jerusalem?”
“One hundred and fifty thousand seventy three,” Caleb answered promptly.
Solomon leaned back into his chair. “Good. Good. I’d like you to bring the five thousand most fair to my banquet hall this evening. I’d like them dressed in royal gowns so that I may look upon them. And provide some of the best wine. I think it is time to select another wife. Or perhaps two.” I suppose I could select Israelite women, but they are such prudes. Is it not much more thrilling to select the foreign slaves?
Solomon laughed at his own joke. Caleb did not laugh at all. He looked very serious.
Solomon cocked an amused eyebrow at Caleb. “Is there something wrong?”
Caleb’s face remained stone. “Not at all, my lord. I will do as you have asked.”
Solomon sat in his banquet hall, on his golden lion throne. A rose wood table sat near him, where a goblet of red wine and flagon stood. The oaken doors opened wide into the snowy courtyard beyond. He watched as wagon loads of beautifully dressed Hittites, Amorites, Jebusites and Caanite women approached the banquet hall. He had carefully chosen foreign women both to spite those in leadership he knew who disapproved, and to spite Zeriah whom he had chosen not to tell about his latest invention of pleasure.
Well, I am only taking your advice, sweet Zeriah. He smiled smugly as the women began to enter. The soldiers coordinated twenty women in at a time. They each walked up to the throne, turned once around and then walked back. Solomon either remained silent, gazing at the female body before him, or he would lift a finger. If he lifted a finger, two guards led the woman to Solomon’s right where she would sit in a chair for the remainder of the evening.
One dark haired Caanite approached the throne and turned once around. Solomon smiled. “I’d like you to remove your dress.”
The soldiers looked at the king in stunned silence. The woman hesitated and then began to undress herself. As her gown slipped down below her shoulders, Solomon lifted his hand. “That is enough. You are obedient, I see. I need a good, docile wife,” he lifted his finger. She covered herself as two guards led her to the king’s right.
After four hours of watching one wagon load of women after another brought before him, nearly five hundred women stood to Solomon’s right, crowding each other so much they could barely fit into that corner of the banquet hall.
Solomon rose to his feet as midnight approached. “That is enough. I will take these,” Solomon waved at the five hundred gathered females. “as wives. We shall have the ceremony tomorrow. Take these women tonight to the baths and have them washed, purified and perfumed.”
Zeriah watched Solomon descend the wide stairs from his bedchambers late that morning. Winter sun poured through a wide window but did little to warm her. She approached her husband, her eyes angry.
“You finally decide to emerge from your bedroom after two weeks,” Zeriah said icily. “I had no idea you were taking a honeymoon.”
Solomon walked right past her. “I do not inform you of everything I do.”
Zeriah followed as they walked down the broad hall. “I hear you married five hundred slaves. How many have you slept with these past two weeks?”
Solomon smiled. “Enough. It has helped me considerably. I feel like a new man.”
Zeriah stared after him darkly. She stopped as he continued to walk away. “Will we still draw lots?”
Solomon laughed, continuing to walk. “We shall see my dear. But I will take you to bed tonight. I expect you well perfumed.”
Zeriah folded her arms, the chill of the winter sun not even approaching the chill in her heart.
“I don’t know what to do,” Joshua confessed to Rebecca. The two stood on her silver bridge. The bridge arched over the spider web of beams strung between the four towers shadowing the domed roof of her palace below. “He has over six hundred wives. Only a few of them are actual Hebrews. He is in bed with them continually. Sometimes he does not come from his room for days. All his food is brought directly up to him. He’s become . . . a man who only seeks pleasure.”
Rebecca nodded, her face not betraying the intense pain she felt. A half dozen servant maids stood just behind her. “I am not surprised, Commander. He was wearing himself thin, overworking himself, consuming himself with his wealth. If he hadn’t found an outlet, he would have killed himself. He has no peace, Joshua. Since he won’t return to his Creator, he seeks the god of pleasure.”
Joshua shook his head. “I’m not even sure I should continue to serve in the king’s court. I am disgusted with Solomon, but I love him. I keep hoping, praying he will change. But Caleb, and some of the others . . . they hate Solomon now. I can see it in their eyes, their whispers, their faces. Sometimes I don’t know whom I fear most, Solomon or those who are beginning to hate him.”
“You must remain, Joshua. You are one of the few people in that court that still has the respect of Solomon. And you are one of the few who still loves him. I fear his list of friends grows short. And I suspect not one of his wives is on it, either.”
Joshua nodded. “It’s true. Although I doubt Solomon is even aware of it. If he is not drunk, he is in his bedroom, and the rare times he is out and about, he is so consumed with his wealth and projects . . . it seems hopeless.”
Rebecca frowned. “It seems so. But it is not. You must remain, Joshua. Solomon needs those who are loyal to him. Now more than ever.”
Joshua bowed low. “Yes, my Queen. I will do as you have asked,” he turned toward the arched exit.
Rebecca watched Joshua go. “And commander, keep me informed of what you observe in Caleb and the others. I understand their disgust and hatred for the king, but I too fear it. I think Caleb has enough sense to keep the hotter heads in line. But keep me informed all the same.”
Joshua bowed again. “Of course, my queen.”
Solomon stood before the broad oaken doors of his banquet hall which led out into the courtyard. He had waited all winter for this and now, one of the first days of spring, everything had finally fallen into place. Zeriah stood before him, her arms folded.
“My love, I have a surprise for you. I think you will very much appreciate it,” Solomon smiled as he saw the confusion fill Zeriah’s face. They had grown distant ever since he had married so many hundreds of wives, but Solomon was determined to win his second wife’s heart once again. He missed her.
He nodded to the two guards. They opened the huge doors and Solomon took Zeriah’s hands, leading her onto the porch of the court and into the sunlight of the courtyard. Shadowing them and towering high into the air, a large Ashtereth pole, larger than Zeriah had ever seen, rose into the sky. The pole was so high it nearly passed above the highest turret of Solomon’s own palace. Zeriah noticed the gold and silver monument easily surpassed the height of Rebecca’s palace. She squealed in delight as she reached toward the phallic symbol.
“Oh, Solomon, it is beautiful!”
“Dedicated to the Queen of Heaven herself!” Solomon said proudly as he circled the large monument. “And, of course, to my darling wife, Zeriah.”
Zeriah touched the monument and then rushes to her husband, kissing him warmly. “Thank you, my king, it is beautiful.”
Solomon smiled down at her. “I’ve missed you, Zeriah. I hope you can forgive me for all of my foolishness.”
Zeriah smiled back. “Well, I suppose I have more women to join with me in my worship. Can you summon them, dear?”
Solomon nodded and lifted one hand. A soldier blew out the familiar sounds from the shofar to summon Solomon’s wives. In moments, hundreds of beautifully dressed women began to pour from the palace and fill the courtyard. They all stared at the newly installed Ashtereth pole in wonder and delight.
“Ladies!” Zeriah called to Solomon’s wives. “A gift from our beloved husband. It is time to worship the Queen of Heaven!” The women cheered. Solomon smiled broadly.
After some orders from Zeriah, soldiers hurriedly set up makeshift altars, bringing incense and logs with them. Within the half-hour, smoking columns of incense began rising from various altars, mingling into larger clouds as they lifted up and around the pole.
The women began chanting and bowing down as they presented their worship and prayers to their goddess. Solomon walked among them, smiling at his silly wives. In the past five years, he had married over seven hundred of them, and some three hundred concubines. Most of his wives he elevated to queen in order to pacify them. A few, the three hundred concubines, he left as slaves either because he had never found the time to elevate them to Queen or simply lacked the desire. Most of them were foreigners, and he noticed even the few Israelite wives worshipped among the others.
Solomon found Zeriah amidst the worshipping women and kneeled next to her as she watched incense rise in a cloud from her own altar. He chuckled softly. “Now, eventually, my love, you all are going to have to learn how to worship the real Creator.”
Zeriah frowned and stared at her husband. That same hatred filled her eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Solomon frowned. No, this was not the reaction I wanted at all. “No harm intended. I only meant that eventually I hope you all come to worship with me, at my Temple. I would enjoy having my wives with me to worship Yah. I would enjoy just having you, fair Zeriah.”
“I will never worship at your Temple!” She spit the words like poison out of her mouth. “Never say that again!”
Solomon backed away, rising to his feet. “Please don’t be angry, Zeriah. I’m sorry. I misspoke. I want you to enjoy this day. Maybe I should just go.” Solomon waited, hoping Zeriah would ask him to stay. She turned back to her incense.
Solomon, feeling his irritation and restlessness suddenly rise in his chest, walked away quickly.
Queen Rebecca saddled her white horse as Joshua handed her a woolen backpack. She slung one strap over her shoulder.
“I think I should go with you, my queen,” Joshua said again, handing her a dark cloak.
Rebecca pulled the cloak tight around her and shook her head. “No, I must go alone. It will go faster and Solomon will be less likely to notice.”
“What if hears you have left?” Joshua asked.
The queen slipped some warm gloves over her hands. “I have left a note for him in his bedchamber. My mother has fallen ill and I had to rush to Egypt to attend to her.”
“He would not have a problem with me accompanying you then!” Joshua protested.
Rebecca paused and smiled. “Commander, the real reason I want you here is not for my sake. It is for his. I want you near him in case anything happens. Remember our conversation about his growing list of enemies?”
Joshua nodded, understanding her unspoken words. He had the same fears.
Rebecca gripped the reins as her horse neighed. “Thank you, Joshua. For everything. I should not be gone more than a few weeks. I’ve never been to Shinar, but I plan to ride as fast and hard as I can. Benaiah must return before things become any worse.”
Joshua nodded, “I agree, my queen. If anyone can bring Solomon back, it will be Benaiah. I only hope he agrees to return. He was on strict orders not to leave his post unless summoned.”
“He will return. He has to. I’m sure he never expected Solomon to become this evil. Benaiah won’t abandon his closest friend.”
Joshua patted the horse. Rebecca whipped the reins and raced through the open doors of the stable, using the warm summer night as her cover. Joshua watched her thunder through the gates of Jerusalem, offering a prayer for her safe return
“She should have asked me to go with her!” Solomon crumpled Rebecca’s note in his hand and threw it into the fire. “It is foolish for her to travel alone.”
Zeriah stood in his bedchamber and walked toward the bed. “I don’t even know why you think of her anymore. You don’t even love her.”
Solomon remained silent, facing the fire. He allowed Zeriah’s words to sink into his mind. Yes, I did hate her once, didn’t I? But do I hate her now? How can I hate someone I barely see anymore? No, I don’t hate her anymore. Not now. But do I love her? Solomon thought of Rehoboam, their boy now sixteen years of age. He had joined them for dinner yesterday evening and he looked so handsome, so striking, just like his grandfather. What a strong boy. He felt a pang of regret. I’ve not spent nearly as much time as I should have with the boy. I must fix that before it is too late.
For much of the past sixteen years, Rehoboam had lived with his mother in the palace, seeing his father only occasionally. Solomon knew him less than his own wife.
“Are you coming to bed, Solomon?” Zeriah asked, stretching.
“Many of them hate me, don’t they?” Solomon murmured as he gazed into the fire.
“What?”
“My wives. Many of them hate me. I can see it in their eyes when I make love to them. Especially when I make love with more than one at a time,” Solomon whispered.
“Yes, I thought you had decided to stop that,” Zeriah teased.
Solomon shrugged. “It gives me pleasure. Besides, Caleb has given up trying to advise me. I think he has finally learned.”
“Caleb is wise, then,” Zeriah said. “Now, come to bed, my love.”
Solomon sighed and headed toward his bed. His restlessness had turned to loneliness. How odd. And, as he slipped into Zeriah’s arms, he thought of Benaiah, a friend he had not seen in six years. What had become of his closest friend?
Rebecca passed through the arid desert on her white steed. The hot sun beat on her back and sweat poured down her face. Her horse snorted in weariness. She carefully placed the bag of water to her horse’s mouth as he drank greedily. After a few moments she drew the bag to her own lips.
She had spent the better part of two weeks crossing this desert. League upon league of unbroken, barren, lifeless sand stretched away as far as the eye could see, under a never ending sky of blue, filled with the hot sun.
In another day she would have no more food and very little water. If she did not find Babylon, the capitol of Shinar soon, she would die. Please, Lord, help me. Don’t let me fail. I must find Benaiah. Please. Give my husband one more chance.
She urged her tired horse on, ascending another dune. As she reached the top, her heart stopped. Below her, the white sand abruptly turning into dark green, a valley swept down to a broad river. The great river Euphrates. White rapids flowed swiftly. Just on the other side, a small walled city shadowed a portion of the river. A tributary flowed from beneath its walls and into the raging river.
Ziggurats peeked above the thick, pink walls. Babylon. At last. Rebecca urged her horse forward. Her steed responded eagerly, thirsting for the water and hungering for the promise of green grass.
But Rebecca could not waste any time. She had already taken far longer than she had intended. Every day she spent not knowing what new foolishness Solomon descended into, was a day she worried over her husband’s soul. Please, Yah, give me more time. Please, protect my husband. Don’t let any disaster befall him. Not until Benaiah can speak with him. Please, give him this one last chance.
Rebecca rode hard over a bridge in sore need of repair. The horse protested at not stopping for grass or water, but Rebecca forced him on. The gate was open as she rode through without so much as protest. Babylon had long been an Israelite outpost and Rebecca now wore her red royal insignia of the Menorah over her back. The Israelite guards saluted her as she passed into the city.
It was a poor, dusty town. Villagers haggled at a marketplace and squeezed through narrow streets. Tall ziggurats dwarfed the mud huts that covered the city floor. Rebecca rode swiftly down the main avenue into the center of the circular town. Joshua had told her exactly where the Prelate of Shinar would reside.
A wide, wheel shaped garden courtyard surrounded a lone tower that rose higher than all the buildings about. Rebecca unsaddled her horse and tied him to a post, letting him nibble the grass of the garden. Rebecca patted him lovingly. “Wait here, boy.”
She crossed the courtyard and walked toward two guards standing at the door of the tower. “I must speak with Prelate Benaiah immediately. Tell him the queen has a most urgent request.”
The guards saluted. One of them led her into the tower and up the winding, spiraling narrow steps that led to the top most keep. He pounded hard on the thick wooden door. The whole tower choked with dust and streamers of sunlight showed sand hanging in the air. What a terrible place to live, Rebecca thought with disgust. How could her husband to this do his closest friend?
Benaiah’s voice called. “Come.” He sounded tired but his voice seemed strong. Rebecca smiled in anticipation. Oh, how she had missed red bearded Benaiah!
The guard opened the door and bowed low. Rebecca followed him. They stood in a small room, with a line of square windows looking out on the gardens and city below. A bed stood in one corner, an empty fireplace in the other, and the back wall was lined with scrolls. A desk stood near the windows and Benaiah worked intently, not even looking up.
“The Queen of Israel has come to see you, Prelate,” the guard announced.
Benaiah looked up in shock. A smile spread across his bearded face. Gray now covered the edges of his beard, but his face looked just as ruddy and warm as Rebecca remembered.
“Rebecca!” Benaiah gasped. He rose to his feet. Rebecca rushed forward. The two warmly embraced. The guard departed.
“I never expected to see you here, of all places!” Benaiah shouted in joy. “It is so good to see you!” They laughed as they eyed each other.
“You look just as I remember you, captain!” The queen said.
Benaiah’s smile faded and his face grew serious. “You look older, my queen.”
Rebecca frowned. “Things have grown far worse since you left, Benaiah. Far worse.”
Benaiah helped Rebecca into a comfortable chair before the fireplace. He stacked some logs and lit a fire, more for comfort than warmth. Benaiah gave her a large cup of water and drew a chair for himself. They stared into the flames.
“How is he?” Benaiah finally asked.
Rebecca shook her head wordlessly. Where to begin?
“You must return to Jerusalem immediately,” she said, her eyes desperate.
Benaiah pursed his lips. “I was ordered never to return unless the king sent for me directly. He could arrest me if I disobey.”
“Arrest or no, you must return, Captain!” Rebecca raised her voice in earnest. “You will find Solomon much changed. I barely recognize him anymore.”
“We don’t receive much news out here,” Benaiah said. “But what news I have heard troubles me. They say he has seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines? I hope those are exaggerated figures.”
“It started with that Hittite woman and her seven sisters,” Rebecca said, tears rimming her eyes. “And then he started marrying them by the hundreds. He has lost the respect of many in his court, and even most of his wives openly speak against him. And the Israelite people . . . they hear rumors of how foolish and drunk Solomon has become. Most use him as the brunt of jokes. If things were not so rich and comfortable in Israel, I fear Solomon would have a general uprising on his hands.”
“Or a coup in his own court,” Benaiah said darkly. “I knew some leaders who were not fond of Solomon even when he was wise and righteous. How much more now that he is foolish and wicked?”
Rebecca leaned forward. “You must return, Benaiah. He respects no one as much as you. You are his closest friend.”
“I was his closest friend,” Benaiah shook his head in despair, leaning into his chair. “I have not even seen him for six years. And when we parted, it was as enemies.”
Rebecca rose to her feet. “I have ridden for fourteen days straight, across the blazing desert, to bring you back. I would not have come unless all other courses had failed. You must return. He . . . he is lost . . . I can see it in his eyes. He is trapped and doesn’t see how to escape. His women control him , especially that wicked Zeriah. He has even built an enormous phallic symbol in the courtyard.”
“No!”
“Yes, and statues and idols and incense altars to false gods fill the city. I’ve even seen some Israelites follow the king’s lead and begin building high places for themselves. I don’t know what else to do, Benaiah. If you don’t come then . . . then Solomon may not wake up until it is too late. Until Yah decides to bring a judgment on him. Or on all Israel.”
“He’s leading our nation into Hell,” Benaiah said glumly. He set his jaw and rose to his feet. “Very well. I will return. But I do not believe Solomon will listen to me. If anything, he has grown more deaf since last I spoke with him.”
“No, but he has experienced the hardness of his sin,” Rebecca said. “He has almost spent all his pleasure . . . I can see the loneliness, the despair in his eyes. He will not be so quick to dismiss you this time.”
“Or,” Benaiah said. “he will find me even more irritable, more a reminder of the great man he once was, and hate me even more.”
“He will listen,” Rebecca whispered, more of a plea than a statement. She did not really believe herself, but what more could she hope for? If her husband was to be saved at all, Benaiah would be the friend who could pull him from his whirlpool of sin. After all, she had begged Yah for one last chance. If Benaiah failed to change his heart . . . she shut her eyes. No, I cannot even think of that. Not now. I’m too tired. Too afraid.
“I’ll arrange to have a battalion of my best men escort us back to Jerusalem,” Benaiah smiled warmly and poured her some more water. “If you are rested enough, my queen, we will depart at even.”
