|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
Solomon sat on his royal throne in the banquet hall, his eight hundred wives feasting with him, Zeriah seated in the throne set to his right. The wine flowed freely and Solomon, as he downed another goblet, felt his mind start to buzz and the warmness of the alcohol fill his heart. Another few drinks and I should be thoroughly drunk.
His wives, drinking greedily as they ate, already began to look drunk. Zeriah remained cooly on her throne, picking at her food, anger and hatred in her eyes.
“They’re so disgusting,” Zeriah said in a low voice. “Like animals. I don’t know why you insist on eating with all of them.”
“They are my wives, Zeriah dear,” Solomon reminded her. He felt irritated with Zeriah but the alcohol kept his mood light.
“You ought to put them all away. Including that foul Rebecca,” she hissed.
Solomon frowned, draining his goblet. He felt an anger begin to build. He would have to speak with Zeriah about her tongue. Not tonight. Tonight he was determined to enjoy himself and find pleasure. But tomorrow. Or the next day. Sometime soon. Yes, she is becoming too powerful, too controlling . . . I cannot allow that.
The oaken doors opened and a cool draft swept through the hall. Solomon watched as two soldiers entered and saluted. One blew a shofar as the other stepped toward the throne.
“My lord and good King Solomon, Prelate Benaiah from the Province Shinar has just arrived. He requests a private audience with you.”
Solomon stared at the soldier, blinking in disbelief.
“Benaiah?” Zeriah snarled. “What is he doing here?”
Solomon shook his head in bewilderment. “I do not know.” Had it not been a few weeks ago he had wondered what had happened to his old friend? And now he would arrive just like that? How strange.
“And Queen Rebecca has arrived as well. She is in her palace, my lord,” the messenger finished.
Solomon nodded. “Well, my family is returning.” He rose to his feet. “I’m not sure why Benaiah is here but I am glad for it. I had meant to send for him anyway, soon.”
“You had?” Zeriah asked in disbelief.
Solomon frowned, his irritation rising. “Yes! I had. He was . . . he is one of my closest friends.”
Zeriah looked away in anger.
Solomon nodded at the soldier. “Yes, go ahead and send him to my bedchambers. I will meet with him there. And make sure the fire is well stoked. Have some wine sent up as well.”
Solomon walked down his steps. “I assume you can oversee the dinner, my love.”
Zeriah did not even look at her husband as she picked at her food. Solomon decided to ignore her as well. Let her act like a child. She’s being more foolish than Rebecca ever was.
Solomon stepped into his room where Benaiah waited. The tall, broad shouldered man stood on the balcony, dressed in golden armor, a gray cloak billowing down his back. His red beard glistened in the moonlight. He faced Mt. Zion, looking at the city of Jerusalem. Solomon softly padded into the room, past the crackling fire. He picked up the two wine glasses filled with red and brought them to his friend.
“Captain Benaiah!” Solomon said as he stepped onto the stone balcony. Benaiah turned and a large grin split his beard. The two embraced, Solomon extending his hands so as not to spill the wine.
“Please, take a glass,” Solomon urged.
Benaiah shook his head, “Perhaps later. I’ve had a long ride from Babylon. And what I need to speak with you . . . perhaps it is better not to drink wine with.”
Solomon, feeling slightly annoyed, set Benaiah’s wine glass down but drank his in one gulp. “Well, I hope you won’t mind if I indulge.”
Solomon watched Benaiah’s concerned gaze search his face. Yes, he knows I’m almost drunk. So what? He is my servant after all. What do I have to fear from him?
“I am happy you are glad to see me,” Benaiah began slowly, measuring his words.
Solomon laughed, walking toward the rail. “Yes, of course I am, Benaiah. You are my closest friend. I have missed you dearly.”
“Have you? Why have you never sent for me, then?” Benaiah asked.
Solomon forced his irritation down and smiled. “Ah, well, business you know. I’ve been very busy. And not just with my gold. You’d be proud of me, old friend. I finally took your advice. I’ve found pleasure is far more valuable than gold or wisdom.”
Benaiah stood motionless. “I see you’ve married many strange wives.”
“Strange . . .” Solomon whispered, smiling. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”
Benaiah cleared his throat. “I also see the landscape has much changed since last I walked these streets. I don’t remember as many high places.”
Solomon frowned. “Must we discuss that this evening? Let us speak of old times, have a drink, reminisce. We can deal with the present later.”
“Perhaps that is one of your problems, my king,” Benaiah said softly.
“I see,” Solomon sighed. It appears you, at least, have not changed.”
Benaiah inclined his head. “Nor have you.”
The two men stood in silence, looking at each other in the pale moonlight.
“Yes, I admit things have gotten a little out of control,” Solomon said, lowering his head.
“My king, you must repent. And do it now. Things have gone from bad to worse and you are playing with fire. Fire that can kill.”
“I know. I know,” Solomon said softly, shaking his head.
Benaiah leaned forward. “You have compromised. You have idols everywhere. I can’t go anyplace in this court without seeing an idol or a phallic symbol or an altar dedicated to some false god. And your lust, Solomon. You are controlled by your women. You have lost the respect of your leaders, of your advisers. Of your people. You must turn from your ways now. While you still can!”
Solomon felt each of Benaiah’s words like a painful jab into his soul. He knew everything his old friend spoke was truth and yet, it pained him so. It hurt him. It caused him such rage and anger. But why? Benaiah has always spoken the truth. Shouldn’t I have listened to him before? Why do I feel such anger toward him? Solomon gritted his teeth, holding his head in his hands as he collapsed into a stone chair on the balcony.
“You must put away these wives, oh king. Most of them are not even Israelites. They have turned your heart far from Yah. Put them away immediately. I can help--”
“I have it all under control, Benaiah!” Solomon jerked his head up and snapped. “These women will serve YHVH. I cannot change them overnight! Give me some time and they will come around. They truly are good people, Benaiah. We must learn compassion.”
Benaiah shook his head in disdain. “Compassion? Compassion for those who refuse to love Yah? For those who refuse to walk in His ways? For those who defile His dwelling place? If these women won’t serve our Lord as slaves and won’t serve our Lord as Queens, when will they serve? They’ve had their chance!”
“You never understood!” Solomon hissed as he rose to his feet and walked into his room. He approached the fire and looked into the flames. “Not then and certainly not now. These women are not wicked. They have just been taught wrong. All they need is someone to love them, to show them the way, and they will serve the Lord.”
Benaiah followed the king and shook his head. “If that were true, why do they still serve their idols? You’ve been married to many of them for almost five years. The rest for six. How much time do you think they need?”
Solomon spun around. His anger burned within him. “As much time as they need! They are not like us, Benaiah. They are weak-willed and easily swayed. It will take love and compassion to bring them around. You must learn what that is.”
Benaiah’s face turned into disgust. “It it not they who are weak-willed, my king. It is you. Everyone can see how Zeriah manipulates you. And the others. How was building them that giant Ashtereth pole in the courtyard a means of bringing them to worship the true Creator?”
“We must meet them where they are!” Solomon defended. “They will come around.”
Benaiah remained silent, his eyes boring into Solomon. Solomon felt the heat of his rage boil within him. I need to rest. Just rest. I’m drunk. I’m tired. This wasn’t the night that I had planned. I need to rest. I should continue this tomorrow.
“What has become of you?” Benaiah whispered. “You are nothing but a whore monger!”
“How dare you?” Solomon whispered, drawing his sword. Benaiah blinked at his friend, staring at the blade glowing crimson in the firelight. “How dare you call your king a whore monger?”
Benaiah looked at the blade. “Are you going to cut me down now?”
“I should cut out your tongue!” Solomon spat. “I could have you stoned for treason.”
Benaiah remained silent, but Solomon saw his face melt into grief.
“Guards!” Solomon yelled.
Two soldiers marched into the bedchamber and saluted.
“This prelate was under strict orders not to return to Jerusalem unless specifically summoned by his king. In coming to Jerusalem, he has violated my specific orders. I want him thrown into the dungeons until I can decide what to do with him.”
“My lord?” One of the soldiers hesitated.
“Did you not hear me?” Solomon turned on the soldier crazily, his sword waving, his face flushed. “Throw him into the dungeons!”
“Yes, my lord,” the soldiers snapped to attention and quickly pulled him out of the room. Benaiah followed without resistance. Solomon, angrily, turned his face toward the fire until it burned with heat.
He found no sleep that night.
Solomon sat at the dinner table in the long dining hall. A dozen of his most beautiful wives ate with him, Zeriah seated nearest. The far chair remained empty. He had summoned Rebecca to the table but she had failed to arrive. Solomon felt angry but wanted to concentrate on his meal. The mindless chatter of his wives filled the hall. Zeriah remained silent most of the dinner hour.
Solomon, as the hour drew to a close, set down his fork. “Ladies, I would ask you to leave now. I must speak with Zeriah alone.”
They chattered their way out of the dining hall, many of them not even telling their husband goodbye. Solomon looked at Zeriah whose own plate of food remained untouched and cold.
“You should eat,” Solomon said. “You’ll starve yourself.”
Zeriah said nothing, staring at her plate of food.
Solomon sighed. “I do not know what more I can do for you. What else would you ask of me?”
Zeriah looked into her husband’s eyes. He saw not just the normal cruelty and malice, but, deeper, beyond that, a desperation, a fear. Perhaps a terror. Solomon stared in surprise as he glimpsed the fullness of Zeriah’s soul for the first time in six years.
“Kill them, my love! Kill them all. They are animals. They care nothing for you. They waste your time, your money, your food, your resources. They are animals.”
Solomon stared at his wife in shock. The hatred in her whisper dripped from her mouth like venom. Solomon suddenly saw her more as a snake than a human. “Kill them?”
“You can start with that vile Queen Rebecca. You should have done that a long time ago. And kill the rest of them. I deserve you to myself. We deserve each other.”
“Zeriah!” Solomon said in shock. “What about your sisters?”
“I don’t care about them!” Zeriah snarled. “Xyla hates you, she’s told me that many times. And the others only enjoy the riches you pour upon them. They despise you, dear. They hate you! So kill them. Teach them a lesson. Destroy them all. I will help you, Solomon, I will help you!”
Solomon swallowed, feeling bile rise in his throat. What sort of monster was this? She wanted every wife dead simply so she could have him for her own?
“You are asking me to kill one thousand women to satisfy you?” Solomon asked in a whisper.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Zeriah shrieked. “You have never denied me before, Solomon. Please don’t deny me now. This is what I’ve wanted for so long. Be rid of them. Make me your one and only queen!”
Solomon saw the fire of ambition fill her eyes. So that was what she truly wanted. Solomon frowned deeply. “This is very unlike you, Zeriah. To reveal yourself so freely.”
“Ahhh!” Zeriah snarled and rose from her chair. “You mock me?”
Solomon remained seated, watching his angered wife pace madly. He had never seen her in such a rage. “It was you who advised me to marry your sisters, my dear.”
Zeriah spun to face him, screaming. “I know! I know! And I wish I never had. I don’t know why you need so many women. And still, even now, they don’t satisfy you. What more do you need? Hmm? When will it be enough?”
Solomon tried to smile to calm her down. “Zeriah, you are acting foolish. This will pass. Would you like to have me tonight?”
Zeriah’s eyes flamed and she looked like one possessed. She grabbed a vase from the table and threw it at the king. Solomon lunged from his chair as the vase shattered against it into a thousand pieces. She grabbed a plate and threw it. The king ducked and it shattered against the wall.
“Stop this!” Solomon cried as she threw a wine glass at him. Solomon barely missed it and stalked toward the maddened Hittite. As she picked up another plate, Solomon grabbed her arm and forced her toward him. “Stop it at once.”
Zeriah spit on him.
Solomon slapped her hard. Zeriah shrieked as she collapsed to the floor, weeping. Solomon, breathing hard, stood over her. “Never spit on me again.”
He stalked from the room. Zeriah continued to lay on the floor, weeping in rage, her hair damp against her face. Queen Rebecca, who had watched everything from an adjoining hall, entered into the dining hall. Zeriah looked up at her, her eyes filled with hatred.
“You’re late!” Zeriah whispered.
Rebecca nodded. “I know.”
Zeriah, tears in her eyes, rose to her feet. “I hate you. I hate your husband. I hate your kingdom.”
Rebecca stopped, standing still. She stared at Zeriah in pity and sorrow. “Even now, poor girl, you cannot be humbled. Your rage will kill you.”
“Oh, shut up!” Zeriah hissed.
Rebecca walked slowly toward her. “How does it feel, Zeriah? How does it feel to be just another plaything to Solomon now? He hardly even notices you anymore. What with his thousand other wives. How long must you wait before you can lie with him? A year? Maybe two? Of course, you know, you were always just a plaything to him. He never really loved you.”
Zeriah lunged toward Rebecca. The two women fell to the floor, rolling. Zeriah clawed at Rebecca. Rebecca screamed, trying to cover her face. Zeriah, filled with animal rage, dug her fingers deep. She ripped, her nails scraping skin off Rebecca’s cheek. Rebecca screamed as blood burned across her face.
Joshua rushed into the room and tore Zeriah off from her prey. Zeriah twisted and turned but Joshua easily overpowered her and held her back. Rebecca rose to her feet, her right cheek stained with blood.
“I’ll kill you!” Zeriah howled. “I’ll kill you. I swear, I’ll kill you.”
Rebecca smoothed her dress and only smiled bitterly. “Your days are numbered, Zeriah. I would leave Jerusalem while you still can.”
She turned and left the dining hall. After a few moments, Joshua released Zeriah. She shoved away from him and spit at his feet, then turned and stalked from the dining hall.
Solomon rode his crystal chariot up the red jeweled road that spiraled Mt. Zion. Zeriah, decked in gold and silver, sat next to him. Solomon leaned close. “I have a surprise for you, my dear. I hope it makes everything up to you.”
Zeriah smiled back. She was afraid now of Rebecca. And she was afraid of Solomon. She could not afford to lose his favor. No matter what foolish thing her husband had done, she would convince him that she appreciated it. She would not gain her way unless she had him firmly wrapped around her finger. It would simply take a little longer, that was all.
As the chariot rounded the last stretch of red highway, they arrived near the summit of Mt. Zion. Built in the cleft of the mountain, only a few spans away, stood a huge altar, filled with Ashtereth poles and statues of Molech and Chemosh. Already priests burned incense on the massive altar and fires burned on surrounding smaller high places as well.
Zeriah squeezed her husband’s arm. She did not have to pretend. Solomon had deliberately built her the largest high place devoted to Molech and Chemosh she had ever seen. And right atop Mt. Zion, in the heart of Jerusalem.
“It is beautiful,” Zeriah breathed. “I have never seen one so large. Not even in the temples my fathers used to travel to in the full moons. It is wonderful, my dear.”
She kissed him long and passionately. But in that kiss, even as she could smell the sweet fragrance of the incense, she decided she hated Solomon more than anyone she had ever hated. And she would hate this man forever. She hated him because of the lavish gifts he gave her. This spineless man thinks he can erase everything by just giving me his grand gifts? He thinks he can just manipulate me to fall right in line again? She carefully concealed her burning hatred deep within as she deeply kissed him. I will kill him, she thought suddenly. One day, I will kill this man.
Solomon, blissfully unaware of the murder in Zeriah’s heart, led her out of the crystal chariot and toward the vast altar. The wicked, cruel eyes of Molech stared down at them. The demonic, animal eyes of Chemosh gazed up into the heavens. The priests and several of Solomon’s wives chanted and prayed, as they gave their offerings of fire and sweet incense unto their idols.
Solomon stood behind Zeriah as she bowed low and began offering prayers to Molech. She prayed, even as her husband looked on her with adoring eyes, that she would one day have the privilege of helping to destroy the greatest king on the earth. She wanted to see his blood flow, the shock in his face as he slipped away into death. All the pain and hurt that he had caused her would be avenged. She prayed more fervently, begging for a chance to destroy Solomon. And, strangely, she felt the cruel eyes of Molech smiling down upon her, as if the dark god himself planted this desire deep within her heart. For such a time was I born, she mused. For just such a time.
“We shall have a feast!” Solomon declared, waving his hands. “Right here on Mt. Zion. This evening. A feast dedicated to Molech and Chemosh. Perhaps we shall even worship YHVH as well!”
High in her palace, looking from her slitted window, Queen Rebecca watched the incense and fires smolder on the crown of Mt. Zion. Even from her window, she could see the top of the pagan altar Solomon had constructed on the mountain. The eyesore cut against the sky in a jagged cut. She tore her gaze away, looking at herself in a nearby mirror.
Three deep cuts zigzagged across her cheek. She touched them gently and could feel the immediate sting. She sighed again, rising from her window couch and passing through her room. I tried to do all I could, Yah, she prayed. I brought Benaiah here like I thought you told me. I have prayed for my husband until I had no more tears to shed. What more can I do? What more can I do to help him? Please, show me how to pray. Show me what to do. Show me what to say. Would you have me go to him? What must I do?
Nothing.
The Voice sounded loud and clear in her mind.
“Is there no hope for him then?” She whispered.
I want you to stop praying for his good. The Voice spoke loud and clear. I will deal with him now.
Rebecca shuddered as she heard the Voice. Please, Yah, please be merciful to him. Remember, he once was your servant. Once, long ago. Please give him more chances to repent. Do not slay him. Not in his sin. Not like this. Do not allow his enemies, our enemies, to triumph over us. Please. Let your mercy triumph over judgment.
But the Voice did not answer. It remained silent.
Rebecca began to weep as she collapsed into her bed. She wept, and wept until she slowly drifted to sleep. But, for the first time in a long time, her dreams gave her a deep peace and rest. When she awoke in the morning, the spring sunshine flooding through her windows, she felt a strange joy in her heart . . . strange because she had not felt such joy for a long time.
