|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
Benaiah’s legs ached as he stood for the seventh straight day in the dungeons. His arms, stretched above him, were shackled by rusted iron, linked to chains ascending into the drippy darkness. His back hung against the hard, rough wall. A steady drip of water echoed in the stone hewn dungeons.
High above, a lone beam of light shone from an iron barred window set in the door, the only way in or out of the dungeons. A staircase, hewn from the far cavern wall, wound up toward the door.
His throat burned with thirst and his stomach ached for food. He was only fed once a day, if that, and only a hunk of stale bread and some grimy water.
Occasionally, when Joshua could steal away from his duties, he visited Benaiah and always brought with him a hardy meal. Benaiah scolded him, warning him that he endangered his post. Joshua smiled, nodded, but always returned when he could. Truthfully, Benaiah was grateful. Besides being his only friend and a source of food, he also provided him with news of how the king fared. Most of the time, Benaiah wished afterward that Joshua had never told him.
Those few times he ate marked the only times either Joshua or a guard would unlock his hands and allow him to eat. Then, for the rest of the time, even when he fitfully slept, he stood, his arms above him, his body strained and tired.
He began to wonder if Solomon, lost in his pleasures, would forget about him as he had obviously forgotten about him before. He stared at some dangling chains near him, now holding the skeletal remains of one such prisoner long ago forgotten. Not even a proper burial, Benaiah thought with sadness.
Oh, Yah. I’ve done all I can. What more can I do? Am I now to die here? What more can I do to help my dearest friend?
Nothing. The Voice filled Benaiah’s mind and strangely comforted him. He recognized the still, soft Voice of his Creator. Do nothing. I shall deal with King Solomon now.
Benaiah relaxed. His brow furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, and he prayed for mercy upon his friend. Though he found the Voice comforting, he dreaded the judgment soon to fall upon his friend.
It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living Elohim.
Solomon lay in his bed, laughing. Three of his concubines, naked, giggled with Solomon. Solomon reached over the head of one concubine and grabbed his goblet, draining the red wine into his mouth. The alcohol burned his throat but sent a violent buzz into his head. He felt good. Very good. He truly enjoyed his life. At least during times like these.
Like a crack of thunder, totally shattering the soft darkness of his bedchamber, a towering column of fire shot up into the ceiling at the foot of his bed. The three concubines shrieked in terror as they watched the flames twirl, a thunderous boom shaking the bed. Solomon felt his heart stop. His face turned a ghostly white.
The women saw the terror in Solomon’s face and screamed even louder. They scrambled out of bed, hurriedly pulled on their robes, and rushed from the bedroom. As soon as they left, the thunder ceased.
Silence filled the room as Solomon gazed in dread and horror at the pillar of fire. His hands, cold and clammy, gripped his sheets with knuckles of white.
“I am displeased with you, Solomon!” The Voice shook his soul, filling him with dread. An intense heat pulsated from the fire, burning his skin. But Solomon, transfixed with fear, could not turn away.
“You have allowed your strange wives, and your wealth, and your lust to turn your heart from Me! Your heart is not perfect before Me, as your father David’s was! I am displeased with you!”
The booming voice shook his soul and mind. Still, he could only sit upright in his bed, gripping the edge of his sheets.
“For your wickedness, I will rip your kingdom in two. But for the sake of your father David, and for the sake of Jerusalem, I will not do this until after your death. But because your wickedness has come up before Me and because you have turned away from My covenant, your life will be shortened.”
Solomon’s mouth remained shut. Even if he had wanted to try and explain or justify himself, he could not. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, struck dumb with terror.
“I am displeased with you, King Solomon!” The Voice roared like a lion, followed by another thunder crack.
And, as quickly as it appeared, the pillar of fire winked out of existence. Silence filled the room. Solomon, eyes wide, stared at the wall, his eyes adjusting to the darkness in the room.
Am I going mad? Was it all in my imagination?
As Solomon sunk into his bed he still felt the heat on his face. He shut his eyes, trying to hide from the vision and Voice that tormented his dreams.
Jeroboam stood two hands taller than most men. He had long, dark hair, and a darker beard that barely touched his chest. His sharp, blue eyes, wide nose and ruddy face reminded many of King David although he had no relation to the late king.
Still, Jeroboam, in his early thirties, had garnered the respect of the royal household from a young age. A skilled soldier with a brilliant mind, he worked hard and soon found himself as a commander of the Royal Guard in Solomon’s court. For years he carefully used his leadership skills and ingenuity to cut through the politics and protocols that dominated the king’s court, using his resources and the men under him to solve problems quickly and impress his superiors.
Caleb, one of the highest administrative councilors to the king, found Jeroboam a valuable asset and had carefully made certain to keep him promoted, well paid and happy. Many of the soldiers, generals, commanders and political leaders in the king’s court respected the man and, most recently, some whispered that he would make a much better king than Solomon’s own son, Rehoboam.
Jeroboam tried to ignore the whispers and stay concentrated. He had a job to do, projects to run, men to lead. He cared little for politics and cared even less for the politicians. As a young man, he’d had high ambitions to work in the king’s court and had grown to love and respect the wise King Solomon.
But over the last several years, ever since Solomon began his hundreds of marriages, he had seen first hand the madness and foolishness of the king. He remembered it vividly, as if it happened just yesterday. Four years ago, while attending one of the king’s banquets, he saw Solomon, completely drunk, kissing and fondling several women, some of them married. He remembered seeing the shocked horror on Commander Joshua’s face, the utter disdain on Councilor Caleb’s face, the disbelief on the faces of many of those gathered. He kept his feelings to himself, but from that day forward tried to distance himself from the king and those closest to him. He hated to remind himself what a fool the king had become and wanted simply to serve Israel.
For this reason, Jeroboam proved one of the most loyal soldiers in Solomon’s Court, although unwittingly. He hated to even think about the king, and so would not pander to those who harbored hatred for Solomon. He simply pursued his career, and worked hard to please his superiors.
This was why on that sunny, summer afternoon, as Jeroboam crossed the outer courtyard of Solomon’s palace, trying to avoid looking at the towering Ashtereth pole, he never expected to meet a prophet looking for him. He was busy, headed toward a group of young soldiers needing training. The Sabbath began that evening, so he needed to train hard before the sun set to make the most of his time. His jaw set, his eyes fixed, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, he nearly ran into the old prophet standing in his way.
He was a short man, stooped, with a long white beard. A gray hood covered his face. He coughed as Jeroboam just stopped short of toppling the old man over. Irritably, the soldier grabbed the man’s arms and moved him aside.
“Ah, you must be Commander Jeroboam, commander of the Royal Guard?” The old man said.
Jeroboam nodded, staring at the old man curiously. “Yes, I am. Do I know you?”
The prophet pulled off his cloak, revealing an aged face, brilliant blue eyes possessing a wisdom Jeroboam had never seen. He stared at the man for a moment.
“Perhaps not. I am not well known in these parts. But I know of you,” he said cryptically, with a smile.
Jeroboam began to feel uncomfortable. He liked to be in control of situations. “I’m sorry, but I am late for an appointment with the new recruits. I really must be going.”
A gnarled old hand grabbed his arm. Jeroboam stared in amazement at the strength in the grip. He could not have shook the old man off even if he had wanted to. “I must speak with you, Commander Jeroboam.”
Jeroboam felt himself tense. The grip was hard but he could easily overpower the man if he wanted to. His free hand dropped to his blade.
“Would you strike a prophet of Israel?”
Jeroboam relaxed. “My apologies. You have not, until now, told me who you are.”
“I am a prophet. My name does not matter. But I speak as a prophet in this land.”
“How is it I have never seen you in Jerusalem before?” Jeroboam asked suspiciously.
The man sighed, a long, mournful sigh. “Since the days the prophet Nathan died, my kind have not been welcomed or wanted here. It seems our king has different . . . pursuits.”
Jeroboam heard no bitterness, only sadness in the man's tone. He felt a little more easy with this man. Although he cared little to dwell on Solomon, he could identify with the man. He remembered, not many years ago, when Solomon’s wisdom and power awed all. Those days, however, seemed like a long vanished dream.
“I have a word from the Lord of Israel, for you, Commander Jeroboam,” the prophet said with a grim smile. “I must tell you at once.”
Jeroboam felt his fascination grow. Was this old man truly a prophet? He certainly spoke like one and felt like one. Still . . . he had trained himself to be suspicious. I’ll hear him out, at least.
“Give me your cloak,” the prophet instructed.
Confused, Jeroboam pulled his red cloak from his shoulders and handed it to the man. The prophet flapped the cloak and held it tightly in both of his gnarled fists. Jeroboam stepped back and stared at the man in mild curiosity. What next old man?
The prophet ripped the cloak down the middle.
“What are you doing?” Jeroboam protested.
The old man ignored him, ripping one half in two, and the other half into ten pieces until the twelve torn pieces fluttered to the stone ground of the courtyard. Jeroboam rolled his eyes and folded his arms. The prophet began to pick up the twelve pieces, neatly folding them into the crook of his other arm.
“Just as I have ripped this cloak in two, so will this kingdom be divided in half. And just as I hold these twelve torn pieces, so the twelve Tribes of Israel will be torn apart.” The man declared. He handed, piece by piece, ten parts of Jeroboam’s cloak to him, keeping the last two. “And just as I give you these ten pieces, the Lord will give you rule over the ten tribes of Israel which shall divide from the remaining two. You shall be their king.”
The prophet finished handing the ten pieces to Jeroboam and then pulled his cloak tight about his face once more. “The Lord your Elohim shall be with you and prosper you and make your descendants mighty over Israel if you are faithful to Him and keep His covenant.”
Jeroboam stared at the man in wonder, then at the pieces in his hands, then back at the man.
“You speak as a prophet of Israel,” Jeroboam whispered.
The old man inclined his head. “Be careful, Jeroboam, to let the Lord lead. You have a strong will and a hard head. Do not let your ambition lead you, wait on Him.”
Without another word, the prophet walked away. Jeroboam watched the old man disappear beyond the gate of the courtyard. He stood motionless for several moments, staring at the ten pieces of his torn cloak. He never saw the prophet again.
Solomon awoke from his fitful sleep, sweat on his forehead, his thick, black beard damp against his chin. It was still dark outside, sometime in the early morning. But his dreams tormented him. He had not been able to sleep for the last month or so. Every night since his vision, he had forbidden any of his wives to join him. He tossed and turned, the same dream filling his mind with dread. He saw a young commander, Jeroboam, the captain of his Royal Guard, take the crown from his head and place it on his own. Each time he tried to shout out that Rehoboam should gain the crown, but each time he could not speak. Jeroboam only laughed at him. Then Solomon saw eyes, eyes filled with malice lurking in the shadows, whispering, whispering in the dark, waiting for his demise.
Solomon stumbled out of bed and through the darkness. He yanked a rope near his bed and a bell rang in Commander Joshua’s quarters. The middle aged guard awoke with a start and hurried to his king’s bedchamber.
By the time Joshua arrived, Solomon had started a warm fire and sat before the glow, his eyes bloodshot, bags underneath them, his hair disheveled, his face worn. Joshua bowed low before the king and stood at attention.
“You may sit, commander,” Solomon said.
Joshua bowed once more before taking a seat before the fire. Joshua searched the king’s face. “You have not slept well for some time.”
Solomon smiled bitterly. “Indeed. I have not slept well for years. But at least I could not remember what I dreamed. And I had my women to comfort me. Now . . . now I am tormented with the same dream. Over and over.”
“What dream, my lord?” Joshua asked with genuine concern.
“I can see the face of Commander Jeroboam, taking my crown. He is laughing at me, but I can do nothing to stop him,” Solomon fell silent. He would not reveal the last part about the surrounding eyes. He cared little for that part anyway. What tormented him most was his crown atop Jeroboam’s head.
“Commander Jeroboam is one of the finest soldiers in the court, my lord,” Joshua said with surprise. “I seriously doubt he would ever try to steal your throne.”
Solomon rose to his feet and began pacing. “Yes, yes. Caleb speaks very highly of him. Although I don’t think Caleb thinks very highly of me.” Suddenly, like a stab in his heart, he recognized one of those pairs of eyes . . . the unmistakable malice was that of Caleb’s. Solomon froze, his face white.
“I think you should not allow this dream to bother you. It cannot contain truth,” Joshua said, rising to his feet.
Solomon shook his head, his eyes widening. “They hate me, Joshua. All of them do. They despise me. They think me a fool. They wish I were dead.”
Joshua stared at his king in horror, “My lord, Councilor Caleb would never--”
“Yes!” Solomon hissed. “I have seen it. They are all in my dreams. They seek to destroy me. I know it. And Jeroboam . . . this Jeroboam leads them all! I know it!”
Joshua shook his head. “My lord and king, I cannot see how--”
“Bring him to me at once!” Solomon cut Joshua off. “No. No, wait. Bring him to the Hall of Judgment.”
“Now?” Joshua asked, stunned.
Solomon nodded, starting to pace. “Yes, immediately. I must find the truth of the matter. I will not sleep until I know. Bring Commander Jeroboam to the Judgment Hall within one hour.”
Solomon sat on his stone hewn throne, tapping his fingers impatiently on the back of one of the immense, stone lions forming an armrest. What is taking him so long? Perhaps Jeroboam has already fled Jerusalem, suspecting that his secret plot has been uncovered? Then what shall I do?
Solomon watched as Joshua led a tired and bewildered Jeroboam into the flicking torch light of the cavernous hall. The man was tall, taller even than Solomon, with a noble face, dark hair, a thick beard, piercing blue eyes. Solomon had always respected and trusted this man of skill. He had placed him in charge of the House of Joseph, in which he ruled the cities given to the Benjamites, and made him commander of his personal Royal Guard. Next to Benaiah, Jeroboam became one of his most trusted servants. Still, Solomon had never developed a close relationship with the young man. He watched Jeroboam from a distance, content with the glowing reports Caleb provided of him. I’ve never even seen the man this close before, Solomon mused. Odd that he should serve in my very court, but I would never see him so close until now.
He looks scared, Solomon thought. Yes, I can see the confusion and dread in his eyes. Well, you should be scared, traitor. I shall unmask your folly now.
“Commander Jeroboam,” Solomon announced, his booming voice echoing in the stone hall. “Do you know why you are summoned to the Judgment Hall?”
Jeroboam bowed low and shook his head. “No, my lord and king. I do not.”
“The Lord has revealed to me . . .” Solomon stopped. No, I cannot show all my cards. Best to draw it out of him. Make him incriminate himself. “You have been a commander of the Royal Guard for how many years now?”
“Thirteen, my lord and king. And ruler of the House of Joseph five before that.” Jeroboam said.
“Yes, yes.” Solomon clenched his fists in frustration. “And from what I hear, you are an excellent servant of the king of Israel. You are young for a commander. I assume you possess great ambition.”
“Only to serve Israel, my lord,” Jeroboam answered carefully.
Solomon nodded. He’s guarding his tongue. A very wise young man, indeed. This only makes him that much more dangerous.
“And have you ever had ambitions beyond that, commander?” Solomon asked.
“My lord?”
“Ambitions beyond merely serving? Perhaps, say, to rule Israel itself?”
Jeroboam eyes flickered with momentary fear, so fast Solomon almost missed it. Aha! I have struck the truth now!
The man took a deep breath. “I have personally never sought to be king of Israel. I am not in the king’s bloodline, so why should I? Is not the throne promised to the seed of David?”
Solomon stroked his beard. “Nevertheless, there are many who would seek my throne and are not of my bloodline. Yet you claim you have no such ambition?”
“No, my lord,” Jeroboam said thickly.
Solomon sat still, his eyes boring into the soldier. “I think you are lying to me.”
Jeroboam lowered his face. Joshua stared at Solomon in shock. Solomon felt his irritation rise within him. He’s not incriminating himself! I must draw the information from him one way or the other.
“You have conspired with others to assassinate me, yes? Do not deny it, I have seen it in the same dream for a month now. The Lord has shown it.”
“My lord and king!” Jeroboam gasped. “I would never attempt such a foolish quest. Nor would any other in the king’s court. I protest your accusation.”
Solomon lifted his hand and nodded. “So you deny seeking my death?”
“My lord and king,” Jeroboam stared fiercely at Solomon. “I have long disagreed with how you have conducted your life and kingdom. But, despite all this, I would never challenge your authority. Whatever dreams you may be having, you can be assured they are not from the Lord!”
Solomon heard the terror under girding the fierceness in Jeroboam’s voice. Solomon pressed one forefinger against his lips. He gazed at Jeroboam long and hard. “Still, I can see you are not telling me everything. There is something more.”
Jeroboam only shook his head.
Solomon sighed and rose to his feet. “Very well, commander. Perhaps you are right. You may go.”
Jeroboam bowed low. “Thank you my lord and king.” He hurried out the hall, his footfalls echoing long after he departed.
Joshua approached the throne, bewildered. Solomon kept his gaze locked on the darkness where he watched Jeroboam disappear. “I want you to keep a close eye on him, commander. If you see anything suspicious tell me immediately. Do you understand?”
Joshua bowed low. “Yes, my lord. Of course.”
Solomon walked in his courtyard under the warm sun. The first wave of summer flowers filled the air with pungent perfumes, mixed with the burning smell of incense rising in clouds beneath the towering Ashtereth pole. The king allowed his mind to savor the sweetness.
His many wives worshipped in the noonday sun under the pole, bowing and chanting. Solomon searched the crowd for Zeriah. He had not seen her in over a month, ever since his dreams had started. Last night, after his confrontation with Jeroboam, the dreams had stopped. Perhaps Joshua had been right, perhaps it had only been a figment of his imagination.
As he searched the crowds of women for Zeriah, an old man in a gray cloak seemed to appear before him. Solomon gazed down at the man with a frown. He dressed like a prophet. He looked like a prophet. Had he summoned one to his court? Then why would one be here?
“May I help you?” The king asked the old man.
The prophet pulled back his cloak and smiled sadly. “Wise king Solomon, my name is Ahijah, a prophet of Israel. I have come to speak with you.”
“A prophet, eh?” Solomon asked with mild interest, continuing to scan the crowds of women worshipping Baal. “What brings you to the king’s court?”
“I have a word for you, from the Lord,” he said.
Solomon nodded, smiling. “Do you now? And how do I know you truly speak as a prophet of Israel?”
The old man’s eyes twinkled. “When I speak, you shall know. But what I speak you may not be ready to hear.”
Solomon stared at the old man irritably. “Tell me what you will, old man,” Solomon spoke flatly.
“Very well,” his kindly face turned somber. “After your death, your kingdom shall be ripped in two. Ten tribes shall be taken from you and given to Jeroboam. He shall rule the ten tribes, the strength of Israel, and your son shall have the other two. But if Jeroboam is faithful in his rule, the Lord will make him greater than the seed of David.”
Solomon stared at the old man in silent shock. All of his paranoia and anxiety flooded back into his mind. Anger flashed in his eyes. “I knew Jeroboam was a traitor!”
The old man shook his head. “Do not be quick to judge, oh king. It is not Jeroboam who betrays Israel, it is you. And Yah has lifted him up in your place. He shall rule the ten tribes of Israel only because you have failed them.”
Solomon tore his robe in blind rage. “I have heard enough! Leave this place.”
The prophet bowed low and departed. Solomon stalked back toward the grand hall, fire in his eyes. I’m going to kill him! Kill him!
The king reached the hall and grabbed the arm of the nearest guard. “Bring me Commander Joshua at once!”
The guard clumsily hurried off.
In moments Joshua hurried toward the king.
“Where is Commander Jeroboam?” Solomon yelled, ripping free his sword. “I want him brought here immediately.”
Joshua stared at Solomon with wide eyes. “The commander is on the plains beyond the city. He is training the calvary all day.”
Solomon cursed as he rushed to his stables. “I’m going to kill the traitor!” Joshua hurriedly followed. The king grabbed the nearest warhorse he could find, black and strong. He saddled the horse as Joshua ran into the stables.
“My lord, you should await an escort.”
“Out of my way!” Solomon roared as he slapped his reins. The horse thundered from the stables, nearly plowing Joshua to the ground. Joshua grabbed his own horse and followed in quick pursuit.
Solomon thundered through the city, driving straight through crowds. Peasants and villagers screamed, scrambling out of the king’s way. A look of horror fell on the Israelites as they watched their king fly through the city.
Solomon rode hard out the north gate, across the bridge and onto the plains. He could see Jeroboam and the recruits half a league away, high on a hill. He rode fast, his sword drawn and ready.
Jeroboam sat on his horse, watching as a figure rode hard toward them from the city. Another figure followed. What’s this?
A young soldier, breathing hard, reached Jeroboam’s side. “Commander Jeroboam, you must leave at once!”
Jeroboam stared down at the soldier. “What are you talking about?”
“I was in the courtyard attending to my business when I saw the king fly into a rage. He is asking for your head and intends to kill you himself. Even now he is riding toward you. You must flee or you will be forced to fight the king. Even if you win, you will be charged with treason.”
Jeroboam looked back toward the city. He could now see it was the king who rode hard toward them, his sword glinting in the light. Commander Joshua followed close behind. He must know of the prophecy! I must flee!
He quickly offered a prayer to the Lord as he gripped his reins. “Try to delay him as long as possible.”
The soldier nodded. “Be careful, commander.”
Jeroboam gripped his reins. “I will return. Perhaps not for a long time. But I will return.”
The commander kicked his heels in and the horse, larger and more powerful than the one Solomon had hurriedly grabbed, carried him at lightning speed across the Judean plains toward the southwest.
In his rage, Solomon failed to notice the commander ride away.
The king arrived on the crest of the hill and pulled up his horse. He searched the recruits desperately for Jeroboam. “Where is your commander?” Solomon demanded.
One of the lieutenants stepped forward. “My lord? Jeroboam departed hours ago. He said he had pressing business in Egypt.”
“Egypt!” Solomon swore. “The traitor.”
Joshua reached the king. He had watched Jeroboam flee but decided not to say anything. Solomon turned his steed around, facing Joshua. “I want all these men scouting the Judean plains. Concentrate to the west and the south. If you find Jeroboam bring him to me alive.”
Joshua saluted.
“And if you fail to find him,” Solomon spat out the words. “If he is ever seen in this land again under my rule, bring him to my judgment hall immediately.”
Joshua began to order the recruits. Solomon, in anger and frustration, rode back to Jerusalem.