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Solomon stumbled through the thick, swirling desert sand. He tried to keep his tired eyes on the path before him, but the shifting afternoon sand kept confusing his already confused mind.
How did I get here? How long have I been out here? Is there no water? Is this how I will die?
He could barely even remember his name now, let alone what led him out into this vast desert, this unforgiving wilderness of relentless sunlight and choking dust. The sand stung his eyes and he instinctively covered them with his hands. But when he saw his hands, all his anguish and torment crashed down on his heart anew. For on his hands, encrusted with dried sand, he could see what had brought him out into this waste, far removed from any who might care for him.
Leprosy.
It had eaten clear through his hand. Dead chunks of skin hung from his hands, revealing an under layer of pinkish skin now tainted white as the leprosy mercilessly chewed away to the bone. He groaned, thrusting his hands into his robe, stumbling forward and squeezing his eyes shut.
Oh, how I wish I would die out here! Please, just let it all end! I had everything! Everything! And now, look at me . . . a wasted shell of a man, crippled by leprosy, shunned by my people, wandering alone in a desert grave . . .
He suddenly fell to his knees. Sharp pain stabbed through his legs. Sand whipped at his back. The thick heat weighed down on his shoulders. He sighed, letting his body go limp. Perhaps I should just kneel here, until the sand covers me, and just let it all go.
But as he knelt in the desert, like the barest glimpse of a long forgotten memory, he could see in his mind’s eye a crowd . . . a joyous crowd, filled with laughter and song and dance . . . and he could see his father, his dear, brave father . . .
And before he could stop the memories, the old king found himself watching his very life fill his mind.
Benaiah and a company of soldiers thundered across the desert plains on their horses. They reached the exact spot in the desert where the men had, just that morning, deposited the king. The sun had long since set and the desert began to freeze as cold stars burned high above them.
“This is where we left him,” the guard said sullenly.
“He’s not here,” Ahazael said in despair. “He could be anywhere by now.”
Benaiah jumped off his horse and searched the ground. He found the rope Solomon had broken off. “Here, tracks. He went off, toward the east.”
“He’s trying to get back home,” Ahazael murmured.
Benaiah climbed back onto his horse. “Take the guard and throw him in the dungeon with the others. I’ll take three men with me. We can track the king faster with fewer of us. I’ll bring the king back to Jersualem.”
Ahazael nodded.
Benaiah selected three soldiers and they thundered east and north in the direction of Solomon’s wandering tracks. He had only wandered the desert for little more than twelve hours. They should find him easily. Benaiah only feared the extreme cold of the desert night might claim his life first.
They sped into the darkness.
Solomon sat in a shallow cave, his back against the rough wall, facing out toward the darkness. He was too tired to build a fire, and he could no longer feel his hands anymore. His fingers, mere stubs, continued to break away. Soon the leprosy would finish him. If the extreme cold did not freeze him. Or the hot sun tomorrow did not bake him.
He sighed, drawing his knees up, trying to find some warmth for his tired body. His mind continued to burn, but he no longer cared. He had long since given up finding water, or his way back out of the desert. He would die here. If not tonight, tomorrow. If not tomorrow, the next day.
The chill began to make him shudder. No, I cannot survive the night. Either I will freeze to death or the leprosy will finish me. I am dead before the sun rises, either way.
Solomon sighed wearily. I am ready to die. I am ready . . .
No.
Solomon opened his eyes. He felt a deep anger rise within him. No. I am not ready to die. What am I thinking? All this way to die here? Now? In my state? No. If I must die, I must, but I can choose how I die. I must make peace with my Maker. I must.
Fighting against the pain, the weariness, the numbness, and the cold, Solomon threw himself down and buried his face into the rocky sand. He kneeled down, and started to pray.
“Oh, YHVH,” he whispered. “I know I have displeased you. And you have judged me as unworthy. Your judgment is good, as your judgments always are. I accept my death. I accept your ways. You are wise and wonderful.”
He began to raise his voice, his anger finding strength within him. “I hate what I have become! I hate it! I’m tired of hiding behind women and wine and wealth. I’m tired of serving gods I hate. I’m tired . . . of fighting wars by myself. I can’t . . . I thought I couldn’t change who I was . . . maybe I liked who I was . . . I don’t know . . .”
Solomon desperately searched for the words. He felt his body grow even more numb. Dizziness filled him. I won’t last much longer. I must hurry!
“Oh, Lord, I hate what I am. What I’ve done. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I have committed wickedness in your sight far too long. I’m tired of hurting you. I’m tired of hurting those I love most. Please . . . please, forgive me. Please. Kill me if you must, but forgive me. Please. I never want to live without you again. Never.”
He began weeping. Weeping ever so bitterly. He felt his tears stream down his peeling face. His entire body throbbed with sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Lord. Please, forgive your servant. Please. I never want to hurt you again. Never, Lord. Never. I love you. I love you so much. And I miss you. I miss you . . .”
In utter exhaustion, the old king collapsed. He lay in the cave, face down, unconscience. And the night grew darker and colder.
At first light Benaiah jumped off his horse and examined the tracks. “These are not more than an hour old. He’s near. We must hurry!”
They had found the cave in which Solomon had spent the night and hurried on. When they saw the tracks leading from the cave their spirits soared: at least they knew their king still lived. But would he survive the trip home, Benaiah wondered. Would he even still be alive when they found him?
They rode hard as the sun began to bring another hot day into the unforgiving wilderness. Benaiah felt desperation fill him. He had lost Joshua, he could not now lose Solomon. He had sworn to protect him. I must find him, oh Yah! Help me! Please, help me!
As if in answer, as they neared the top of a ridge, down in the barren, boulder strewn valley below they saw the frail figure of the king stumbling forward.
Benaiah led the three soldiers down the steep slope of the ridge and sped toward the stumbling Solomon. Benaiah jumped from his steed and hurried to his friend.
“King Solomon! It is Benaiah! We found you at last!” He turned Solomon around. In horror he stared at a face no longer recognizable. Bare bone shone from beneath rotting skin. His beard had almost completely turned white with leprosy. But his eyes . . . Benaiah knew those deep, blue eyes.
“My lord!” Benaiah stumbled back in shock. The other soldiers stared at their king in alarm.
Solomon stared at his old friend in surprise. “You must leave me, Benaiah. All of you. I am near death. This leprosy will soon finish me off. It is my just reward.”
Benaiah shook his head in horror. “King, we cannot leave you. We will take you to a safe house. There is still hope.” Even as he said the words he knew the leprosy would claim the king’s life before they even reached the Judean plains.
Solomon smiled sadly. Benaiah saw a strange peace on the man’s face, a peace he had not seen the king bear for a long time.
“You must go,” Solomon said. “I will be dead before tomorrow morning. It was only a miracle that I survived the night.”
“Yes, a miracle,” Benaiah agreed. “And why would our Lord provide such a miracle only to slay you now?”
“He gave me a chance to make things right with him. I am at peace. I am ready to die.”
Pour your water upon him. Benaiah thought one of his men spoke. He looked up but none of the soldiers had spoken a word. The Voice filled his mind. Pour your water upon him now.
Benaiah scrambled to uncork his water bag and slung it off his shoulder.
“Water will not help me now,” Solomon said. “Please, leave me.”
“Be still, my lord and king,” Benaiah said. “There is one last miracle to be done for you.”
Benaiah poured his water over the king. As he did so, the white skin on Solomon’s face crumbled away, revealing fresh, healthy, pink skin. Benaiah continued to pour the water over his hair, beard, shoulders, arms and legs. Everywhere the water touched the leprosy washed away.
In moments Solomon looked normal, his beard black, his skin restored. But the effects of the sand, the cold night and the hot day had taken its toll. The king stumbled forward into Benaiah’s arms. He wheezed.
“I feel so weak,” Solomon whispered.
“We must get the king back to Jerusalem immediately. Help me!” Benaiah ordered.
As the purples and blues covered the late autumn evening in Israel, the captain of the guard and his men arrived with the king. Soldiers, leaders, magistrates and physicians rushed to meet the party as they entered Jerusalem. Queen Rebecca hugged and kissed her husband.
The king was immediately taken into his bedchambers where the best physicians in Israel attended to him. Rebecca, Benaiah, Ahazael and Michael stayed in his room, tending the fire, helping the doctors, doing anything possible to comfort the king.
Late into the night, as Solomon slept, the head physician urged Benaiah to one corner of the room.
“He is dying,” the medic said in hushed tone. “He will not survive the night.”
“No, that cannot be right. The Lord saved him from his leprosy. He should have died out there! He cannot die now.”
The doctor shook his head. “Perhaps he was saved so that he could be with his friends and wife one last time. But he suffered heat stroke. He also suffered some frost bite from last night. The extreme temperatures he endured have weakened his heart. His lungs are near complete failure. There is nothing more we can do.”
“Does he not have a chance?” Benaiah begged.
“I’m sorry.”
The doctor sighed and departed the room. Rebecca saw Benaiah’s face and walked toward him. Tears rimmed her eyes. “He is going to die, isn’t he?”
Benaiah only stared at her wordlessly. She began to sob, collapsing into his arms like a little girl. He held her close as Ahazael and Michael approached the two, bowing their heads. The fire burned low, casting the room in that same dull red that David had enjoyed in this very room, Benaiah remembered.
Solomon began to groan and stir. The four of them rushed to his side. Rebecca knelt close to the bed, holding his head in her hands, stroking his hair and beard.
“My queen,” Solomon smiled. Rebecca kissed him tenderly. “How good of you to come to my bedchamber.”
She smiled and laughed through her tears. “I love you so much, my dearest Solomon. So much.”
“And you brought guests,” Solomon said as he peered over her shoulder.
Michael and Ahazael leaned forward and smiled. Solomon sighed. “Ah yes, my faithful chief scribe and my dear royal guardsman. Tell me, how is my son? How is Rehoboam?”
“He is fine,” Ahazael said, resting his hand on Solomon’s arm. “He is at the palace of your wife. We can summon him if you wish.”
“No,” Solomon said, wincing in pain. “No . . . perhaps later. I feel too weak to speak with him now.”
Ahazael bowed. “We are grateful for your return, my lord.”
The chief scribe and Michael backed away as Benaiah stepped forward. Solomon smiled gratefully at him. Benaiah smiled back, tears in his eyes.
“My dearest Benaiah,” Solomon breathed. “You have saved my life yet again. I shall never be able to repay you.”
Benaiah shook his head, his tears flowing freely. “You already have, my lord. You already have.”
Solomon reached up and gripped the arm of his red bearded friend. “No, Benaiah. I was wrong when I demanded that you address me as king and lord. I was so foolish. And look, I have squandered my last years with you. I am your friend first, then your king. Call me Solomon. Please, Benaiah, call me Solomon as you once did.”
Benaiah knelt close, kissing the cheek of his friend, his tears falling on him. “Yes, Solomon. I love you, Solomon. And I have missed you.”
“And I have missed you, Benaiah.” Solomon looked into Benaiah’s tear stained eyes. “I have been such a fool, my friend. Such a fool. I’m sorry for everything I put you through.” He looked at his wife. “And you, my dear Rebecca. I was a fool to have all those strange wives. And yes, they were strange. All of them. I am so sorry. Please, please forgive me.”
Benaiah and Rebecca both nodded. The queen bent down and kissed his forehead. “You have long since been forgiven, my lord.”
Solomon sighed as he settled back into his bed. A look of peace filled his face. His blue eyes sparkled. “You are both my dearest friends.”
Benaiah and Rebecca began to cry. They cried for many reasons. They cried for the peace in their king’s eyes, for the repentance in his heart, for the way they could see his strength and life drain from his body. They cried most of all because of their happiness.
“Benaiah!” Solomon said, widening his eyes and gripping his friend’s arm. “You must listen to me!” Solomon now spoke just above a whisper. Rebecca backed away to allow Benaiah more room.
“What is it, Solomon?” Benaiah said, his face concerned.
“You must warn my son! The kingdom, Israel will be ripped in two!”
“No, my lord! I will not let it happen!” Benaiah said.
“No, no, you must listen!” Solomon whispered hoarsely. He winced in pain as he breathed. “The kingdom will be ripped in two. The Lord spoke it to me. Nothing can stop that now. It is the price for my sins.”
Benaiah nodded.
“Please, warn my son. Warn Rehoboam. Don’t let him try to stop it. Jeroboam will return after I die. He will lead ten tribes of Israel north. Two will remain with my son. Do not let him try to stop this. Please. He must allow the Lord to do this.”
“But, my lord, why? Why must Israel be torn in two? You have repented and now--”
“No!” Solomon shook his head. “The Lord may have forgiven me, but that does not change His judgments. In the end, this civil war will be a blessing. But when that shall happen is far too distant in time to see. You must trust the Lord.”
Long had Ahazael and others predicted a civil war in Israel. Now, it appeared, the split would happen very soon.
“You must help my son,” Solomon said, his eyes locked on Benaiah’s. “Help him as you have helped me. Don’t let him follow my path. You must help him fix what I have done. The altars and the high places . . . the idols . . . you must help my son cleanse this place once more.”
Benaiah clenched his jaw. “Though I do not know your son, well, I will do all I can to help him. I promise, Solomon.”
The king swallowed. “Water. I need some water.”
Rebecca hurried over and gently brought a cup to his lips. Solomon drank. He winced as he laid back down on the bed. “I feel so weak.”
Rebecca hugged him close as Benaiah rose to his feet.
“We should let you rest,” Benaiah said.
Solomon shook his head. “No. No. I know I have not long to live. Please. Help me out from my bed. I have spent far too much of my life lying here. Help me up one last time.”
Benaiah and Michael took each of his arms and hoisted Solomon to his feet. The king, weak and wobbly, gained his balance and began to place one foot in front of the other.
“I want to see my gardens one last time,” Solomon said.
Benaiah and Michael helped the sick king down to his gardens as Rebecca and Ahazael followed closely. When they reached the silver fountain bubbling with water, Solomon looked up at an overhanging trellis. He smiled wistfully and whispered something to Benaiah. The red bearded captain smiled back and reached up, picking a single rose. Solomon took the rose and turned to his wife.
“I never gave you enough of these,” Solomon said as he handed her the single, red rose. “Although you deserved one every day of your life. I love you, my dear.”
Rebecca wept freely as she held the rose to her chest and embraced her husband, wanting to give him in one kiss all the nights she had withheld from him. It would be the last time she would ever kiss him again
As she drew back, Solomon moaned and stumbled forward. Benaiah and Michael caught him. His eyes rolled back into his head.
“We must get him back inside,” Ahazael said. “We should not have brought him down here. Not in his condition.”
They carefully brought the king back into the banquet hall. A bed was brought in and placed in front of his grand, golden throne. Michael and the captain laid the king on the soft bed. Solomon continued to moan in pain.
“Is there nothing we can do for him?” Rebecca said, tears falling down her face.
Benaiah shook his head. “He is in great pain.”
Benaiah and Rebecca knelt down on either side of him, trying to comfort him, whispering soft words into his ears. His eyes fluttered open and he looked at the two of them.
“Thank you. Thank you for letting me see my gardens one last time. They are so . . . beautiful,” Solomon began to breathe shallow and short. Benaiah and Rebecca drew closer to him.
Solomon’s eyes suddenly widened as he looked up at the ceiling, beyond the captain and the queen. Benaiah stared up at the ceiling in confusion and then looked back at his friend. Solomon’s face filled with wonder and awe.
“It’s so beautiful!” Solomon whispered. “Can’t you see them?”
Rebecca shook her head. “What are you talking about? What do you see?”
“Angels,” Solomon breathed. “So many of them. And they are so beautiful. They have come for me.”
Rebecca shook her head. “No, no! You can’t leave, Solomon! Please don’t leave me now!”
“And there is a man . . .” Solomon said, his face glowing with joy. “His eyes are like fire, and his robes . . . so bright . . . like the sun . . . I . . . I . . .”
His breathing stopped. His eyes shut. He lay limp on the bed, in Rebecca’s cradling arms.
“No! No! No!” Rebecca sobbed as she buried her head into her husband’s chest. Benaiah wept softly as he squeezed the hand of his friend one last time and rose to his feet. Michael and Ahazael bowed their heads in reverence. The queen continued to weep even as men and women of the court filled the banquet hall to pay respect to their dead king.
