Love’s Sacred Song by Mesu Andrews Read Free Book Online Page B

on Mount Moriah, the plot of land north of the palace that would become God’s temple site.
    “How will Israel remember my abba, Benaiah?” Solomon asked, studying the vacant hill. “Will they remember this as Araunah’s threshing floor, where Abba went after his disobedient census caused seventy thousand Israelite deaths before he offered sacrifices to God? Or will they remember that this was Mount Moriah, where Abraham was willing to sacrifice Isaac but God provided a miracle instead?” Benaiah remained silent, eyes forward. Solomon wasn’t looking for an answer, and the big man seemed to realize it. “Will Israel remember David the warrior, his provision of wealth and foreign laborers to build God’s temple? Will they recall my abba’s friendship with Hiram, king of Tyre, that provided the necessary cedar logs and shipping lanes to transport them?”
    More silence passed. Finally, Benaiah ventured a gentle answer. “Perhaps you will ask Israel these things tomorrow at the royal tombs. They are your people now, my lord. They will remember the things of which you remind them.”
    My people now. Solomon’s mind continued to spin. As they ascended the palace steps, sounds of professional mourners wafted on the night breeze. The soft moans would last through the night, reminding the city of a legend lost.
    With a slight chuckle, Solomon asked, “And what will Israel remember of me, my friend? Calendar changes?”
    The big man smiled in return. “With your inquisitive mind, young Solomon, I believe Israel will never forget you. Only Jehovah knows the extent of your reign.”
    Glancing above them, Solomon noted extra guards near the palace parapets and the eastern wall bordering the Kidron Valley. For the first time, he realized Benaiah had seemed especially on edge today, more than grief silencing him. He’d been on alert. “Judging by the extra guards,” Solomon said, shifting their topic once more, “I sense you’re expecting some sort of increased threat.”
    His captain raked his large hand over his weary face and then turned with a respectful grin. “You are indeed inquisitive, my lord.”
    Solomon nodded, bidding his friend to continue.
    “We have received word that some of the foreign ambassadors have inquired about the storehouses of wealth your abba gathered to build the temple. King David wisely distributed the riches into three separate citadels at Megiddo, Hazor, and of course here, in the fortress of Zion. When we dispatched word of your abba’s death to the surrounding tribes and nations, we added guards in and around the palace. Additional men have been assigned to King David’s—I’m sorry. I mean, they’ve been assigned to your private chambers since your chamber wall shares the northern wall of the fortress.”
    It all sounded so matter-of-fact, so routine when Benaiah said it. But when Abba’s heart stopped beating, Solomon’s whole world had shifted. Nothing felt routine. Now he alone ruled Israel. He must keep his nation and his family safe.
    Suddenly overwhelmed with the need to see his only son, he choked out the command. “Benaiah, send one of the guards to summon my wife Naamah. Have her bring Prince Rehoboam.” Struggling to keep his composure, he said, “I need to hold my future so I can let go of my past.”
    With a nod and a directive glance, Benaiah obeyed, issuing the command to a guard as they entered the palace. Winding through the grand halls, Solomon continued his silent contemplations amid the eerie echoes of mourners’ wails. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” he whispered. Benaiah’s meaty hand rested around his shoulder, the gentle giant his constant support.
    Solomon’s sackcloth slippers made no sound on the mosaic tiles leading to his chambers. Two Mighty Men stood guard at the double cedar doors between twin lion statues. The lion had long been the symbol of Judah’s tribe, and the Mighty Men had long been David’s mercenary bodyguards, many of whom