extraordinarily long day—a long week and year. Trying to calm himself, he continued more patiently. “Our plan was to finalize our agreement with Egypt’s ambassador after the next new moon.”
“The Egyptian caravan carries your new bride, Pharaoh’s daughter, and—”
“What?” Solomon’s heart skipped a beat. His harem wasn’t ready for the Egyptian princess. His nation, his palace was grieving. She wouldn’t understand their customs, and Ahishar surely hadn’t had time to implement the Daughters of Jerusalem.
“And they bring loads of plunder from their victory over the Canaanite city of Gezer.”
“What?” Benaiah and Solomon shouted at once.
“Pharaoh Siamun planned to offer Gezer as a wedding gift to his daughter, but Pharaoh was killed in the battle.” Solomon stumbled back, reaching for his stool as he grasped the enormity of the courier’s report. “The Egyptian ambassador now speaks for Egypt’s new king, Pharaoh Psusennes, to ensure the success of Egypt’s trade agreement with Israel.”
Ahishar burst through the chamber doors that had been left partially open when the courier entered. “I just heard the news. How long before the ambassador and princess arrive?”
Solomon spoke as if in a dream. “Pharaoh Siamun is dead, Ahishar. The man with whom we made this treaty attacked an innocent Canaanite city in order to give its wealth to his daughter as a wedding gift and provide its strategic thoroughfare for our trade routes.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Shifting his attention back to the Egyptian courier, he asked, “And what did your pharaoh imagine I would do with all the Canaanites living in Gezer after he took the city?” Solomon knew it was silly to ask a mere courier such a question, but the whole situation was so outrageous he asked anyway.
“My lord, he . . . well, he . . .” The young man glanced nervously at each waiting expression, seemingly hesitant to answer. Finally, he said, “Pharaoh destroyed the city with fire and then killed all the Canaanites living there. He offers a perfect shell with which the king of Israel may build a mighty fortress of your liking.”
All breath left Solomon’s chest. The courier’s answer had been practiced, perfected, to flaunt Egypt’s power and foster Solomon’s greed. It accomplished neither. “My steward will see that you are housed in the servants’ quarters,” he said, watching Ahishar enlist a chamber servant’s aide. “You will be reunited with your caravan when they arrive at dawn.” The young man bowed and stepped backward out of the king’s meeting area, and soldiers closed the double doors behind them.
Ahishar immediately drew a breath, no doubt to recount a list of tasks to complete before the caravan’s arrival, but Solomon silenced him with an upraised hand. “I realize some very important guests are on their way.”
Ahishar nodded, seemingly relieved that the king hadn’t missed that detail.
“However, I also realize something far more important than our guests.”
The steward’s nodding stopped, his eyes shifting nervously to Benaiah, the mountain of calm standing at Solomon’s right hand.
“I had no idea Pharaoh would have such wild disregard for human life. Killing an entire city for a wedding gift.” Shaking his head, Solomon continued. “I feel like a child with much to learn about ruling a nation, and I’m afraid I’ll be eaten alive by predators like Pharaoh Siamun and his successor, Pharaoh Psusennes, if I don’t learn to hear from Jehovah as Abba David did.”
For the first time ever, perhaps, Ahishar appeared totally befuddled. “But, my lord, you don’t even play the harp.”
The steward’s absurd comment prompted a thought. How did Abba David receive such favor with Jehovah, and why—when he sinned like any other man—did God condescend to speak to David so clearly?
“A man need not play a harp to hear from Jehovah, my lord.” Benaiah’s deep voice
“The Egyptian caravan carries your new bride, Pharaoh’s daughter, and—”
“What?” Solomon’s heart skipped a beat. His harem wasn’t ready for the Egyptian princess. His nation, his palace was grieving. She wouldn’t understand their customs, and Ahishar surely hadn’t had time to implement the Daughters of Jerusalem.
“And they bring loads of plunder from their victory over the Canaanite city of Gezer.”
“What?” Benaiah and Solomon shouted at once.
“Pharaoh Siamun planned to offer Gezer as a wedding gift to his daughter, but Pharaoh was killed in the battle.” Solomon stumbled back, reaching for his stool as he grasped the enormity of the courier’s report. “The Egyptian ambassador now speaks for Egypt’s new king, Pharaoh Psusennes, to ensure the success of Egypt’s trade agreement with Israel.”
Ahishar burst through the chamber doors that had been left partially open when the courier entered. “I just heard the news. How long before the ambassador and princess arrive?”
Solomon spoke as if in a dream. “Pharaoh Siamun is dead, Ahishar. The man with whom we made this treaty attacked an innocent Canaanite city in order to give its wealth to his daughter as a wedding gift and provide its strategic thoroughfare for our trade routes.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Shifting his attention back to the Egyptian courier, he asked, “And what did your pharaoh imagine I would do with all the Canaanites living in Gezer after he took the city?” Solomon knew it was silly to ask a mere courier such a question, but the whole situation was so outrageous he asked anyway.
“My lord, he . . . well, he . . .” The young man glanced nervously at each waiting expression, seemingly hesitant to answer. Finally, he said, “Pharaoh destroyed the city with fire and then killed all the Canaanites living there. He offers a perfect shell with which the king of Israel may build a mighty fortress of your liking.”
All breath left Solomon’s chest. The courier’s answer had been practiced, perfected, to flaunt Egypt’s power and foster Solomon’s greed. It accomplished neither. “My steward will see that you are housed in the servants’ quarters,” he said, watching Ahishar enlist a chamber servant’s aide. “You will be reunited with your caravan when they arrive at dawn.” The young man bowed and stepped backward out of the king’s meeting area, and soldiers closed the double doors behind them.
Ahishar immediately drew a breath, no doubt to recount a list of tasks to complete before the caravan’s arrival, but Solomon silenced him with an upraised hand. “I realize some very important guests are on their way.”
Ahishar nodded, seemingly relieved that the king hadn’t missed that detail.
“However, I also realize something far more important than our guests.”
The steward’s nodding stopped, his eyes shifting nervously to Benaiah, the mountain of calm standing at Solomon’s right hand.
“I had no idea Pharaoh would have such wild disregard for human life. Killing an entire city for a wedding gift.” Shaking his head, Solomon continued. “I feel like a child with much to learn about ruling a nation, and I’m afraid I’ll be eaten alive by predators like Pharaoh Siamun and his successor, Pharaoh Psusennes, if I don’t learn to hear from Jehovah as Abba David did.”
For the first time ever, perhaps, Ahishar appeared totally befuddled. “But, my lord, you don’t even play the harp.”
The steward’s absurd comment prompted a thought. How did Abba David receive such favor with Jehovah, and why—when he sinned like any other man—did God condescend to speak to David so clearly?
“A man need not play a harp to hear from Jehovah, my lord.” Benaiah’s deep voice
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