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Royal Palace of King Solomon
Jerusalem, Kingdom of Israel
10th Century BC

 

As Menelik’s father spoke to those gathered, he absentmindedly spun the ring his mother had given him before his departure. His initial encounter hadn’t gone as planned. He had intended to announce who he was then demand retribution for what King Solomon had done to his mother. Instead, the moment he had shown the man the ring given to his mother the night of her rape, Menelik had been embraced, genuine tears rushing down the cheeks of the man he had grown to hate over his long journey to Jerusalem.

Solomon had given him no time to spew the vitriolic denunciation Menelik had rehearsed during his voyage, and instead had announced to those gathered that his son had returned to him, and that it was a great day for the kingdom. He was peppered with questions with little if any time given for him to respond, and praise was heaped upon his mother, as if the rape had never occurred, or had been completely forgotten.

Or to Solomon, it never was rape.

He hadn’t known how to react.

His father had turned out to not be the monster he had imagined, but instead an incredibly charismatic, captivating man. Intelligent, articulate, immaculate. His people both respected him and genuinely liked him, though he knew from his mother’s court that facades were always on display in her presence.

One never made one’s regent aware of any ill will.

And before that first night was through, Menelik was ashamed to admit he had been won over by the man. Not completely, but enough to delay any public humiliation he had planned.

And as the days progressed, and no opportune moment was found to confront the man, it became clear his father was incredibly pleased with his return.

“I want you to stay.”

Menelik spun the ring again, still not used to wearing it, the pure gold, jewel-encrusted creation a constant reminder of his mother’s betrayal. Solomon had raped her, then convinced he had impregnated her, given her the ring before her departure so when his son returned, Solomon would know it was him.

The ring had done its job, giving him access to Solomon within minutes of his arrival, the large royal procession also greasing the wheels. But the moment the ring had been spotted, Solomon’s demeanor had changed from curiosity to, from all outward appearances, love for a son long lost.

“I must return home to my people.”

“Your mother is a capable woman. She can take care of them.”

“For now, yes, but in time it will be my job to lead my people.”

Solomon motioned for him to sit closer to him, and Menelik complied. “And you will. I want you to remain and be my heir. Your kingdom will unite with mine, guaranteeing your people’s protection.”

Menelik regarded his father for a moment, then shook his head. “It is too far for you to offer any type of protection.”

Solomon smiled. “You truly are a leader. Your first concern is your people, rather than the wealth and power I have just offered you.” He gripped Menelik’s shoulder, squeezing it. “You indeed are my son.”

Menelik shoved his emotions deep, still reluctant to give into the charms of the man, but unsure of what he should do. He had no intentions of staying, no intentions of becoming king of a people he knew little about. He had been taught the language by scholars brought to the kingdom at the behest of his mother, her insistence he learn a language from a foreign land perhaps the first clue he had missed as to his origins.

Yet despite the fact he could converse comfortably with those around him, and despite the fact he worshipped their god—though perhaps without the same fervor—he felt as if he were an outsider.

And he had little doubt these people would never welcome a king whose bloodline wasn’t entirely Jewish.

Solomon rose and beckoned for him to follow. “Come, I have something to show you that might change your mind.”

Menelik hastened to catch up to his father, the old man still fleet of foot. “What?”

“Something very old. Very ancient.” His father lowered his voice. “And very powerful.”

Menelik’s eyes widened slightly, intrigued at the gravitas conveyed by his father’s words. “Powerful?”

Solomon nodded as they left the palace walls and made for the temple, the king’s personal guard, as well as Menelik’s, rushing to clear the way. “Yes. With it, my armies wield the power of God Himself.”

Menelik’s eyes narrowed, not one to believe in the power of talismans or the like. “And just what power does this…thing, wield, that could buttress an army?”

They entered the impressive structure, shown to him earlier in his visit, the guards clearing out the worshippers as they passed through the public area and into the back, down a set of winding stairs, the only light now provided by torches held by sconces mounted to the ancient walls. Solomon led him down a long hallway where an impressive, carved door stood, two guards on either side.

With a flick of his wrist, Solomon ordered the doors opened, the guards immediately granting them entrance.

And what Menelik saw had his jaw dropping as he came to a halt, the doors closing behind him. “What is it?”

“This, my son, is the source of our power. It is what gives us direct access to God, not only to his counsel, but his power as well. With this at the head of my army, no one can defeat us.” He turned to Menelik. “And this is why I can guarantee your kingdom’s security from such a great distance. Should anyone threaten you, I can send but a small contingent and defeat any enemy.”

Menelik stared at the chest that stood in front of him, the craftsmanship that had gone into its construction impressive, the sheer amount of gold indicative of the value placed upon its significance. He rounded the chest, supported by four gold-plated feet, two poles, wrapped with gold, held on either side by rings of gold attached to the feet, obviously used to carry the creation, perhaps by Solomon’s armies.

He paused, his heart hammering at the sight of two winged creatures, bowing toward the center, each with their wings outstretched, the reverence shown to whatever this represented evident.

His eyes narrowed as he realized that this chest did indeed have a top that appeared to be removable. “What does it contain?”

“The power and glory of God.”

Menelik regarded his father. “And that is?”

Solomon smiled. “It contains several things, the most important of which are the original stone tablets containing the commandments we live by, given by God to Moses so long ago.”

Menelik nodded slowly as he resumed his circuit around the impressive artifact. “How does it work?”

Solomon shook his head. “That, I cannot say, except that when carried before our armies, no one has been able to defeat us.”

“But what does it do? I mean, it must do something in order to defeat an army.”

“It is forbidden to speak of such things. Our most holy of men carry it ahead of our army, out of sight of us mere mortals, and when we arrive, we find our enemies slain.” Solomon shuddered. “Even I dare not question its power.”

The hair on the back of Menelik’s neck stood, a shiver rushing over his body as Solomon’s words, and tone, sank in. Could this chest truly contain the power of the Jewish god? Could it indeed protect his kingdom from any threats? And if it could, would the price for access to its protection mean he would be forced to remain here, never again to see his mother and his people?

He reached out to touch it, the urge irresistible, when Solomon grabbed his hand with an iron grip.

“It must never be touched!”

Menelik flushed, as if an admonished child, then stepped backward. “Then how do you carry it into battle?”

Solomon released his grip, then patted one of the two poles. “With these. These are the only part of the Ark that should be touched by man.”

Menelik’s eyes narrowed. “Then how do you know what is inside?”

Solomon chuckled. “I have faith.”

Menelik nodded. “What did you call it? An ark?”

“It is the Ark of the Covenant, and with it, my people can never be defeated.” He put a hand on Menelik’s shoulder. “Nor can yours.”