Bathsheba, p.16
Bathsheba, page 16
“I can’t do this. I won’t do this.”
The servants’ gentle pressure on his arm coaxed him to continue home, but he shook off the men’s hands and turned around, back the way he had come. He stumbled and straightened, ignoring the imploring looks and pleas of the king’s servants, and made his way back to the guardhouse at the door of the palace.
23
David stood and excused himself from the meal the moment Uriah left the room. Surely the man would go home this time. He had managed to get the message across well enough, if Uriah was an astute observer. The thought troubled him. If Uriah was conscious of what was going on around him, the man should have already discovered the reasons behind David’s efforts, or at the very least suspected something. Had he? Had Uriah simply gone along with David’s offer of friendship to cover up what he already knew? Would he stay away from his wife on purpose?
Aggravated, David stomped over tiles of inlaid stone, skimming past his halls of cedar, barely aware of his opulent surroundings. His mind played again every word that had passed between them, every gesture, look, and nuance. He reached his bedchamber, moving past Benaiah’s guards. Two servants followed him inside, one lighting the lamps to dispel the moonlight, the other helping him change into more comfortable clothes. When they finished their duties, David dismissed them and walked to the window.
The view from his chambers looked out over his private gardens on one side and faced Jerusalem’s Eastern Gate on the other. The height of the palace allowed him a view from every angle, but the activity in his outer courts did not interest him, and his gardens reminded him too vividly of Bathsheba. His stomach tightened at the thought of her. Had Uriah reached home yet? Would she tell him the truth or keep their shared secret? He had never asked it of her, only assumed she would keep silent.
With a woman, one should never assume.
He rubbed the back of his neck and drew in a slow breath. He just wanted this whole thing to end. To go back to that moment before he had succumbed to his own foolish impulses and change the outcome. If he had never called for her . . .
He stopped himself. He could not change the past. He could only change what would happen now.
A knock on the door pulled him away from staring at the courtyard below. “Come,” he called as he strode to the door.
One of Benaiah’s Cherethite guards poked his head in. “My lord, some servants are here with a message for you.”
David gave the man a curt nod. “Let them in.”
The guard backed away, and the two servants he’d sent to see Uriah safely home entered. David’s heart skipped a beat at the look on the first man’s face. “Did Uriah go home?”
The servant shook his head. “No, my lord. Uriah the Hittite sleeps at the guardhouse with my lord’s servants.”
Heat rushed through David’s veins, his pulse throbbing in his ear. “Tell me everything.” Though he already knew the answer.
“We did as you asked, my lord. We each took hold of one of Uriah’s arms and coaxed him through the palace gates. We even made it onto the man’s street, not far from his house, when suddenly he stops, looks around, and seems to realize where he is. He mumbled something about, ‘I can’t do this. I won’t do this,’ then he turns around and heads back to the palace. We tried to talk him out of it, my lord, but he wouldn’t listen.” The man bowed low when he finished his speech.
“Is he telling the truth?” David asked the second man, though he had no reason to think his servants were lying to him.
“Yes, my lord, it was just as he said.” The second man bowed as well.
“Go to the guardhouse and keep watch. If Uriah the Hittite goes anywhere or talks to anyone, I want to know it.” He dismissed them and sank onto the cushions of his couch, defeated.
Either Uriah was a better man drunk than David had been sober, or he was playing David for a fool. Could Uriah truly be so devious that he would deny the king’s request to prove a point? Or was he simply that naive? In either case, something must be done. Uriah’s inaction would cost Bathsheba her life.
He shoved up from the couch, the weight of the situation pressing in on him, sapping his strength. With an effort, feeling far older than his years, he staggered to his bed and climbed beneath the curtains. If he could sleep, perhaps a solution would rise from the abyss in the morning.
He pulled the covers to his chest and stared at the dark ceiling above him. Sleep would be a long time coming.
Overcast skies matched his mood the next morning, and David called for his parchments, quill, and ink. He stared at the tan scroll, the quill clutched in his hand, the words he’d crafted in the night repeating and reshaping themselves over and over again in his head. Surely there was another way. But no matter how many ways he had looked at it, changing his thoughts as often as he had tossed beneath the covers of his bed, he could not find one.
With a heavy sigh that did nothing to lift the millstone-sized weight in his chest, he dipped the quill into the ink and penned a letter to Joab.
Put Uriah in the front line where the fighting is fiercest. Then withdraw from him so he will be struck down and die.
He did not bother to address it or sign it. Ironically, Uriah would be faithful enough to deliver his own death warrant. If by some chance the man decided to break the seal and read the words, he would have the evidence he needed to bring David’s kingdom to an end. Uriah’s loyalty or treachery would soon be known, either by David’s death or Uriah’s.
David rolled the scroll, poured the hot wax on the edges, and pressed his royal seal in place. When it cooled, he lifted the seal and stood, then dressed in his royal robes and strode to his audience chamber.
Uriah appeared, looking more haggard than he had the previous morning. He bowed low. “My lord king, live forever.”
David extended his scepter, and Uriah rose, keeping one knee bent, his gaze lowered.
“Take this to General Joab.” When Uriah looked up, David passed the scroll to him, then rested both hands on the arms of his chair, his heart turning to stone. “Have a safe trip, Uriah.”
“Thank you, my lord.” The man tucked the scroll into the leather satchel at his waist, bowed again, and backed quickly away as though anxious to head back to his men.
David stared after him. All he could do now was wait.
24
Bathsheba stood on the roof of her grandfather’s home, pulling her cloak tight against the stiff morning breeze, the gray clouds overhead blocking the full rays of dawn. She leaned against the parapet, Tirzah at her side, watching the king’s gate for some sign of Uriah.
Last night, as she had lain on their bed, she had prayed, pleaded with Adonai for a chance to see Uriah, to make things right somehow. But though she had stayed awake, attuned to every eerie sound of the night, Uriah’s footsteps had not been one of those sounds. His voice was absent in her home’s confining walls.
Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them, and she quickly swiped at them with the back of her hands. Tirzah’s touch brought her shoulders up straight.
“There he is, mistress.”
Bathsheba blinked, trying to see through blurred vision where Tirzah pointed. And then she saw him, walking beside a brown mule accompanied by another soldier, both men dressed in full military attire. He stood straight, his gaze on the road before him. Once through the gate, he did not pause or look in the direction of their home.
She stared after him. Should she shout down to him and force him to acknowledge her? She could take the steps two at a time and be in his arms again, could feel his strength once more before he walked out of the life she had known with him for good. After this, he would not look on her with favor, once he knew a child not his own grew in her womb. Then she would fall not into his arms, but at his feet, begging for mercy. As she could do even now if she hurried, before he moved through the city gates.
“He didn’t come home.” She heard herself utter the words, the disbelief still enveloping her like the murky clouds above.
“No, he didn’t.” Tirzah crossed her arms, her tone matching Bathsheba’s despair.
Bathsheba glanced at her maid, drawing small comfort in her presence. “He has his honor, and God knows he would never do something to break that.” Anger surged to the surface, but she choked it back. How could she hate him? She knew what he was like. Had always known. If not for his vow of celibacy during wartime, he might have come. If the king had told him the truth, he might have come.
She faced Tirzah, her stomach churning, unable to stop the question she had already answered. “Why didn’t he come to me?”
“I don’t know, my lady.” Tirzah touched her arm. “As you said, he is an honorable man.”
A brittle laugh escaped. “Far more honorable than the king!” She clamped a hand over her mouth to still its sudden trembling. “Or his wife.”
Uriah passed farther into the distance as she continued to stare after him, her heart yearning to run to him, but her mind telling her there was nothing she could do to change things now. If she flung herself at him in public like a brazen woman, Uriah would not be pleased, and no such action would persuade him to stop his mission to return to his men. He would not come home with her. Even if she begged him.
Even if she told him the truth.
As the clouds parted, a fingertip-sized ray illumined the path toward the Eastern Gate, showing Uriah’s retreating back. I love you, Uriah. But he would not know it now. Not unless he turned around, left the battle, and forgave her and took David’s child to be his own.
Deep down, she knew it would never happen. Uriah’s pride and his strict adherence to the law would not allow her or David to go unpunished. His justice would supplant any mercy he could have shown. Wouldn’t it?
Doubts niggled and her heart sank with the impossible uncertainties. What would David do now? Wait until the war ended, when Uriah would return and condemn her and her child to death? She shivered again despite the warm breeze. Wrapping both arms about herself, Bathsheba waited until Uriah disappeared from view and turned aside to go home.
Uriah arrived at the Israelite camp before dusk, left the mule in the care of the soldier who had accompanied him, and strode past rows of tents to the central fire in search of Joab. He spotted him near the commander’s tent and smiled when Joab motioned him forward.
“Welcome back, Uriah. How was your visit with the king?” Joab pointed to a raised stone used as a seat a few paces from him. Joab’s brother Abishai sat opposite him, and a handful of the Thirty rose to greet Uriah as he stepped closer to the group.
“How did it go? Did you get any time to wash your feet, or did the king keep you occupied the whole time?” Laughter accompanied the comment.
One of the Thirty slapped him on the back, his knowing look heating Uriah’s face. “With that wife of yours, you must be feeling good right now.”
Discreet guffaws followed. Uriah ignored the comments, used to the humor. Although the men might not have faulted him for sleeping with his wife, he could hold his head high knowing he hadn’t.
“My wife did not have the pleasure of my company.” He smiled, lifting his chin. “Though I am sure she would have liked to.”
Joab snickered at that. “It takes a strong man to deny the call of such a beautiful woman. You are to be commended, Uriah.”
“Indeed. Adonai knows I don’t have such courage.” Abishai’s comment drew more laughter, but again Uriah ignored it. Though he was the brunt of their good-natured mirth now, he’d given his share of ribbing in the past.
Uriah turned to Joab. “I’m not sure the king would agree with you.” He pulled the sealed scroll from his pouch. “He seems to have forgotten what it means to be at war.”
Joab took the scroll from Uriah’s outstretched hand. “How so?” Joab broke the seal and slowly unrolled it.
“He told me to go home and wash my feet. Seemed almost angry when I didn’t.” Uriah shook his head, watching Joab’s brow lift slightly, his face impassive, unreadable. “The king’s message—is something wrong, Commander?”
Joab’s head snapped up at the address, and he quickly rerolled the parchment. “Just some private concerns.” He met Uriah’s gaze and held it, his brows drawn low over his eyes. “What else did the king say to you?”
Uriah tipped his head back, glancing at the orange radiance of the sunset beyond. The colors were bright, their glow hot, as though the sun fought to keep from resting in the west. He looked back at Joab and ran a hand over his beard. “He told me to go home and wash my feet. He sent a gift after me, a roasted lamb. I was forced to choose between obeying the king’s suggestion or betraying the men in my command.” He broke eye contact, doubt suddenly niggling the back of his neck. Had he done the wrong thing? “So I spent the night at the guardhouse near the palace doors. The next day the king asked me why I didn’t go home. He seemed satisfied with my answer and invited me to dine with him that night.” Joab didn’t need to know he’d drunk too much and almost went home before the night air shook sense back into him.
Uriah watched Joab’s expression, but the man’s hardened look, the one that could scare most grown men, never wavered. The buzz of voices resumed around them, and Uriah wondered how much of his conversation had been overheard.
“Did you have something to say to me, my lord? Because if there is nothing further . . . it was a long journey.”
Joab waited a beat, then slowly nodded. “There is nothing further. Thank you, Uriah.” He cupped Uriah’s shoulder as Uriah turned to leave, surprising him. “You did the right thing.”
“Thank you, my lord. I wish the king had agreed with you.” He hadn’t realized until this moment the sense of betrayal he’d felt that the king should want him to break protocol, to in fact try so hard to get him to do so. Joab’s affirmation lessened the sting of the king’s misguided comments.
But as he walked toward his tent, the doubts returned. Something had flickered in Joab’s eyes for the slightest moment when he first read the message, before he caught himself. Had the king given Joab a bad report of Uriah? Would he lose his position among the Thirty because he had not gone home to his wife? The whole thing made no sense!
Irritated now, he kicked a stone in his path, ignoring the pain it inflicted on his toes. Reaching his own tent, he slipped inside the dark cocoon, the darkness matching the confusion in his heart.
25
David rose from another sleepless night, his body drenched in sweat, his limbs as weak as a newborn calf. He did not argue when his servants dressed him or coaxed him to eat, but despite their best efforts, he could not rouse himself to action or free himself from this endless stupor. He swallowed a brewed tea from some plant brought in on a foreign caravan meant to give him energy, and walked with slow strides to his audience chamber. The normal fanfare accompanied his entrance, his scribes sat at their tables ready to record his every word, and his courtiers waited in the side chambers to speak with him. Men from all twelve tribes formed lines outside the palace doors, waiting to be admitted for one judgment or another. David hoped he could concentrate to give them the justice they deserved.
How had his life come to this? He had been reduced to an indecisive worrier, worse than a weak-kneed woman. He straightened his spine at the thought, willing fortitude into his emotions. By now, Joab had received his missive and within the week this whole mess should be over, and his worries forgotten.
The day wore on, the sun a sluggard in its path across the heavens. He should welcome the day, since the nights were no friend of his, but even the light, with its work, its expectations of change, betrayed him. Every breath was labored as though a hand rested heavy on his chest.
“My lord king, a messenger from Joab has arrived.”
David’s spirits roused at the attendant’s words. “At last, something interesting.” He ignored the concerned looks of his counselors, gripped the scepter in one hand, and leaned forward as the man was admitted into his presence.
“May my lord King David live forever.” The messenger bowed low, but David quickly bid him rise.
“Tell me, how goes the battle?” A question he had asked Uriah only a week ago. But he was looking for only one answer to this question now.
“The men overpowered us and came out against us in the open, but we drove them back to the entrance to the city gate. Then the archers shot arrows at your servants from the wall, and some of the king’s men died. Moreover, your servant Uriah the Hittite is dead.” The man did not meet David’s eyes, which would not have surprised him under any other circumstance. Now he wondered if the servant knew more than he let on. He shook the thought aside. Joab would not have shared his confidence with anyone. Surely his nephew, of all people, could be trusted.
David looked at the man who was obviously waiting for his dismissal, much as Uriah had done that first day when David had all but begged him to go home.
Your servant Uriah the Hittite is dead.
It was done then. Bathsheba could now be his. The thought stirred him, awakening him, giving him more energy than he had felt in days, weeks, months even.
“Give Joab this message.” He waited a moment as the man angled his head toward him, obviously listening, though kept his gaze discreetly distant. “Tell the general, ‘Don’t let this upset you; the sword devours one as well as another. Press the attack against the city and destroy it.’ Say this to encourage Joab.”
“Yes, my lord. It will be as you say.” The man took a step backward but did not continue without David’s dismissal.
“Has Uriah’s widow been told?” To say the words aloud brought such finality.
He caught the servant’s somber expression. “Yes, my lord. We traveled all night with the bodies. General Joab told us to bring them back to Jerusalem for burial. Considering Uriah’s depth of service to the king and to Israel, the general said it was the least he could do.”
