Bathsheba, p.25
Bathsheba, page 25
He climbed the stairs to the roof, and his commanders quickly followed, taking seats along the parapet in a circle around David.
“The men have been divided, as you said, my lord,” Joab said, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles, the tassels of his robe brushing the dusty roof. The servants had swept, but the building was in disrepair, and needed whitewashing and new mortar where cracks had crept in. “Absalom has gathered all Israel to himself at Gilead. They are sure to head north, and it is time we set out to meet them.”
David nodded. “How soon?”
“We can go tomorrow.”
David lifted his gaze to the stars, his thoughts turning with a thousand regrets. “Tomorrow it will be.”
Surrounded by her personal guards, Bathsheba walked between Solomon and Nathan to the outer courtyard where the troops were lined up, waiting for the king’s orders to move out. She caught sight of Michal and Abigail’s young namesake whispering and smiling at whatever amused them. A wistful feeling swept over her that she had no daughter to share such intimacies, or a friend her equal to discuss her own female woes. Aunt Talia had passed on a few years back, and Chava rarely visited now that Bathsheba was chief wife to the king. She had all the power she could want to command a bevy of servants, but she had no friends with whom to offer good-natured complaints. Her chest lifted in a sigh, and she felt Solomon’s hand on her arm.
“May I go and speak to my sister, Ima?” Solomon’s gaze drifted to his half sister Abigail as the sound of the shofar blew, announcing the king’s arrival at the courtyard.
Bathsheba glanced at her son. His interest in young Abigail was pure innocence at his age, but she couldn’t help the niggling worry reminding her that Amnon probably once viewed Tamar thus, years before he became infatuated with her. If Solomon would be king, he would be better off keeping himself to one woman, but of course, as king, he would be expected to make marriage treaties to keep peace. She must teach him what to look for and what to avoid in a wife, and to limit his harem to as few as possible.
“Later, my son,” she whispered as the crowd quieted. She moved closer and stopped near the rim of guards encircling the king.
“I myself will surely march out with you.” David’s commanding tone sent a pang of fear to Bathsheba’s heart. If David died, all would be lost.
Joab and Abishai stepped from the head of their ranks and walked to where the king stood. Joab dipped his head and fell forward on one knee. “You must not go out with us, my lord. If we are forced to flee, they won’t care about us. Even if half of us die, they won’t care.”
“But you are worth ten thousand of us. It would be better now for you to give us support from the city,” Abishai finished for his brother.
Bathsheba saw the lines deepen on David’s brow and looked from the king to his nephews. David was not much older than Joab and Abishai, but his years as king had begun to show in the soft wrinkles of his skin. Silver now streaked his hair, and his gait held a slowness borne of sadness and defeat.
The sword will never depart from your house.
The prophet’s words struck like arrows to her heart. Oh, Adonai, how long? Will we ever know peace again?
“I will do whatever seems best to you,” David said, quenching her thoughts.
He turned, moved down the courtyard steps to the street, and walked along the road with the troops toward the city gate. Bathsheba followed with Solomon and Nathan in tow, guards before and behind her. When they reached the gate, the king stood to the side, and Bathsheba pulled her sons aside as well, staying out of the way of the guards. She glanced back to see that the other women had done the same.
The men began to march past the king in units of hundreds and thousands as Joab, Abishai, and Ittai stepped forward, awaiting David’s last commission.
“Be gentle with the young man Absalom, for my sake,” David said loudly, repeating the command three times. Bathsheba caught the surprised looks, the hints of frustration, on the faces of the soldiers, that the king should tie their hands this way toward the very enemy who sought their lives. But no one dared question the king. They merely nodded and moved ahead through the gates.
A tug on her sleeve made her look down into Solomon’s earnest gaze. “Why does Abba give such a command to his men? Doesn’t my brother seek the king’s life and ours as well? Such an enemy must die!”
“Hush now! The king could hear you.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and urged him to move away from the gate, out of David’s earshot.
Nathan at his side, Solomon dutifully obeyed, glancing every now and then over his shoulder toward his father. “He carries a great burden,” he said, halting their walk a few moments later.
Bathsheba squatted, facing her sons, meeting the gaze of first one, then the other. “It is not easy to be a king,” she said, directing her words now to Solomon alone. “Your father has many sons and he loves them all, though one of them is seeking to take his life. He needs his other sons to understand and accept his judgments.” She took Solomon’s hands in hers and turned them over. They were the hands of a child, not those of one callused by war or hard labor. One day he would wield a scepter of peace. If he lived long enough to see such peace.
“I understand, Ima.” Solomon pulled his hand from her grasp and turned. “I just think my father doesn’t see that his kingdom will never be restored to him as long as my brother lives.” He moved away from her and ran to David’s side, taking her response with him.
Hours dragged as the sun grew large overhead. David sat between the inner and outer gates of the city, encased by the thick stone walls, fear and exhaustion twin emotions within him. Servants came and went, bringing skins of wine and baskets of bread and cheese, but he had no desire to taste their delicacies.
Solomon sat across from him on one of the stone benches, but his youthful vigor would not allow him to sit still for long. His gaze followed something moving along the ground. Squatting low, he sprawled on his belly, his gaze fixed on the object.
“What are you looking at so intently, my son?” The boy shouldn’t be here. But David excused his presence with the satisfaction that Solomon’s young legs could carry him far and fast if he needed to run for his life. David found him comforting, if not somewhat amusing.
“The ant.” He sat back on his haunches. “Have you ever watched ants work, Abba? They are tireless. This one”—he pointed to a speck David could barely see in the enclosed room, with the windows only letting in a fraction of the afternoon light—“has carried a crumb of bread from where I brushed it off my robe all the way across the floor. Other ants have joined it there and are sharing the burden of carrying it away, probably to feed their young.” He stood, brushing the dust from his robe. “They are amazing creatures, aren’t they?”
Solomon gave David a boyish grin and plopped down near him again. David rubbed a hand over the boy’s curls and sighed. Absalom once had such curls. If only his beauty had reached inside of him and not merely kept to the outer appearance.
“My lord king, a runner approaches,” the watchman called to David from the tower above the gate. David’s heart skipped a beat. He rose and stood in the arch of the door, looking out toward the road. He felt Solomon’s presence beside him.
“If he is alone, he must bring good news.” David rested a hand on Solomon’s shoulder, tension growing along the back of his neck.
“Look, another man running alone.” The call intensified an already dull headache.
“He must be bringing good news too.” David guided Solomon to the road that ran between the gates.
Please, Adonai, let all be well.
Silence passed as they stood watching the road, David’s breath thin, anxious.
“It seems to me that the first one runs like Ahimaaz son of Zadok,” the watchman called down again.
“He’s a good man. He comes with good news.” But David’s racing pulse did not slow, a sense of deep foreboding masking his struggle for calm.
He stood still as Ahimaaz drew near. “Shalom! Peace to you!” Ahimaaz’s call carried the distance from the row of trees leading into the forest to Mahanaim’s stout gates. Ahimaaz bowed low before David, touching his face to the ground. “Praise be to Adonai Elohai! He has delivered up the men who lifted their hands against my lord the king.”
“Is the young man Absalom safe?” David’s heart thumped hard as he tried to read Ahimaaz’s expression, frustrated at the man’s sudden look of confusion. Why run with news if he had no news to tell? Nothing mattered but Absalom’s safety. He’d given strict orders to that fact.
“I saw great confusion just as Joab was about to send the king’s servant and me, your servant, but I don’t know what it was.” Ahimaaz looked away, and David sensed the man knew more than he was telling, but he held his tongue. He had no desire to reprimand a good man.
“Stand aside and wait here,” David said. Ahimaaz moved to stand inside the gate behind David and Solomon. David looked down at Solomon, his sense of apprehension making him realize that Solomon did not belong here now. “Go back to your mother,” he said softly, patting Solomon’s shoulder. “Go now.”
Solomon looked up, meeting David’s gaze with a perception that troubled him, and he sensed Solomon’s desire to give advice to his own father. David did not need the advice of a child! But the boy turned and raced away from the gate, his last look one of understanding rather than the hurt David had expected.
The second runner approached, a man of Cush whose dark skin set him apart from the Israelite guards. “My lord the king, hear the good news!” the man said, falling to his knees before David. “Adonai has delivered you today from all who rose up against you.”
Overwhelming dread rose to choke David, the sheer joy in the Cushite’s eyes too telling, his words too revealing. David already sensed the answer but could not keep the question silent. “Is the young man Absalom safe?”
The man bowed, touching the dust with his forehead, then rose to meet David’s gaze, his own unwavering. “May the enemies of my lord the king and all who rise up to harm you be like that young man.”
The words plunged their sharp daggers into his heart, making him stumble backward. A guard’s arm steadied him, but he shook it off, not caring if he fell.
“Absalom!” His voice warbled on the name, and he tore the neck of his robe. Turning, he clutched the wall, a drunken man staggering to the steps, his lips tasting the salt of his tears. “Absalom, my son! Oh, my son, Absalom!”
He reached the inner room above the gate, his strength spent from the short climb. Falling in a heap in the middle of the floor, he rocked back and forth, his arms tucked around his knees, great sobs choking him.
“Oh, Absalom, my son, my son—if only I had died instead of you!”
36
The king’s cries stole through the walls of the city gate, piercing Bathsheba’s heart. She made her way slowly, skirting the troops, their expressions moving from defeat to anger, raising the hair on her arms in fear. Her father had found her with the children, had warned her that what Solomon had told her was true. The king’s grief over Absalom would cost him far more than the death of one son. It would bring about the disloyalty and loss of every man who had fought to save the king and his household.
The thought spurred her to move faster, and she pulled the scarf more tightly about her. Her personal guard kept pace, not letting her out of his sight. She was safe enough, but how long would it last? Would these men who protected her turn against their king? If so, none of them were safe, especially Solomon.
The weeping grew louder as she approached the gate, making her pause. The raw emotion coming from her husband was unlike any she had heard before, not even when they had lost their firstborn. She didn’t even like Absalom! How could David care so much for this son that he would have preferred to die in his traitorous place?
She moved forward, but her guard reached a hand to the wall, blocking the steps to the room above. “Joab just went up there, my lady. Perhaps it would be best if you waited?”
She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I will at least listen to what Joab would say to the king. And pray the commander is wise enough to say the right thing.” She gave the man a curt nod and pushed forward, hoping he would not try to stop her again.
When she reached the roof, she walked the short distance to the room. The door stood ajar, so she hid in the shadows along the wall, listening.
“Today you have humiliated all your men, who have just saved your life, the lives of your sons and daughters, and the lives of your wives and concubines,” Joab said. “You love those who hate you and hate those who love you. You have made it clear today that the commanders and their men mean nothing to you. I see that you would be pleased if Absalom were alive today and all of us were dead.”
No sound or reply accompanied the remark. Please, Adonai, let him see the truth in Joab’s words.
Joab paced to the door, caught her eye, then whirled around and stomped back into the room. “Now go out and encourage your men. I swear by the Lord that if you don’t go out, not a man will be left with you by nightfall. This will be worse for you than all the calamities that have come upon you from your youth till now.”
Joab waited a moment, then plodded back through the door to address her. “See that you convince him to sit in the gateway, or you and your children will soon be counted criminals—and I don’t know if even I can protect you then.” He brushed past her, cursing under his breath.
Or would want to? With each uncertain step, she forced herself into the small room, wondering what David’s commander really thought of her. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she found the king sitting in the middle of the floor, head covered, tears faintly visible on his cheeks.
She walked to him and extended her hand. He looked up, and she understood at once the sorrow in his gaze. Whether he had caused it or not, he had lost so much. He took her hand and she helped him up. She pulled the frayed edges of his robe together, smoothing them.
“I know you loved him, my lord. But your men do not understand your grieving.” She brushed the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs and rubbed her fingers along his brow, removing the head covering.
“So Joab has said.” His voice was husky from weeping, and he looked as though the sorrow had aged him. How much longer would she have him?
She clung to his arms. “We have much left to live for, my lord. Please, don’t let your grief leave me bereft!” She rested her head against his chest, and his arms came slowly around her. She listened to the steady cadence of his heart, her own racing beat slowing to match his.
“I have no wish to die, beloved. I only know that Absalom is gone from me forever. That is why I weep.”
She pulled back, looked into his dark somber eyes. “When the babe died, when God took him, you said we would see our son again.”
He pulled her against him again, his voice growing stronger. “Absalom was not innocent as our son was. Absalom made his choice, and his choice was to shun Adonai’s teachings. When I rest with my fathers, Absalom will not be among them.”
She sighed, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
He kissed the top of her head. “My sin is ever before me, beloved. The sword will never depart from my house.” He guided her to the door and looked up at the waning dusk. “Shalom will not reign in the land until your son is king in my place.”
“God will surely give us peace now that Israel has only one king, my lord. You are the greatest king there is.” She slipped her hand in his. “But come. Welcome your troops at the gate, so they will know you approve of them, and we can go home.”
“Home,” he said, his tone suddenly wistful. “To Jerusalem.”
“Yes, to the City of David.”
Sounds of lutes and lyres, trumpets, and festival drums filled the night air around her, masking the heavy scent of anxiety hovering beneath the surface of David and his men. Bathsheba stood near the king, the Mount of Olives once again securely beneath her feet. She looked down on the city of Jerusalem, the golden rays of its lamps making it shine like a jewel in the king’s royal crown. David’s greatest glory.
But that glory could be short-lived if David couldn’t bring the tribes to unite under his rule once more. After months of waiting, David had finally secured enough loyalty from Judah and Israel to bring him back to his capital, to rule as he once had. Malcontents had been among those present, and now a new threat had sent the northern tribes to abandon their king once again.
She felt her spirits sag despite the festive atmosphere, knowing David would not have peace until the army had been gathered and the man leading the rebellion destroyed.
She turned at a touch on her arm. “Tirzah, there you are. Is everything all right?”
Tirzah shook her head, glancing over her shoulder, then leaned close to Bathsheba’s ear. “There is trouble. Maacah is not so well guarded as the king thinks. She is spewing rebellious words among those who will listen. With the discontent already brewing . . .” She paused and darted quick looks around her again. “I thought you should know.”
Bathsheba met her maid’s gaze and held it, seeing no guile in her expression. Maacah could cause David further harm, and what more did the woman have to lose? But would the king do anything about it on such a day? He had already pardoned Shimei, the man who had cursed the king the day they fled from Absalom. And with this new man, Sheba, causing the men of Israel to run after him, a woman’s troublesome words were not something he would want to hear.
She nodded without speaking, then looked in David’s direction. He had already started down the mountain, his mighty men and closest advisors surrounding him. Impossible to get close to him to tell him such a thing now. She would wait until he came to her tonight. Surely he would come.
The trek through Jerusalem’s streets bore a happier note than the weeping that had accompanied them a few months earlier. She would be so glad to go home! She hurried closer to Tirzah and her sons as they walked, but as the group slowed nearer the palace, the sounds of the women of David’s household grew closer. She glanced behind her, catching the expressions of relief and exhaustion on the faces of David’s wives.
