Bathsheba, p.26
Bathsheba, page 26
Michal sidled up next to her, offering a congenial smile. “I never went with David during his early years of exile.” She touched a hand to her damp brow and brushed back loose strands of gray-tinged hair beneath her veil. “I don’t know how he survived it, but if I had it to do again, I would have gone with him.” She glanced up ahead where men from the city had joined David at the gates to the palace grounds. “Now I’m too old, and I must admit I am glad to be home.” She turned and offered Bathsheba a smile. “You are blessed of Adonai to have so many sons.”
Bathsheba looked at the woman, David’s first love, feeling a sense of sorrow, imagining how hard it must have been for her, for all she had been through.
“Regrets are difficult taskmasters,” Michal said, her gaze intense for the briefest moment before it skipped beyond Bathsheba toward the king again.
Bathsheba followed Michal’s gaze, her heart yearning for David, longing to feel the strength of his arms around her, to allay the fears she fought daily for the welfare of her sons. To know she belonged to him above all others.
“He loves you, you know. Don’t let yourself lose him like I did.”
Bathsheba turned at Michal’s quiet words, but before she could respond, the woman had slipped back into the crowd of David’s wives and children. Bathsheba’s gaze followed her to where she joined Abigail’s daughter, their moment of friendship gone. Perhaps she should do more to seek the woman out. Friendships would not come if she did not do her part.
She glanced at the other women as the crowd moved forward once again, seeing the bitter Ahinoam and the angry Maacah. Haggith, Abital, and Eglah hovered near their own children, each woman living in barely tolerable companionship, always looking for a way to catch the ear of the king. An ear she had almost exclusively.
She sighed, picking her way ahead of the women, urging Solomon and Nathan to guide her forward. At last she spied Benaiah and caught his eye. He stepped aside, allowing her a better view as guards escorted ten concubines from the palace and brought them to stand before David.
“Absalom pitched a tent on the roof in the sight of all Israel,” a guard said as the women knelt, lowering their faces to the dust. “On the advice of Ahithophel, Absalom took each one of them to his bed to lay claim to the throne, to secure his position as king in your place.”
Bathsheba’s heart twisted, and she feared the fate that awaited her grandfather after all he had done against David. He deserved death. Would she be able to keep David from commanding it after such advice? She watched the muscles clench along his jaw, his brows drawn low, his expression a scowl. But a moment later, he crossed his arms, straightening, only a hint of sorrow evident in his gaze.
“Take these women to quarters outside of the palace. Place them under guard.” He paused as though weighing his next words. “They are not to leave the house nor to see my face again, but to live as widows the rest of their lives.”
Soft weeping broke out among the ten women as guards stepped forward and escorted them out of David’s presence. He stood in the courtyard looking up at the steps to the portico, his chest lifting in a sigh. Another guard approached and spoke something in Benaiah’s ear. Benaiah glanced at Bathsheba, then motioned her forward to join David.
David turned when he saw her, his smile welcoming. “We’re home, beloved.”
“My lord,” Benaiah said before she could respond, “there is news of Ahithophel.”
David slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to him. “Walk with us, Benaiah.”
The guard nodded and followed them as David led her up the steps into the gilded audience chamber. The rooms looked exactly as they had left them, all traces of Absalom and his men gone.
David let out a slow breath, then faced Benaiah. “Tell me what you know.”
Benaiah bowed his head, then looked up, his expression stricken. “It appears that soon after Absalom took over the palace and slept with your concubines, Ahithophel saw that this was the only advice of his that your son would heed. When Absalom listened to Hushai and would not pursue you the night you fled, Ahithophel mounted his donkey, returned to his home, set his house in order, and hanged himself.”
Bathsheba sucked in a breath as David’s grip tightened at her waist. She leaned into his strength, her own failing her. He guided her toward the hall to her rooms, glancing back over his shoulder at Benaiah.
“Ahithophel betrayed my trust. His end is judgment of its own.” David paused as if the whole thing were weighing him down. “Make sure Eliam knows.”
“Yes, my lord.” Benaiah spoke to one of his men and then continued with them down the hall at a discreet distance.
David stopped at the door to the gardens connecting their rooms. He opened the door to let her through, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“My lord, there is more.”
He tensed, and she wondered at the wisdom of telling him just now. “What is it?” His tone was gentle, but she sensed the strain of his patience.
“Maacah. She is angry and—”
He held up a hand and touched a finger to her lips. “I have already dealt with her, beloved. My mercenary soldiers are more loyal than half of Israel. Maacah’s words did not go far. She and her daughter will be kept under strict guard until I can decide whether to keep her under my thumb or send her back to her father.” He leaned forward and kissed her nose. “Do not trouble yourself over her on my account.”
She nodded and moved into the gardens as he motioned for her to do so. The calming scent of almond blossoms and the sweet perfume of incense brought back the memories of the first time he had brought her here. He led her to the same bench where he had first wooed her.
“Sit with me, Bathsheba.” He sank onto the bench and pulled her down beside him, his arm coming around her. “It is good to be home.” He exhaled deeply, his sigh weighty yet somehow relieved.
“It is good because you’re still here.” She shifted to face him, touching his cheek, her fingers drawing a line in the soft curve of his jaw. “I feared I would lose you.”
He smiled, his eyes closing, and she knew he enjoyed her soft caress. When he looked at her again, she couldn’t pull away from the love in his eyes.
“In all the years I have walked on this earth,” he said, taking her hand and pressing the tips of her fingers to his lips, “I have accomplished many things. My enemies are subdued—and we will conquer this latest threat, I assure you.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Nations I did not know submit to me and fear my name. And Adonai has promised to build a house for me. One day, long after Solomon has been laid to rest, a new king will come from my descendants and sit on my throne, and all people on earth will obey him.” His look grew intense, and he squeezed her hand. “Your son Solomon will be the one to build a temple to Adonai’s name, and he will rule in peace after me.” He paused, looking beyond her as though seeing something in the distance.
She turned to follow his gaze, but saw nothing. She looked back and noted the sheen of tears on his lashes, but his tender smile told her that they were not tears of sorrow. “What is it, David?”
“In all of my accomplishments, I secured many wives and God has given me many children, but none of them compares to you, beloved. I took you wrongfully, and I deserved a thousand times over to lose you. God knows how I begged Him not to take you from me. Your worth is far above rubies, and none other in all of Israel compares to you.”
She stroked his cheek, her own tears wetting her lashes.
“You are my most beloved, Bathsheba.”
The words sang around her in the music of the night, filling her heart with joy.
“I love you, David.”
His kiss silenced any lingering doubt.
37
Eight Years Later
Jewel-bedecked camels from Rabbah in the land of Ammon came bearing King Shobi, son of Nahash, brother of the former deposed king, Hanun. His entourage strode through the palace gates, where they sank to their knees in the courtyard of King David. Atop the gangly mounts, a tentlike covering secluded its prized passenger, Naamah, the princess of Ammon. Behind her on less adorned camels came ten maids, while fifty guards followed before and behind.
Bathsheba stood in the shelter of the portico, waiting for her servants to welcome the group, to escort the young bride to David’s audience chamber, where wedding festivities would begin. By nightfall, the princess would enter the bridal tent already sparkling in the central palace courtyard, awaiting her groom, Solomon.
“Everything is in readiness for the ceremony, my lady. The tables are set, the guests are already arriving.” Tirzah smiled, the lines of her face revealing the strain and the laughter of passing years. Bathsheba’s children were all in the care of the palace tutors now, and Tirzah’s role had once again become more of confidant and friend to Bathsheba than nursemaid to the children. “I never dreamed this day would come so soon. And what a ceremony! It is as if your Solomon were already king.” She lowered her voice and glanced about, but Bathsheba did not pay the comment any mind.
“I had hoped to convince the king to combine the ceremony with Solomon’s coronation, but he seems to think there is no hurry.” She worried her lip, then thought better of it, not wanting to undo the work of her beauty treatments or leave marks upon her lips. The treatments took longer now than they had in the days of her youth, needing more milk and honey and scented oils to smooth her skin and diminish the wrinkles along her eyes and brows.
Her chest lifted in a sigh. The king was not getting any younger, and he already was many years ahead of her. Did he think he would live forever? What happened if he grew suddenly ill, or worse?
The sword will never depart from your house.
Was David immune from an assassin’s blow? And if his death came too quickly, Adonijah stood next in line for the throne. His attractiveness and charm had already won him the hearts of some of David’s men—what would stop him from doing as Absalom had done? If he won the throne and David was too weak to resist him, she and Solomon would be executed as criminals. Too many in the kingdom had long memories and still viewed her as an adulteress and her children as illegitimate heirs.
“The girl appears to be beautiful, from what I can see.” Tirzah glanced at Bathsheba, her look assessing. “Solomon should be pleased.”
Bathsheba stepped from the shade of the portico as the girl emerged from her enclosed pavilion. She wore multicolored robes, with sparkling rings of gold about her neck and dangling from her ears and nose, and a bright woven scarf covered all but her eyes. Her wedding attire was beautiful, but Bathsheba could not tell through the shield of her veil whether the girl was beguiling enough for her son. Her son with the wandering eyes, who had already caught the glances of too many women.
She moved into the well-lit hall and took a seat in the antechamber, waiting for David and for his guards to announce their entrance. Solomon would join his father, and then the bride would walk the length of the audience chamber to the sound of joyous melodies, her maids accompanying her. The bride’s father, the acting king of Ammon, son of Nahash and vassal to David, would sign the agreement and grant her to Solomon’s care.
The marriage was a good alliance, though Bathsheba hoped Solomon would not see it as an excuse to marry just any foreign princess. Naamah feared the God of Israel, as did her father Shobi. This was proven to David when Shobi came to their aid during their exile at Mahanaim, while they were on the run from Absalom.
If only Solomon would see her as wife enough. But Bathsheba knew her son too well. Once he was king, he would find reasons to build a harem of women far greater than his father had done. She could not suppress another sigh. It was the guilt she bore, despite all the warnings she’d given him.
“I have learned from your errors, Ima, as you have taught me,” he had once told her. “I will not go to the house of an adulteress or tempt a woman to become one. Better to marry many women than to take one that does not belong to me.”
Perhaps her teaching had not been thorough enough. But it was too late to change him now.
A commotion drew her thoughts to the present. She looked up at the sight of David following his standard-bearer and Solomon decked out in royal robes behind his father. David stopped when he saw her and extended his hand. He had never officially named her his queen, but she possessed the office in everything but the title. Somehow he never felt the need to grant her that. Perhaps when he finally crowned Solomon his coregent . . . She squelched the longing that it be this day.
“You are beautiful as always, beloved.” He bent to kiss her cheek, then took her hands in his and squeezed.
“Thank you, my lord.” She smiled, then looked at Solomon. “Your bride is here. Are you ready, my son?”
Solomon’s mouth tipped in a crooked grin. “Ready and anxious, Ima.”
“And nervous,” David whispered in her ear.
They shared a knowing smile. The trumpet sounded and the standard-bearer announced their presence. David led Bathsheba to the seat beside his, then sank onto his gilded throne. Solomon stood on the step below, watching the door.
The music began, and the bride’s father moved down the length of the room, followed by the ten maids, and lastly the bride. The Ammonite king placed his seal on the parchment, uniting their two kingdoms in a treaty of peace. A servant brought the treaty to David, and he stamped his signet ring in the wax and affixed his seal beside that of the Ammonite king’s.
Bathsheba listened as the priest gave the blessing and watched as gifts were exchanged. Her heart swelled with pride when the ceremony was completed. Feasting would follow until Solomon led Naamah into the bridal tent to consummate their union. Then only one step remained. To place the crown on Solomon’s head.
She glanced at David. And to convince the king to do so soon.
Shaking woke Bathsheba from restless dreams, and at first she thought the shivers had come from her. She often woke sweating in the night, flinging the covers aside to let the night air from the open window cool her damp skin. But as she turned over in the bed, her skin brushed David’s, and she startled at his visible shaking.
“Are you awake, my lord?” She couldn’t tell by his closed eyes, and wondered if it was some dream that rocked him. She touched his forehead, then jerked her hand back and scooted from the bed. Wrapping a robe quickly about herself, she hurried to the door to the guard standing watch.
“Send for the physician. The king is ill.” Fear snaked up her spine. If the illness were unto death, what would become of them? Please, Adonai, do not take him yet.
Servants sprang into action, diverting her attention from her silent prayers. The king’s personal attendants brought wine, dipped cloths in tepid water, and placed them on his chest and forehead. He reached for the covers, yanking them to his neck. His eyes opened, their color glazed.
“Bathsheba?”
She rushed to him, kneeling at his side, grasping his warm fingers in her hand. “I’m here, my lord.”
His chest lifted in a sigh. How was it that he could have been so vibrant, so full of life and love the night before, and awaken so visibly ill? She stifled the anxiety urging her to panic. David would recover, and Solomon would rule in his father’s place.
Please, Adonai, let it be!
“I’m cold.”
She leaned forward, brushing the hair from his brow. “You are feverish. The chill is only an illusion, beloved. I’ve sent for the physician.”
He nodded, closing his eyes again. The physician had been unable to save Abigail when her time had come. But she tamped the thoughts, shushing her fear.
Doors opened behind her, and footsteps sounded on the tiles. She stood and turned. A middle-aged man entered, his robe looking as if it had been hastily donned. His hair stood at odd angles, and he smoothed a hand over his beard, bowing low when he saw her.
“My lady,” he said, rising quickly and moving to the king’s side. “When did this come upon him?”
“Sometime in the night, I expect. I awoke to his shivering.”
The man nodded once but said nothing as he bent to feel David’s head, neck, and arms and leaned in close to listen to his breathing. At last he stood.
David opened his eyes. “What’s wrong with me?” His clear gaze made Bathsheba’s heart quicken. Perhaps the cool cloths had broken his fever. “Why can’t I get warm?”
“The fever has made your skin too hot but your insides too cold. Let your attendants continue to bathe your skin in cool water. When the fever leaves you, you will be warm again.”
David cursed softly and pushed up from the pillow. “I don’t have time to be sick abed. Bring me food and wine and stop fussing over me.” His voice sounded hoarse, and the barked words lacked strength.
“My lord, please. You must rest or the fever could grow worse. Then you will be unable to work at all. We don’t want to carry you yet to the tomb of your fathers.” The physician’s sharp words did not match his gentle tone.
Bathsheba turned to a servant. “See that you do as the king requests. Bring food and wine to his chambers at once.”
“Yes, my lady.” The man hurried to do her bidding. She moved to the bed and the physician stepped aside.
“Do as the physician tells you, my lord.” She stroked her fingers through his hair. “You must get well. We need you.” She looked at him, their gazes holding in a silent caress.
He nodded, falling back against the pillows. “Every bone hurts.”
The physician moved quickly to retrieve some herbs from a covered basket his servant had carried into the room. Moments later, he offered a measured dose to David.
