Abraham and Sarah (46 page)

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Now that you’ve enjoyed
Abraham & Sarah
, here’s a look at more biblical fiction from Roberta.

Here’s what others have to say about
David & Bathsheba
:

“David & Bathsheba
is the kind of reading experience hard to find these days…engrossing, enriching…so that you do not want the book to end.” —Catherine Marshall.…author of “CHRISTY”

“The troubled passion of Bathsheba and David is evoked with rare scholarly fidelity but more important to art, with profound insight into the well springs of human motivation. In our time the Bible has never prompted a finer fiction.” —Dr. Philip Herzbrun…Professor of English Literature, Georgetown

Prologue

I
t was evident to everyone in the crowded, darkened room that the king could not last through the night. There was a silence that seemed part of the very atmosphere. It was not a fearful, foreboding silence but a waiting silence, as though something very important and awesome were about to happen.

Family and friends tiptoed in and out of the room; old warriors awkwardly brushed tears from their eyes as they filed past his bed for a last glimpse; small grandchildren were held up to look at him and the women of the harem gathered together soberly in a frightened knot at the foot of his bed. They all sensed how barren and empty life would be without him and wanted to cling to every precious moment left to them.

The king reached out his hand to Bathsheba, and she took it and held it in both of hers bending over to hear the words he was struggling to speak. “You must not weep for me. This illness is unto death, but do not grieve. The Lord, Himself, has come to see me. His Shekinah glory has filled the room, and He has spoken to me of all that shall come to pass in the future. He has given me a message of hope for my people.” His voice was so weak she could barely hear him. “Nathan the prophet,” he continued with great effort, “has written it, that all may hear and be comforted.”

He motioned for Bathsheba to bring out a rolled parchment from under his mattress. He watched her unroll it and hand it to Nathan to read to the people.

The room grew quiet, the king’s eyes closed, and a gust of wind made the lamp’s flame bend and flutter as Nathan held the parchment to the light to see more clearly. When he finally spoke, his voice was strong and vibrant but mellowed with emotion. “These are the last words of David,” he said, pointing to the scroll. “David the son of Jesse speaks. David, the man whom God gave such wonderful success; David, the anointed one; David, the sweet psalmist of Israel.”

At these words the people wept and tore their robes and covered their faces. Their grief was that of small children who have heard their father is dying and don’t know where to turn for comfort. “These are the last words of your king,” Nathan spoke in a loud voice that carried over the noise of their grief. “Listen and be comforted.” Slowly the weeping quieted and the keening died down. A young scribe raised the lamp so that it shone on the scroll, and Nathan began to read the words that God had given to David.

The Spirit of the Lord spoke to me,
And His word was on my tongue.
The Rock of Israel said to me,
“One shall come who rules righteously,
Who rules in the fear of God.”
He shall be as the light of the morning;
A cloudless sunrise
When the tender grass springs forth upon the earth;
As sunshine after rain.
And, it is my family He has chosen.
Yes, God has made an everlasting covenant with me;
His agreement is eternal, final, sealed.
He will constantly look after
My safety and success.
The godless are as thorns to be
Thrown away, for they tear the hand that touches them.
One must be armed to chop them down;
They shall be burned.

When the reading stopped the room was quiet, no one moved, it had grown dark and the shutters were drawn against the mounting gusts of wind. The king’s bed was outlined by two flickering lamps at its head and by the lamp held by the young scribe. With a great effort the old king opened his eyes and looked out past Bathsheba and the people who stood round his bed. He struggled to speak, “A great one is coming—an anointed one, Messiah, will sit on my throne, and He will rule righteously.”

For a moment his eyes were bright with all that they were seeing. Bathsheba felt his hand close on hers ever so gently and then relax. His eyes closed, and he was gone from them. Bathsheba bent over the dead form and sobbed. The women of the harem began the terrible wailing for the dead, and David’s mighty men and counselors, tribesmen, officers and servants let their tears flow openly and unashamedly.

Then Nathan the prophet and Beniah the captain of the house guards picked up the royal robe that lay across the foot of David’s bed and the crown that once belonged to the king of Rabboth Ammon whom David had vanquished, and they placed them on Solomon and led him out into the common room where all the leaders of the tribes and men of state were gathered.

All the people came to file before Solomon to pledge their allegiance and acknowledge him as their king. Then the young Solomon turned to Nathan and asked him to bring his mother to stand beside him that all Israel might know that she was indeed a handmaiden of low degree whom the Lord had seen fit to exalt to be the mother of the king.

AHITHOPHEL

A
hithophel, Chief Elder of the village of Giloh, paced back and forth across the courtyard of his home, kicking the well-curb as he passed. He was not used to waiting. He reached over the stone well-curb and looked down into the depths of his limestone cistern to check the water level. The village could do without grain and fuel, but without water they would be at the mercy of the enemy.

He sat down on the worn stones of the well and stroked his gray beard reflectively. It was hot in his courtyard, and he jerked the long striped headcloth from around his neck and wiped the sweat from his face. “This silence is ominous,” he murmured aloud. “If the battle had gone well we would have heard by now.”

He stood up, flung the headcloth around his neck, and walked to the steps that led from the courtyard to the roof of his house. As he mounted the uneven steps, his thoughts churned: The Philistines could not have picked a better time to strike. If there had only been a little more time, a month or two, perhaps Saul would have seen his mistake and made friends again with David, his captain, and the men who had followed him into exile.

He paused to catch his breath at the top of the stairs and looked out over the cluster of houses and the city wall to the road, which the young men of Giloh had traveled toward their meeting with the Philistines in the north. The road was now ominously empty; no donkeys with wares to trade, no women carrying jars to and from the well. He leaned over the parapet and looked south where the road led down to the desert around Beersheba and the caves of Adullam. “Thank God,” he muttered, “my son is with David and not fighting the Philistines at Gilboa.”

The roof was beginning to cool at this time of day, and Ahithophel usually left it to the women who spent their time there weaving at the loom, which sat under the grapevine that climbed from the lower garden and fanned out over the western portion of the roof. Usually there was the steady sound of the worn, wooden shuttle, whispering through the cords, but today there was no sound from the loom. As his eyes became accustomed to the late afternoon sunlight, Ahithophel noticed that both Reba, his wife, and Noha, the wife of his son Emmiel, were at the loom as usual but were sitting motionless. This added to Ahithophel’s impatience. He liked to feel things moving and throbbing around him.

“There’s no reason to stop the loom,” he said to them. “If there were bad news we would have heard it.” Noha obviously had been crying, and now she covered her face with her mantle and wept louder. Impatiently he turned to his plump, efficient little wife. “Reba,” he ordered, “see if you can stop this foolishness. There’s no need for her to cry. Emmiel is with David and his men. Whether Saul wins or loses today, my son is safe.”

Noha rose from the loom sobbing uncontrollably. “Emmiel is not with David’s men,” she exclaimed as she hurried past him. “He went with the army of Saul to fight at Gilboa.”

Ahithophel looked as though he had been slapped. He seized Noha by the arm. “It is not true. My son is with David and his men in the south.”

“Emmiel has gone to fight the Philistines at Gilboa,” she insisted through her tears.

Ahithophel dropped her arm and glared at her. “How do you know this?”

Noha checked her tears and met his gaze with red, swollen eyes. “Emmiel told me he was going,” she sobbed as she fled down the steps to her room.

Ahithophel was astounded. His only son, Emmiel, the apple of his eye, the delight of his ear, had neglected his wife and left his own fields and flocks to share the life of an outlaw with David and his men. Ahithophel had counted on Emmiel’s bitterness toward Saul to keep him from the battle.

He walked to the edge of the roof and looked down the slope to where his winepress and clusters of olive trees blended into the fragrant pines of the lower hillside.

“I don’t believe it,” he muttered.

In the turmoil of his own emotions he had completely ignored his wife, Reba. Now she came to him and placed a firm hand on his arm. “Emmiel is strong and brave. I’m sure he will be all right.”

Ahithophel did not look at her. “You think he went then? Why should he go? I don’t understand.”

“He would go,” said Reba, “because he loves his country. His quarrel is with Saul. That a king could be so jealous of a young, successful captain like David that he would seek to kill him is repulsive to our son. He would never fight for King Saul. But Israel? That is different.”

“But why? Why did he tell that sniveling wife of his and not his own father? I don’t understand.”

“My lord, our son is emotional and impulsive, and he knew that you would try to dissuade him with logic.”

Ahithophel sighed. Reba was right. His family, friends and neighbors all looked up to him as a man of wisdom and had chosen him as the ruling elder of Giloh. He was considered wealthy by village standards; his olive oil brought the highest prices, his granaries were bursting with wheat, his flocks overflowed the sheepcotes every spring.

Pragmatic to the core, Ahithophel wasted no time in religious discussion or reflection. He believed in observing the feasts and times of sacrifice, the circumcising of children, giving the firstfruits and being careful to touch no unclean thing. In return he expected and even took for granted that the God of Israel would reward him with good health, abundant crops, and deliverance from his enemies.