Bathsheba (17 page)

I
HAD
JUST
TRADED
A
HARON
OF
G
ILGAL
four eggs for one pot of honey when a storm filled my head. As I winced beneath the sudden pressure, Aharon looked at me with concern. “Are you well, prophet?”

I waved away his sympathy and tucked the honey pot into the crook of my arm. “I need to go.”

The storm continued to churn, whooshing in my ears and blurring my sight until I reached my small house. I had no sooner set the honey on a shelf than Adonai struck me blind, my vision blocked by a darkness that obliterated everything in sight.

“Nathan?” From a great distance, I heard Ornah’s voice. “Husband, are you all right?”

I opened my mouth and found myself mute. I would have to surrender; let the
Ruach HaKodesh
consume my senses until I understood the vision or message Adonai wanted me to experience.

Groaning, I sank to the clay floor and stretched out on my belly, extending my hands in a position of supplication.
Adonai, have mercy on your servant. Let me see
what you would have me see, hear what you would have me hear, but remember I am only dust. Spare
me what can be spared, but let me face what I must in order to serve you.

I had no sooner finished the thought than the event began. At first I heard nothing but a dull buzz in my ears, then I saw Tamar, the king’s beautiful daughter, remove a pan of heart-shaped cakes from a clay oven. She wore a silk gown of many colors, a rich garment befitting a king’s daughter. Humming to herself, she lifted the pan of cakes, inhaled deeply of their aroma, and smiled as if satisfied by her efforts.

Tamar walked through a small, well-furnished house to a room where a young man lay on his couch. I recognized him in an instant—Amnon, the king’s oldest son, lay with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, his expression flat, as if he were in pain. He gestured to his sister, and she approached with her tray. She brought it to his couch, knelt and offered it to her brother, but he shook his head. “Let every man leave the room,” he said, sending the servants away. As the door closed, he stood and commanded her: “Bring the cakes into my bedroom and let me eat them out of your hand.”

Tamar sighed, but rose and followed her brother to his bed, where he lay down and smiled. When she offered one of the cakes, Amnon pushed the tray aside and grabbed at her, catching a fistful of her tunic. As his eyes blazed with desire, he pulled her closer. “Come lie with me, my sister.”

With terror etched into the lines beside her mouth and eyes, Tamar stared at Amnon. “No, brother, do not force me,” she cried. “This scurrilous thing should not be done in Israel!” She lifted her hands and pleaded with him, but he continued to tug at her tunic, reeling her in.

“No, brother!” Panic filled her voice. “Don’t do this to me! Where could I go in my shame? And you would sink as low as any beast in Israel. Please, just speak to the king. He will give you leave to marry me.”

Deaf to her protests, Amnon rose up and pressed his mouth to hers. When she continued to plead, tears streaking her cheeks, the false invalid threw her onto his bed and climbed on top of her, silencing her cries with a hard slap.

Sweat beaded on my forehead and under my arms as I trembled. I had once witnessed the prelude to a similar scene—the night I saw David summon Bathsheba to the rooftop. Now I watched, unwillingly, as David’s son took the same unwelcome liberties with his half sister.

I took a deep, quivering breath to quell the hammering pulse that pounded my ribs. Must I see all of this? When would HaShem have mercy and darken my sight again?

Tamar struggled throughout the ordeal, but Amnon did not relent until he had spent himself and lay next to her on the bed. Then David’s daughter sat up and stared at her brother, tears streaming over her face. But instead of offering comfort, Amnon stood and regarded her with revulsion. When she did not move, he pulled her off the bed. She crumpled on the floor, bruised and dazed, then Amnon yelled for his servant. “You,” he called, turning his back on the victimized girl, “get this thing out of here.”

“No!” With what remained of her strength, Tamar clung to his leg. “Sending me away now, like this, is worse than what you’ve already done to me!”

Amnon kicked his sister aside. The manservant came and dragged the poor girl through the bedroom and out of the house and courtyard. When he reached the street, the servant released the king’s daughter, returned to the house, and locked the door.

I watched with shuddering breaths as Tamar sat huddled in
the street. She then scooped a handful of dirt and held it over her head. As the earth slipped through her fingers, raining over her hair and clinging to the tracks of her tears, she opened her mouth and released a cry so heartrending that the all-seeing angels of heaven wept and covered their faces.

My stomach tightened. No one had ever seen the king’s beloved daughter with disheveled hair, a bruised face, and a torn garment. She exhibited undeniable evidence of a violent attack, yet no one stopped to help as she sobbed in the road. Finally, swaying and stumbling, she struggled to her feet and lurched through the streets, not moving toward the palace but toward her brother’s house.

At the sound of her cry the door opened, and Tamar fell into Absalom’s arms. I saw his eyes—wide, shocked, and furious—and while he patted his sister’s back and summoned a maidservant to help her, rage molded his face into a mask of fury.

Fear blew down the back of my neck when the vision finally faded and my senses resumed their proper functions. I did not know Absalom well, but life had given me a healthy respect for men embroiled in righteous rage.

As I sat, stunned and speechless, my mind burned with a memory. When Adonai sent me to confront the king for his sin in murdering Uriah, I told the story of a little ewe lamb, and then David decreed his own fate:
“Doomed is the man . . . he
shall pay the poor man four times as much as he stole.”

Since that day, David had already lost one child, the baby with Bathsheba. Would Tamar be the second?

W
HEN
THE
BREATHLESS
SERVANT
WHISPERED
that the king’s counselor wished to see me at once, prickles of unease nipped at the back of my neck. “Which counselor?” I asked, hoping she would name anyone but my grandfather.

“Ahithophel.”

My uneasiness swelled into alarm. Grandfather had made dire predictions the last time we talked, and I hadn’t forgotten his slurs on David’s character. Though I didn’t want to hear any more comments about my husband’s ruthlessness, Grandfather might need to discuss something truly urgent.

Still, I would leave the younger ones and take Shlomo with me. Perhaps his sweet innocence would remind my grandfather that David had much good in him.

“Shlomo?”

He looked up from the parchment he’d been reading. “Yes, Mother?”

“We’re going to meet my grandfather. You can finish reading when we return.”

Solomon did not complain, but took my hand and led the way out of the harem.

I found Grandfather waiting in the palace courtyard. With eyes as hard as granite and his mouth drawn into a disapproving knot, he gestured to the staircase that led to the garden.

So he wanted privacy.

Resigned to yet another difficult conversation with my only remaining kinsman, Solomon and I climbed the stairs and stepped out into the blinding midday sun.

Shlomo raced ahead of us. “Look, Mother,” he called, pointing to something on a flowering bush. “That caterpillar has spots.”

“Be careful,” I warned. “Some of them sting.”

“Not this one,” he answered. “At least he won’t sting me.”

He scampered away, probably to search out some other form of animal life, and Grandfather smiled as he watched the boy run.

“He is bright,” he said, his voice hoarse. “What is he now, ten?”

“Only nine.” I squeezed Grandfather’s arm. “Don’t age him prematurely; he’s already growing too quickly.”

“Still, he is a good boy. And he will be a far better man than his father.”

I gave my grandfather a reproving look. “David is not a bad man. And Adonai knows we are frail.”

“Adonai also hates sin, and the king’s house is filled with it.”

I pressed my lips together, unwilling to revisit the past yet again. “Grandfather, if you sent for me only to talk about David’s past failings—”

“I’ve not come to discuss the king. I’ve come to tell you about the king’s son. Amnon has followed in his father’s footsteps and
ruined his sister, Tamar. You must do something about it, for if David cannot control his children, how can he control his kingdom?”

I halted on the path as my feelings of uneasiness shifted to a chilling fear. “What has happened?”

“Of all people, you should have no problem imagining what Amnon has done.” Grandfather stared down his nose at me, his eyes cold and piercing. “He used the poor girl and left her in the middle of the street, her gown torn, her face bruised, and her humiliation complete. She is worthless now; no one will ever want her.”

I snapped my mouth shut, stunned by his bluntness. Shock held me motionless, and I realized I was crying only when I tasted tears on my lips. “Oh, Tamar! That poor girl!”

In a rare moment of compassion, Grandfather guided me to a seat inside a leafy alcove. He stood in front of me, glancing right and left, allowing me a moment to grieve.

“I saw this coming,” I admitted, swiping tears from my cheeks. “I tried to warn David, but he didn’t listen. I could see that Amnon was infatuated—”

“The king’s sons have been coddled and spoiled since infancy, and the firstborn more than most,” Grandfather said, his gaze turned toward the garden. “David should have disciplined them, but he would not. He left that to their mothers, and his women are as spoiled as their children.”

“I am one of those women!” I cried, realizing too late that Shlomo might hear me.

Grandfather stepped away and waved at Solomon. “Go ahead, son, all is well. Your mother and I need to talk a while.”

I took a deep breath and tried to regain control of my emotions. Amnon had committed a terrible sin, but surely he was not beyond forgiveness. And Tamar . . . if she would come to me, I would tell her she was not to blame for the shame and humiliation she had to
be feeling. I had felt that same shame, anger, and guilt, but Adonai salvaged my ruined life and set me on a new path.

“You must speak to David.” Grandfather folded his hands. “His children have terrible reputations, and they have the potential to cause great harm. Do you remember how Eli’s sons shamed Adonai? David’s sons are equally sinful, yet he still refers to them as his personal priests.” Grandfather shook his head. “This brings dishonor to the house of David. Someone needs to tell the king that his children will be his downfall.”

I looked up, abruptly understanding. “You want
me
to speak to him?
You
are his chief counselor!”

“I
have
spoken to him, and he turns a deaf ear to my entreaties. He will not hear me on this subject, but perhaps he will listen to a wife he respects.”

I nearly laughed aloud. “For years you have insisted that David could not respect me—”

“In the past, perhaps.” Grandfather’s mouth curled as if he wanted to spit. “But now you are the one wife who has well-behaved children. Go to him, Bathsheba, and tell him he must take a firm hand with his sons. Amnon must be called out for what he did to the girl, and—”

“Her name is Tamar,” I interrupted, suddenly weary. “And she is not a piece of spoiled meat. She is a gentle young woman with many good years still ahead of her.”

A shiver spread over me as a memory came rushing back—the long-ago night when I had curled up in the dust of our courtyard and decided that my life was over. I was treated as an object, and that callous treatment could have ruined my life, but it didn’t. David went on to further complicate matters by committing terrible sins. In the end, however, he redeemed me. And for that, Adonai forgave him.

In a barely comprehendible flash, I realized a profound truth:
I had also forgiven him
. If Amnon would confess and repent, perhaps in time Tamar could also forgive. David might even allow a marriage between the two, and Tamar’s future would be restored.

I would speak to the king. The next time he called for me, I would open my heart and share these thoughts.

“Grandfather,” I said, proceeding carefully, “the king is my husband and I care about him. Because we understand each other, I will speak to him about this.”

“Good.” Grandfather shifted his attention back to the garden. “And what do you think of our firstborn prince? Would you have Amnon, who violated his own sister and then abandoned her, rule over all Israel? How could he possibly be a righteous king?”

I blew out a breath. “For today, my duty is to raise my sons, protect them, love them, and teach them to love God as their father does . . . especially Solomon.” I stood and stepped in front of Grandfather, forcing him to look at me. “You are the king’s most trusted advisor. He considers you an oracle of God. Yet you do not seem to care for him at all.”

Grandfather’s jaw flexed. “Adonai’s chosen people deserve a holy king.”

“Is any of us truly holy? None of us can make that claim.”

“I am loyal to the throne of Israel.”

I shook my head. “I’m not talking about loyalty. I’m talking about
affection
. About
friendship
. Do you feel either of these for my husband?”

When he did not answer, I reached for his gnarled hand and held it with a firm grip. “If Adonai has forgiven David, why can’t you?”

“David doesn’t need more people to love him. He needs more people who will tell him the truth. I hope, Bathsheba, that you will be one of those people.”

Grandfather’s mouth spread into a thin-lipped smile as he bowed to take his leave.

Because David had so many wives and concubines vying for his attention, we women obeyed an unspoken rule and waited on the king’s pleasure. We did not ask to see him; we waited for him to summon us. But with Grandfather’s request ringing in my ears, I had a handmaid carry a message to the king: could he honor his wife and loyal servant by calling for Bathsheba at sunset?

I nearly wept in relief when I received a summons. My maid carefully applied my cosmetics and dressed me in a most appealing garment. Though I wanted to talk about important matters before the night was over, David was still a man of keen appetites, and age had not diminished his physical desires.

The guard had just opened the door to David’s chamber when the king caught me up in a warm hug. “My lord!” I said, surprised by his enthusiasm. “I haven’t even had time to bow.”

“Why bow,” David said, his eyes shining, “when you can kiss me?”

I wasn’t sure what had sparked his ardor, but when at last we lay together on his bed, I sat up and pushed the damp hair away from his forehead. “My lord the king,” I said, pressing my hand to his chest as I smiled down at him, “my grandfather came to see me today.”

Groaning, David rolled toward me and propped his head on his hand. “And what did Ahithophel want with my most beguiling wife?”

I bit my lip, bracing myself to approach what might be a difficult subject. “He brought me sad news. I learned what happened between Amnon and Tamar. He bade me talk to you about that unfortunate situation.”

My husband’s smile vanished. “
That
is why you asked me to send for you? You wanted to talk about Amnon?”

Caught off guard by his reproachful tone, I floundered in search
of a diplomatic reply. “I wanted to see you first, of course. But I also wanted to talk about Tamar.”

David rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his face blank and empty. “There is nothing to talk about. That episode is finished.”

“But my lord the king—”

“It is over, Bathsheba.” Irritation lined his voice. “The boy did wrong, but what can be done about it now? He is my firstborn son.”

“But are you not upset? Do you feel no anger about this? He has ruined his sister’s prospects—”

“Of course I’m angry!” David sat up, flushing to the roots of his hair. “I was furious when I heard about it. But what can I do? Amnon is a man now. I will not treat him like a wayward child.”

Taken aback, I caught my breath and sought a different strategy. Clearly, David would not hear a word against Amnon, but he loved his daughter, too.

I softened my voice. “My lord and king, surely we must consider Tamar. She has been grievously wounded. If Amnon could be persuaded to confess his sin and ask her forgiveness—”

David laughed, but I heard no merriment in the sound. “Confess his sin? I hear that he refuses to admit any wrongdoing. I daresay the hatred he feels for the girl now is greater than any love fever that gripped him.” David sat cross-legged and rested his wrists on his knees, then hung his head. “The boy was sick . . . and all I did was try to make him happy.”

“My lord—” I halted, pained by a sudden thought. I gave my husband a deliberate, careful smile, knowing that an outright accusation might harden his heart. “I know you have always loved your children. What did you do to help Amnon?”

David blew out a breath. “The boy was ill. He was thin, wasting away, so great was his preoccupation. I couldn’t help noticing that he wasn’t hunting or participating in any of his usual activities. So
when he took to his bed, I went down to see him. When he suggested that I send Tamar to him, well of course I wanted to please him. On my return to the palace, I called for the girl and told her to visit her brother.”

The room seemed to grow dark as my mind buzzed with an ugly swarm of thoughts I dared not speak. David was many things, but he was not a fool. To send his virgin daughter, a
tob
woman, to his lust-crazed son was sheer madness. Anyone could have predicted the outcome, but I had to know all the facts before saying more.

“What did Amnon want Tamar to do? How was she supposed to be of service?”

David shrugged. “Amnon wanted her to prepare
lebibot
for him. A simple thing, really. A completely innocent task.”

I turned away, unable to believe my husband and king could be so blind.
Lebibot
were heart-shaped cakes, a common symbol of love. The gift basket that arrived at my house when David tried to send Uriah home had been filled with
lebibot
. After Solomon’s birth, David had the cook send me a basket of
lebibot
. Amnon’s request had been far from subtle, so how could David not understand the young man’s true intention?

I hugged my knees, deeply troubled. I knew Nathan had warned David that Adonai would punish him with a rod and blows if he strayed from the ways of the Lord. If a loving God disciplined His wayward children, shouldn’t a loving father discipline his son? David had always doted on his sons, but had affection blinded him? If so, could I say anything to open his eyes? Or would he think I was being critical of his beloved offspring?