Bathsheba (2 page)

All the events of King David’s reign, from beginning to end, are written in
The Record of Samuel the Seer, The Record of Nathan the Prophet,
and
The Record of Gad the Seer.

1 Chronicles 29:29

I
N
THE
SETTLED
AREA
BEYOND
THE
WALLS
of Jerusalem, in the last house before the land surrendered to wilderness, I lay on my sleeping mat and stared at the ceiling. Despite my wife’s gentle snoring, I had not rested the previous night. Bizarre images and disturbing sensations troubled my sleep, causing me to toss and turn on the thin mattress. At one point I awoke, completely alert, and sat up, expecting to hear Adonai’s voice in the darkness. But the Lord did not speak, so I stretched out again and closed my
eyes, wondering if my dreams and discomfort had more to do with indigestion than the will of God.

I dozed until the ribald cackle of Ornah’s rooster roused me from sleep. Though bright sunlight gilded the elevated City of David and poured through my window, an unsettled feeling haunted me. Trouble stirred somewhere, and I couldn’t help wondering if HaShem was about to stretch out His hand in judgment . . .

On me? I sat up and searched my conscience, but could find no transgression other than the sin I confronted daily. My parents had assured me I would grow to love my wife after marriage, but though I had been faithful and Ornah had borne me two daughters, only compassion and pity stirred my heart when I looked at her sturdy form. My wife’s name meant
cedar
, and like a mighty tree she had provided me with shelter, shade, and companionship. But my passion did not ignite when I looked into her small eyes, and my blood did not race when I kissed her wind-chapped lips. We remained friendly with each other, and I did not seek out harlots, but at night when I turned to Ornah in response to a manly urge, I painted someone else’s face on the darkness.

The thought of that face pulled a wistful sigh from my lungs before I lifted my head and looked at the two little girls sleeping a few feet away. Nira, age two. Yael, age four. Two precious souls who looked like their mother and considered me their best playmate. If they were awake, they would be standing on my thighs, pulling my hair, and trying to climb my back.

I sighed again. For a prophet, mine was a good life. Every day I woke, then looked and listened for a message from Adonai. If I saw and heard nothing, I focused on my responsibilities to my family. Even prophets had to eat.

I was blessed to have a wife, two girls, a goat, and a lamb. We farmed a small plot of land in the Kidron Valley, and we worked and prayed beneath the shadow of the Ark of the Covenant, which
rested in the Tabernacle atop Mount Moriah. We lived beneath the king, who with his wives and concubines dwelled in a grand cedar palace next to the Ark of Adonai.

I closed my eyes and cocked my head, listening with my ears and my heart. Had Adonai been the reason for my restless sleep? I waited, but heard nothing. I saw nothing. Apparently, all was well in Jerusalem.

I waited a few moments more, then rose and went outside to splash water on my face. If Adonai was not ready to speak, I would feed the lamb and goat and clean myself afterward.

Because I had been invited to a wedding.

T
HE
HOUSE
AT
OUR
JOURNEY
’
S
END
was far nicer than I had expected, and evidence, I realized, of Uriah’s commitment to my happiness. The structure sat nestled among a row of homes that bordered a winding street leading to the king’s palace. Since most of the streets within Jerusalem’s walls ascended to the higher elevations, the homes on our street were situated near the highest point in the city; only the king’s house and the Tabernacle stood higher.

Uriah and I entered our new home on a tide of celebrating friends and relatives, who pushed and jostled their way through the courtyard and into the house. There my gaze took in the many bowls of fruit, jugs of wine, and stacks of linens that friends had arranged in gift baskets to celebrate our marriage. More than a few guests laughed or made good-natured jokes as they surveyed our elaborately decorated marriage bed, but I ignored them, not wanting to behave like an embarrassed virgin. Elisheba had told me
what to expect when I was finally able to lie with my husband, so I was trying not to dread my first intimate encounter with a man.

I was rendered speechless, however, when Uriah led me through a doorway at the back of the house. Outside, with only the blue sky for a ceiling, lay a second courtyard, a lush garden paved with stones and enclosed by slender cypress trees. A large
mikvah
, a trough for watering our animals, stood at the center of the exquisite space.

“Nights will be beautiful here.” Uriah caught my hands as we stood face-to-face. “I look forward to lingering in this garden with you. The moon and the starry host will be witnesses to my devotion.”

I blinked, startled by this decidedly unwarrior-like declaration. I would have risen on tiptoe to kiss him, but my father had begun to urge others to vacate the house and move into the front courtyard. “They are married, so let us leave them in peace,” he said, tossing Uriah a sly glance. “Let them consummate the marriage, and
then
we will celebrate!”

Grumbling good-naturedly, the celebrants left us alone. They would wait outside, feasting and drinking, until we emerged, as wedded in flesh as we were in law.

After watching them go, Uriah gripped my hand and led me into the house, but one man remained inside the front doorway—my tall, stern grandfather.

“Uriah, I pray you will allow me one more moment with my granddaughter,” he said, moving toward me. “I would like to say a few words to her.”

Uriah flexed his jaw, silently signaling his frustration, but Grandfather was not the kind of man who could be easily dissuaded. “Bathsheba”—he tugged at my sleeve—“I would give you my blessing.”

I swallowed over the lump that had risen in my throat and allowed myself to be pulled from my husband’s side.

“Listen well.” Grandfather’s dark gaze pinned me to the floor. “You must not heed anyone who would think less of you for mar
rying outside your tribe, for Uriah is a good and faithful man. He has pledged his allegiance to David and to Adonai, and both your father and I trust him completely.”

With difficulty I restrained my impatience. “I know.”

“Now let me bless you.” Grandfather placed his broad palm on my head. “Blessed are you, Adonai, our God, King of the Universe, who created joy and gladness, groom and bride, mirth, glad song, pleasure, delight, love, brotherhood, peace, and companionship. Adonai, our God, let sounds of joy and gladness echo in the streets of Jerusalem, the voice of the groom and the voice of the bride. Blessed are you, our God, who causes the groom to rejoice with his bride, and blessed are you, Bathsheba. May Adonai make you like Rachel and like Leah, who between them built up the house of Israel. May the fruit of your womb change the course of history and bring blessings to Israel.”

Content to have executed this grandiose and ceremonial gesture, Grandfather pressed a kiss to my forehead, then left the house and closed the door behind him.

Outside the house, revelers shouted and clapped while pipers played and tambourines jangled. But those sounds faded to a dull roar as Uriah strode toward me, desire flushing his complexion. His steady gaze bore into me in silent expectation, and I took a step back, unnerved by the way my heart fluttered. I thought I knew what to expect in our coupling, but all my preconceptions vanished as the man for whom I had waited removed my veils with one hand. As I struggled to catch my breath, he caught my head and pressed his lips to mine in a kiss that sent the pit of my stomach into a wild swirl. I wrapped my arms around his neck, a half smile twisting my mouth. Would I ever be able to deny him anything?

When he pulled away and whispered my name, I trailed my fingertips across the oiled tendrils of his beard and searched his dark eyes. A wave of tenderness swept through me, but I had no time to explore that feeling, for my tall husband’s hands cupped my face and pulled me toward him. I stretched on tiptoe, wondering if he would lift me off the floor.

My impatient husband picked me up and lowered me onto our rose-covered bed. A fresh linen sheet had been spread over the blanket to gather the proof of my virginity, but Uriah paid it no mind as he stretched out, scattering red and pink petals onto the floor. I closed my eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of the flowers, and as his left arm encircled me, I realized that I had never lain so close to any man, not even a brother.

“Bathsheba?”

I opened my eyes to see him peering at me. “Yes?”

“Are you . . . all right?”

I nodded, then forced myself to speak. “I am fine.” I caught his free hand and pressed my lips to his palm, then met his gaze again. “I am fine, husband.”

He pressed his lips to the pulsing hollow at the base of my throat. With his left hand he stroked my hair, and then, as a trembling thrill raced through me, his fingers trailed down my arm and over my breast. I clung to him, kissing his neck, his shoulder, his strong jaw, the tiny curls near his earlobes—

I do not need to write of the private moments that followed. Any woman who has ever surrendered to a man who loves her knows about the pain and the passion of those first private moments.

When the storm of our desire finally subsided, I whimpered in his arms, then exhaled a slow, steady breath.

I had been vanquished. I had become flesh of this man’s flesh.

I finally understood how it felt to utterly belong to a beloved man.

T
HE
CELEBRATION
HAD
OVERFLOWED
the newlyweds’ courtyard by the time I arrived. I threaded my way through the throng and found Ahithophel, the king’s chief counselor, talking to the bride’s father near the courtyard gate. Since both men were close to the king, I wondered if David himself might appear.

“Greetings.” I nodded to each of them. “Congratulations on this wonderful occasion. I know the bride is beautiful and the groom a good man.”

A small frown appeared between Ahithophel’s brows, as if he were struggling to place my face, but Eliam had no trouble remembering me. “Nathan! How good it is to see you.” He gripped my shoulders and kissed both my cheeks. “Have some wine. Elisheba will bring out food as soon as the bride and groom reappear.”

I took the cup he offered, lifted it in a silent salute to the newlyweds, then took a hearty swallow. Lowering my cup, I surveyed
the merrymakers in the street. “So many of David’s mighty men are here: Ashel, Zelek, Gareb, and Benaiah. Will the king celebrate with us today?”

Eliam and Ahithophel cast each other a look, and the bride’s father burst out laughing. “Considering the many wives in David’s harem, I doubt he has the strength to even attend another wedding. We were just joking that the king needs to enlarge his palace to make room for all his women.”

“Seven wives kept him busy in Hebron,” Ahithophel said, lifting his cup, “and one would think a woman for each day of the week would satisfy any man. But David has quite an appetite for beauty.”

“An uncommon appetite,” Eliam said with an arched brow. “But then, he is the king. Who are we to deny him?”

I sipped from my cup, then politely turned my attention toward the older man, whose reputation for wisdom and virtue was legendary. “Have you more than one wife, sir?”

A muscle twitched at the corner of the counselor’s eye. He shook his head. “Adonai blessed me with a virtuous woman, but she died years ago. Unfortunately, my son is also a widower.”

The bride’s father heaved a sigh. “My wife died in childbirth, leaving me with two daughters, both of whom are beautiful. But Amaris, my youngest . . .” He shifted his attention to the musicians in the courtyard. “I have a feeling she will remain under my roof for the rest of her life.”

I followed his gaze and spotted a child of ten or eleven years sitting near a trumpet player. A pretty girl, she sat on a pillow and slapped a tambourine in time to the music. Only when I looked down did I see her misshapen foot.

I turned back to her father. “Can she walk?”

He shrugged. “Slowly, with a crutch. In the house, she finds it easier to crawl on her hands and knees. And I know few men who would want a wife who crawls to his bed every night.”

“She looks happy and content,” I said. “Surely such a pleasant girl would not be an imposition.”

“Not an imposition”—Eliam tugged on his beard—“so long as I have a nurse to care for her. Years ago the widow Elisheba stepped into my late wife’s place, and she has cared for both my daughters. But I am no fool and I’ve accepted that Amaris will probably never marry.” His eyes narrowed as he shot me a pointed look. “Unless
you
might want a pretty wife who can play the harp and sew for you. She’s young, but she’ll be of marriageable age in a few years.”

The thought of marrying Bathsheba’s sister scraped against the scar on my heart, but I refused to let the pain show on my face.

I shook my head. “Thank you, but I have a wife and two daughters. My little house already overflows with women.”

Eliam grinned. “I have heard that you are wise, Nathan, and now I know the stories are true. No man should have more wives than he can honestly love.”

With great difficulty I summoned the courage to speak of Uriah’s new wife. “Your eldest daughter, is she a happy bride?”

“Our Bathsheba?” Ahithophel’s voice rang with pride, and I saw the same emotion mirrored in Eliam’s eyes. “Our treasure is completely happy to be marrying the man we have chosen. We had good reasons for not accepting just any man for her, and would never have accepted a Hittite, no matter how skilled a soldier—”

“Yet I convinced him Uriah was the right man,” Eliam interrupted, leaning toward me. “I have fought beside him long enough to know Uriah is among the best of his people—strong, bright, and skilled. His father was a metalworker, and I hope Uriah will take up the trade one day. Such a trade—such skills—might change the course of Israel’s future.”

“In peacetime,” Ahithophel added, staring at the ground, “when we need more plows than swords.”

Eliam and I lifted our drinks. “May peacetime come soon.”

I had just emptied my cup when the door to the house opened. Uriah stepped through the doorway, his face gleaming with a sweaty smile. He lifted a linen sheet dotted with bright red drops.

A collective cheer rose from the assembled guests, and pitchers of wine traveled through the crowd again.

Holding tight to my empty cup, I ignored the passing vessels and adjusted my position to see around Uriah’s bulky form. Standing behind him, but firmly gripping his hand, stood Bathsheba . . . still the most beautiful woman I had ever beheld.

My teacher, Samuel, had taught us that prophets must be skilled with language to frame God’s truth in the most powerful words possible. But language failed me as I beheld Uriah’s wife, leaving my tongue thick and awkward. The woman in the doorway possessed all the proper parts—two eyes, a straight nose, full lips, a delicate pair of ears, thick, lustrous hair—but the arrangement of those elements was more pleasing than sinuous Egyptian vases and the colorful painted works of Canaanite artists. She had grown into the embodiment of female perfection. Yet not only did her form leave me breathless, but her countenance radiated kindness, compassion, and virtue. Her father and grandfather had not been exaggerating when they referred to her as their treasure.

“Nathan?” Eliam gave me a curious look. “Did you hear me?”

I redirected my gaze to my host’s face. “I’m sorry, I was distracted. It’s . . . noisy out here.”

“The feast will continue for at least another day,” Eliam said. “I was inviting you to stay at our home if you don’t want to leave the city tonight. If you want to remain—”

“You are most generous,” I interrupted, “but I do not think I should stay. For me to remain might be”—my thoughts returned to the beauty standing beside the groom I’d come to honor—“unwise.”

Eliam didn’t seem to mind my reluctance to enjoy his food and
wine. He clapped my shoulder, thanked me for coming, and smiled while I said my farewells to his father.

When I turned to make my way back to the road that would lead me through the gates and away from the City of David, I felt a small, obscure twinge of unease.

What did it mean?