Bathsheba (25 page)

M
Y
NERVES
GREW
TIGHTER
with every passing moment. As the shadows lengthened and the day sped away, I worried that Nathan would not find Solomon; that my son had already ventured into the grave.

Should I go to David? What could I tell him? That Nathan had experienced forebodings and I suspected Absalom of murderous mischief? I might have gone. I might have run to him but for one realization: David loved Absalom, too.

I fell to my knees and pressed my forehead to the floor. “Adonai,” I whispered, “there was a time when I counted your word a curse, but now I cling to it. Being a
tob
woman, hard as it was, brought me Solomon, and I love him desperately. I confess that my heart is fickle and my spirit more eager to embrace comfort than struggle, but please, Adonai, be faithful to your word. Bring Solomon home safely.”

I had just finished uttering my prayer when I heard footsteps in my courtyard. My servant stood at the door, pointing toward the hallway outside the harem. “The prophet has returned, my lady, with Solomon. They are most eager to speak to you.”

Without even pausing to check my appearance, I hurried out to join them. I cried out when I spotted the cut and bruise on Solomon’s temple, but both men assured me that the wound was not serious. “He might have a headache, though,” Nathan added, looking pleased to have completed his task. “But Adonai has kept him from real danger.”

If Solomon had any idea of the heavy meaning behind the prophet’s words, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he looked at me, a question in his eyes. “You wanted to speak to me, Mother?”

“Nathan and I,” I replied, gripping his upper arm. “But not here. Let’s go to the garden where we can speak freely.”

In the garden, I listened while Nathan shared the words he had uttered at Solomon’s first public appearance in the throne room. “You will be king one day,” he finished, his voice calm and neutral, “not because of anything you have done, but because it is Adonai’s will to place you in that position. Adonai has great love for your father, and also has great love for you. David’s house is an eternal one, and of his kingdom there shall be no end.”

Solomon, still much a boy even at twenty, looked from the prophet to me. “You knew of this, Mother?”

I nodded.

“Why did you never say anything?”

“Why did you need to know?” I allowed myself to smile. “I would not have burdened your youth or inflated your ego. Even now, I would charge you to say nothing of this to anyone else, especially your brothers. Loving them as you do, I’m sure you would not want to say anything that might incite them to jealousy.”

He lifted a brow as if surprised that any of his brothers could
fall prey to that dangerous emotion, then he nodded. “My father the king will live a long time still,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I will try to put this information out of my mind.”

“No,” Nathan said. “You cannot forget where your destiny lies. For the rest of your father’s life, you must observe life as it happens around you. Take note of what people do and what they say. Learn all you can about the royal court, for it is a treacherous and often dangerous sea of ambition and pretense. If you would be a good king, a wise king, you must know how to detect undercurrents and conspiracies. You must learn to see the motivations behind a man’s eyes; you must learn to see the truth behind their words. So watch, young prince, and learn all you can before Adonai elevates you to your father’s place.”

Solomon’s expression stilled and grew serious. “All right.”

“One more thing,” Nathan said as he leaned forward on his staff. “No more hunting with Absalom, or anxiety will be the death of your mother.”

Solomon glanced at me for confirmation, and I nodded.

“All right, then,” he said.

I gave Solomon a reassuring smile, and when he stood to leave for his own house, a part of my heart went with him.

T
HE
JOY
OF
TRAGEDY
AVERTED
endowed me with the strength to walk home. I passed the city gate and neared my house, walking slowly and carefully with nothing but moonlight to guide my path. I had just sung one of David’s songs of praise to encourage my exhausted limbs when the moon grew so large as to fill the horizon, brightening the earth like the sun. The unexpected brilliance forced me to lift my arms and shield my blinded eyes.

“So be it,” I told the Lord. “I am listening.”

I sank to the side of the road, leaned upon my staff, and waited. The brightened road before me faded, and a moment later the backs of my eyelids filled with a view of the interior of a well-furnished home. A man sat at a table. Even though I could see only the back of his head, I knew I was watching Absalom.

“What do you mean, you grazed him?” A woman’s sharp voice cut into the silence. “And a prophet saw you?”

“Not till later,” Absalom muttered, both hands in his dinner bowl. “He didn’t see anything.”

“I don’t know why you’re messing with that one anyway,” the woman said. “Why spend your energy ridding yourself of a future rival when you could take the throne now? Four years, husband! Four years you’ve been cultivating the hearts of the people. They love you. They are ready for you to be their leader.”

“But what about Solomon? There are rumors about an old prophecy—”

“Forget the son who bedevils you. You can rid yourself of him and his mother once you are king.”

The woman entered my field of vision. She moved closer to Absalom and draped her arms across his shoulders. She bent to whisper in his ear. “Promise me, husband. Promise me that you’ll forget the commoner’s son. Time enough to clear the field when you sit on the throne of Israel.”

She kissed the top of her husband’s head, and the scene faded from my view.

I exhaled a heavy sigh and gripped my staff. So . . . Solomon and Bathsheba would be safe, at least for a while. But David faced oncoming danger.

O
NE
MORNING
A
BSALOM
REAPPEARED
in his father’s court. I was sitting in the assembly when he, a mature man of thirty, stepped forward and bowed to his father.

“Absalom.” Though David’s face remained composed, I thought I detected a wistful note in his voice. “What can I do for you?”

The prince straightened himself. “If it pleases my lord and king”—he smiled his most charming smile—“allow me go to Hebron and fulfill the vow I made to Adonai.”

“A vow?” David tilted his head. “What sort of vow was this?”

“Your servant made a vow while I was staying at Geshur,” Absalom explained. “I vowed that if Adonai would bring me home to Jerusalem, I would sacrifice to the Lord in Hebron.”

I had felt uneasy about Absalom ever since his return to Jerusalem, but at the mention of Hebron my unease gelled to a lump in my stomach. Hebron was the capital city of Judah, David’s tribe.
David had first reigned as king in Hebron, so he had friends and family in that city. Despite all he had done in Jerusalem, the people of Hebron considered their town the
real
City of David.

I could think of no innocent reason for Absalom to make a sacrifice in Hebron.

The king seemed to weigh the matter. He studied his son for a long moment, then said, “Go in peace, my son.”

I sat motionless as a wave of déjà vu swept over me. Absalom had appeared in court once before, asking for permission to take a different journey. That one had ended in disaster and death.

Had the king forgotten so soon?

Absalom spun on the ball of his foot and addressed the assembly in the throne room. “Who will go with me?” He lifted his hand in a welcoming gesture. “Come help me observe my vow to thank Adonai for His graciousness in returning me to Jerusalem.”

I watched as leaders and counselors shot sharp looks at one another. I knew some of them had succumbed to Absalom’s charm, but others were staunchly loyal to the king. Yet hadn’t the king just given his blessing to Absalom’s sacrifice? Surely it would please the king if they journeyed with his son to Hebron, if only to keep an eye on the ambitious prince.

By the end of the day, two hundred of the king’s men had agreed to accompany Absalom. I later learned that Absalom even sent a special envoy to invite Ahithophel, the king’s counselor, who was resting at his home in Giloh.

Should I go? I briefly considered making the journey, but in the end, the
Ruach HaKodesh
prevented me.

I
DID
NOT
SOON
FORGET
my grandfather’s hurtful words, nor could I forget Nathan’s warning. I frequently went up to the palace rooftop to look for signs of trouble in the city, but saw nothing. I talked to Michal, but she was still so grief-stricken she wouldn’t have noticed if our water turned to blood. I finally told myself that Grandfather had become old and unstable, and Nathan had handled the problem with Absalom.

My boys had just returned from a hunt one afternoon when my servant rushed in and said a messenger waited to see me. Judging from the woman’s breathless state, I surmised that Grandfather had returned to needle me again.

“Who waits outside?” I asked.

The servant bowed. “Nathan the prophet.”

Twice . . . in so short a time? The thought of another warning
for Solomon dropped into the pool of my heart and sent ripples of fear in every direction.

I asked the servant to have the prophet join me in the palace garden.

“Nathan wants to see you again?” Solomon, who was visiting his brothers, released a baritone chuckle as he propped his feet on a small table. “Perhaps he has a prophecy for you.”

“I’ve heard enough prophecies for one lifetime.” I glanced at my other sons. Shammua and Shobab were intent on devouring the lunch Elisheba had prepared for them, and young Nathan had picked up a scroll to read.

I smiled at Solomon. “Please, will you come? I’d feel better about meeting him if you were with me.”

Solomon escorted me to the garden, then sat on a bench at my side as the prophet crossed a graveled path and bowed before us.

“Nathan.” I greeted him with a sincere smile. “What brings you to us again?”

The prophet did not smile in return. “I have heard a report that should concern you,” he said, his features hardening in an expression of disapproval. “You may have heard that more than two hundred men from Jerusalem—many of whom are devoted to the king—are with Absalom in Hebron. In addition to removing those loyal men from the city, the king’s son has circulated a message throughout the tribes of Israel. As soon as his followers hear the ram’s horn, they are to shout, ‘Absalom has been crowned king in Hebron’ until the entire land has heard the news.”

I stared at him in dazed exasperation. “What are you talking about?”

“My lady.” Nathan leaned toward me, desperation in his eyes. “Absalom has stolen the hearts of the people, so you must warn the king before it’s too late. If David remains in the city, its walls will become a deathtrap. You can be sure Absalom will return here
with a military force. He will kill the king and anyone who is loyal to him. He will kill your sons . . . all of them.”

My heart seemed to stop beating in my chest. I stared at the prophet, struggling to make sense of his words, and then I remembered the urgency in my grandfather’s voice. He had wanted me away from the city, not to protect Solomon but to flee danger from within. He had warned that my sons’ lives might be in danger. When he uttered the warning I could not imagine anyone wanting to harm my children, but he had not mentioned Absalom.

After seeing the wound on Solomon’s temple, I knew Absalom would not hesitate to kill Solomon if he knew David had promised him the throne.

“Mother,” Solomon said, straightening his spine, “I can handle Absalom.”

I nearly laughed aloud. Like many young men, Solomon had buckets of bravado, but he did not have an army. Apparently Absalom had both.

I reached for Shlomo’s arm and held it tight. “Why are you telling
me
this?” I asked the prophet. “The king does not come to me for military advice. He will not listen to warnings from a woman.”

“And he is not the sort to listen to me when my words concern Absalom.” Nathan pressed his lips together, then gripped his walking stick. “We shall go together. Bring Solomon with you, and perhaps the sight of the young man will convince David that he cannot surrender to Absalom. But we must go at once. The prince and his army will soon be on their way.”

Responding to the urgency in the prophet’s voice, I stood, gripped Solomon’s hand, and begged Adonai to honor His word.

I
THINK
IT
WOULD
HAVE
BEEN
EASIER
to erase a leopard’s spots than to convince the king to set aside his lethargy and escape the oncoming threat.

“We are not in danger,” David insisted. “Ask Joab. Ask Ahithophel.”

Bathsheba, Solomon, and I stood in the king’s dining hall, nearly deserted except for a few servants, a handful of military men, and three of the king’s quiet sons—Adonijah, Shephatiah, and Ithream.

“My lord and king.” Bathsheba stepped forward and bowed, but she didn’t wait for the king’s permission to speak. She rose almost immediately and boldly took a step closer to his chair. “If you try to summon your chief counselor, you’ll find he is gone. A few days ago he tried to convince me to leave the palace with him. He was most insistent that I leave you for my safety’s sake, and the safety of our sons.” A deep worry line appeared between her delicate brows.
“My lord, I believe he knew what Absalom was planning. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was in Hebron now, celebrating with your absent son.”

Lines of concentration deepened under the king’s eyes, though he was not yet ready to believe. He lifted his hand and gestured to the guard at the door. “Summon Joab.”

The guard had no sooner disappeared than we heard the shrill sound of a shofar—a sound out of place and time. In Israel, the shofar was blown as a call to war, a warning of war, or at the anointing of a king.

When I heard it in David’s dining hall, the shofar seemed to signify all three.

“That is the appointed sign,” I told the king, eyeing him steadily. “The ram’s horn has been blown, and even now your people are shouting, ‘Absalom has been crowned king in Hebron.’”

The piercing blast of the shofar seemed to stir the king from his complacency. He lifted his head, closed his eyes for a moment, and then rose from his chair. With an energy I had not seen him display in years, he strode across the dining hall shouting orders. “We must flee at once!” he said to the military men who stood guard at the door. “Hurry! If we leave Jerusalem before Absalom arrives, both we and the city will be spared from disaster.”

Bathsheba, Solomon, and I followed the king to his throne room, where men from his personal guard had gathered at the sound of the shofar. Joab also stood there, his face tense and anxious, and he spoke for the others, saying they would do whatever David wanted them to do—even stay and fight, if necessary, to defend the city.

But David had no heart for war against his handsome son. “No, we must leave,” he said, absently looking around for members of his household. “We must all go.”

“All?” a servant asked.

“All but . . .” Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, the
king seemed to sort through a mental list of the people who depended on him. “All but ten of my concubines. Leave them behind to look after the house.”

The servants responded with quick obedience, and within the hour a caravan of warriors, servants, and members of the royal family streamed out of the palace, carrying baskets packed with food, clothing, and whatever else they could find. Since the king did not know whom to trust—the realization that Ahithophel had joined Absalom both shocked and hurt David—he did not muster soldiers from Israel’s army but allowed the foreign troops of his bodyguard to accompany him. Six hundred Philistines, Kerethites, and Pelethites filed out of their barracks and strapped on their swords. They loaded donkeys with supplies and kept order as the king’s household fled the palace and walked away from Jerusalem.

As we neared my house, the last before a wide stretch of wilderness, I approached the king and asked if he wanted my wife to bring water. He cast me a look of gratitude and nodded, so the sad travelers halted while Ornah drew water from our well. My wife and daughters stared at David in abject horror. Though surprised to find the king at their door, they were astounded to see him bent and broken, with thinning hair, a gray beard, and wearing a defeated expression.

Most of the travelers remained in line, but Bathsheba left Solomon with his brothers and came forward to help Ornah at the well. Ornah poured while Bathsheba held a pitcher, then Bathsheba carried water to the thirsty people in line. When one of the guards protested that the king’s wife should not do common work, Bathsheba gave the man a wry smile and said that hauling water was not new to her.

I was standing near the king when David turned to Ittai, a leader of the men from Gath. “Why are you coming with us?” he asked, his voice brimming with uncertainty. “Go back, stay with
the king, for you are a guest in Israel. You arrived only recently, and why should I force you to wander with us? I don’t even know where we will go. Go back and take your kinsmen with you, and may Adonai show you His unfailing love and faithfulness.”

I flinched when David referred to Absalom as “the king.” Had he completely given up? Absalom might have had himself proclaimed king, but until Adonai proclaimed it as well, I would never refer to the upstart by that title.

Apparently Ittai agreed with me. The warrior thrust out his chest and answered David, “I vow by Adonai and by your own life that I will go wherever my lord the king goes, no matter what happens—whether it means death or life.”

And so David left Jerusalem in the company of women, children, servants, and foreigners. At the rear of the procession, Zadok led a priestly contingent of Levites, who carried the Ark of the Covenant. But when David spied the Ark, he told Zadok to take it back to the Tabernacle. “If I find favor in Adonai’s sight, He will bring me back and let me again see the Ark and the place where it is kept. But if He says, ‘I am displeased with you,’ then here I am. Let Adonai do to me whatever seems good to Him.”

Though David sent the priests away, he was not above using them for political purposes. I for one was glad to see that the king had not forgotten the lessons he had learned in warfare. Clearly he remembered the value of a good spy.

As Zadok turned to leave, David caught the priest’s sleeve. “Look,” he told the man, “you and Abiathar should return quietly to the city with your son Ahimaaz and Abiathar’s son, Jonathan. I will stop at the shallows of the Jordan River and wait there for a report from you.”

The priestly contingent turned and walked back to Jerusalem, with Zadok and Abiathar carrying the Ark back to the Tabernacle. They would remain in Jerusalem to wait for Absalom and his army.

Meanwhile, those of us who followed David felt our hearts break as the aging king set out for the Mount of Olives. Weeping as he went, his shoulders hunched in defeat, the king covered his head with his prayer shawl and walked with bare feet over the dusty road. The men and women from the settlements we passed wept as well, horrified and aggrieved to see the pride of all Israel, the king who had unified our nation, brought so low.

By the son he had loved above all others.

I followed David, of course. Leaving my family to wait at home, I remained with the king, traveling a few steps behind Bathsheba, Solomon, and Elisheba, the old woman. And as we walked, my thoughts centered on the prophecy I had shared with the king so many years before. Adonai had promised to discipline David with blows, but I had never imagined a blow as hard as this one.

David’s glorious kingdom lay in shambles at his feet, but if he had remained within the city, Jerusalem might have been destroyed by sword and fire. And yet Adonai had promised him an eternal dynasty. . . .

At a moment like this, Ornah would have asked me how I managed to cling to my faith.

After crossing the Kidron Valley on the eastern side of Jerusalem, David began a long, slow climb up the Mount of Olives. He moved woodenly, like a man whose heart is broken, so it was easy for a mounted messenger to catch him and confirm that Ahithophel, the king’s chief counselor, had aligned himself with Absalom.

I stood close enough to hear David’s brief prayer: “Turn the counsel of Ahithophel into foolishness, O Lord.”

As David walked, he poured out his heart in a spontaneous psalm:

Adonai, how many enemies I have!

How countless are those attacking me;

how countless those who say of me,

“There is no salvation for him in God.”

But you, Adonai, are a shield for me;

you are my glory, you lift my head high.

With my voice I call out to Adonai,

and he answers me from his holy hill.

I lie down and sleep, then wake up again,

because Adonai sustains me.

I am not afraid of the tens of thousands

set against me on every side.

Rise up, Adonai!

Save me, my God!

For you slap all my enemies in the face,

you smash the teeth of the wicked.

Victory comes from Adonai;

may your blessing rest on your people.

When we reached the summit, we encountered Hushai, who had been a loyal counselor to the king. Ordinarily a well-dressed and commanding figure, Hushai wore a torn garment, and he had poured dirt over his head and beard. He, too, was mourning a king dethroned. But David seemed to take courage from the sight of a counselor who had not deserted him.

Moments after greeting Hushai, David suggested that the man clean himself up and return to Jerusalem. “If you cross over the river with me, you will be a burden to me,” David gently explained. “But if you return to Jerusalem and tell Absalom you will be his loyal servant, you can overturn any counsel Ahithophel gives to the young man. Won’t Zadok and Abiathar the priests be there with you? Whatever you hear from the king’s house, tell Zadok
and Abiathar. They will tell their two sons, Ahimaaz and Jonathan, and they will come and tell me whatever you have heard.”

The king did not have to persuade Hushai, who promptly rose, gave the king his solemn vow, and took the path that led down the Mount of Olives. He was a younger man and swift of foot, and I had every reason to believe he would soon appear in Absalom’s throne room looking every bit like an advisor prepared to transfer his loyalties.

Watching him go, I had to smile. David had asked Adonai to thwart Ahithophel, and a moment later we spied Hushai, the perfect man to serve as an answer to David’s prayer. Sometimes, I reflected, HaShem worked His will through the service of faithful men.