Bathsheba (29 page)

“My king.” I bit my lip, unsure how to respond. “I have always been grateful for your kindness—”

“I loved you most,” he continued, his voice trembling, “because you forgave the most.”

I watched, stunned and perplexed, as a tear slipped from the corner of his eye and rolled into the gray fringe of his hair. “I loved you . . . because you grieved over our baby when you could have hated him. I loved you because you loved Solomon. I loved the look on your face when I sang songs of praise to Adonai. I loved your
kindness to my bitter Michal. I loved your gentleness with Tamar. And I knew . . . I knew I would love you forever when I saw your tender care of Abigail. You are more than a
tob
woman, Bathsheba. You are Adonai’s blessing to me.”

His eyelids fluttered and closed, and the hand within mine relaxed.

“Is he . . . ?” I asked.

“He naps.” Abishag shifted her gaze from the king’s face to mine. “He tires easily when he has visitors.”

Aware of the many watchful eyes in the room, I struggled to maintain control of my emotions. I had to think about Solomon; I had to fulfill the king’s command to place my son on the throne.

But beneath the surface of my composure, I could feel a hidden spring trying to break through.
I loved this man.
The feeling was not like what I felt for Uriah; it was deeper and more powerful. I had simply never recognized it for what it was.

Gently I slid my hand from the king’s, then stood and turned. Nathan remained in the room, watching with a small smile on his face. I smoothed the wrinkles from my tunic and stepped toward the doorway.

The prophet caught my sleeve. “He meant it, you know.”

“What?”

“I don’t know that he has loved any of his other wives, but he loves you, Bathsheba. Just as Samuel prophesied.”

“What are you saying?”

“I was there.” Nathan moved to the door, and I followed, caught by his reference to the prophet whose words had shaped my early life. “I was only an apprentice when your parents brought you to the Tabernacle. But I saw Samuel look at you, and I heard his prophecy: ‘This child shall grow to be a
tob
woman. She will be mother to a great man in Israel, and the heart of her husband will incline toward her alone.’” Nathan’s smile turned to a chuckle. “I
memorized his words. In my youth I hoped I would be the husband in question, but realized my error soon enough.”

Overcome, I stared at the prophet.

“Know this, my lady—no pain exists without purpose, no grief without comfort. You have been more than David’s wife; you have been his consolation, his joy, and his one love. Your forgiveness redeemed him. Don’t ever forget that. Now go,” he said, abruptly changing his tone. “I will stay with the king and assist with Solomon’s coronation. You must summon your son and bring him to the palace. We haven’t a moment to waste.”

Spurred by our urgent reality, I left the king and hurried away to find Solomon.

A
FTER
B
ATHSHEBA
LEFT
THE
KING
’
S
CHAMBER
,
I woke the king and asked what must be done to crown Solomon. David summoned Zadok the priest and Benaiah to stand with me in his presence. Then he gave us direct and explicit instructions: “Take my son Solomon and my officials to the Gihon Spring. Solomon is to ride on my own mule. There Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet are to anoint him king over Israel. Blow the ram’s horn and shout, ‘Long live King Solomon!’ Then escort him back here, and he will sit on my throne. He will succeed me as king, for I have appointed him to be ruler over Israel and Judah.”

“Amen!” Benaiah replied. “May Adonai, the God of my lord the king, decree that it happen. And may Adonai be with Solomon as He has been with you, my lord the king, and may He make Solomon’s reign even greater than yours.”

So the three of us, accompanied by the king’s bodyguard, put
Bathsheba’s son on the king’s mule and led him over the streets of Jerusalem, through the gate, and to the Gihon Spring. There Zadok took the flask of olive oil from the sacred tent and anointed twenty-nine-year-old Solomon. We sounded the ram’s horn, and all the people with us shouted, “Long live King Solomon!”

The crowd followed Solomon back into Jerusalem, playing flutes and shouting hosannas. The celebration was so joyous and noisy that the earth shook with the sound.

I smiled, knowing Bathsheba would hear the celebration from within the palace walls. Perhaps she was with David now, holding his hand as they smiled in relief that Adonai’s will—and the king’s—had been carried out.

Adonijah and his fellows would hear the sound too, and their reaction would determine their futures. If they stood and fought, we would have another bloody revolt to quell, but at least it would be confined to Jerusalem. If they scattered and accepted David’s decree, perhaps Jerusalem would indeed be a city of peace.

A few hours later, I learned that Adonijah’s followers had run like a herd of startled deer. Adonijah himself had been so frightened by the thought of his younger brother’s vengeance that he ran to the sacred tent of the Tabernacle and seized the horns of the altar, a traditional place of sanctuary. Clinging to the horns with all his strength, he begged anyone who would listen to carry a message to the new king: “Let King Solomon swear today that he will not kill me!”

When Solomon heard his brother’s request, he sagely replied, “If he proves himself to be loyal, not a hair on his head will be touched. But if he makes trouble, he will die.”

Solomon sent for his brother. The royal guards had to peel the upstart prince from the altar. Then Adonijah walked through a thick, expectant silence into the throne room and bowed respectfully before his brother the king.

Solomon’s reply was simple and terse: “Go home.”

O
N
ONE
OF
HIS
LAST
DAYS
,
David sent for Solomon. Solomon asked that Elisheba and I join him, so the three of us met in the ailing king’s bedchamber.

“My son, I wanted to build a Temple to honor the name of the Lord my God,” David said, reclining against his pillows. “But the Lord said to me, ‘You have killed many men in the battles you have fought. And since you have shed so much blood in my sight, you will not be the one to build a Temple to honor my name. But you will have a son who will be a man of peace. I will give him peace with his enemies in all the surrounding lands. His name will be Solomon, and I will give peace and quiet to Israel during his reign. He is the one who will build a Temple to honor my name. He will be my son, and I will be his father. And I will secure the throne of his kingdom over Israel forever.’”

Standing in the back of the king’s bedchamber, I watched the
weight of David’s words settle on Solomon’s broad shoulders. My son had been given a great responsibility and a great blessing, for David’s kingdom had known only fleeting periods of peace.

“Now, my son,” David continued, “may Adonai be with you and give you success as you follow His directions in building the Temple of Adonai. And may the Lord give you wisdom and understanding, that you may obey the Law of the Lord your God as you rule over Israel. For you will be successful if you carefully obey the decrees and regulations the Lord gave to Israel through Moses. Be strong and courageous; do not be afraid or lose heart.”

Solomon nodded, then found his voice. “I will, Father.”

Something that looked like a smile twitched in and out of David’s gray beard. “I have worked hard to provide materials for building the Temple of the Lord—nearly four thousand tons of gold, forty thousand tons of silver, and more iron and bronze than can be weighed. I have also gathered timber and stone for the walls, though you may need to add more. You have a large number of skilled stonemasons and carpenters and craftsmen of every kind. You have expert goldsmiths and silversmiths and workers of bronze and iron. Now begin the work, and may the Lord be with you!”

David then had a scribe transcribe an edict, ordering all the leaders of Israel to assist Solomon in the project. When the scribe had finished, David lay back on his pillows, placed his hands in his lap, and slowly exhaled. “Solomon?” he asked, not lifting his head.

“I am here, Father.”

“Stand, please. Come where I can see you.”

Solomon rose and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over his father’s shrunken frame. David blinked, seeming to focus his vision, then lifted an age-spotted hand and placed it on the crown of Solomon’s head.

“The Lord your God is with you,” David declared. “He has given
you peace with the surrounding nations. He has handed them over to me, and they are now subject to Adonai and His people. Now seek the Lord your God with all your heart and soul. Build the sanctuary of the Lord God so that you can bring the Ark of the Lord’s Covenant and the holy vessels of God into the Temple built to honor the Lord’s name.”

“I will, Father.”

David sighed again and lowered his hand to his chest. “Thank you, my son.”

Watching David bless Solomon assured me that at long last David had learned something about being a father. The overlooked, unseen shepherd boy had finally learned to see and trust his son.

I buried my face in Elisheba’s shoulder and wept in a spontaneous overflow of gratitude and love.

With Solomon safely installed on the throne, my concern shifted to my dying husband. Having successfully passed the kingdom into the hands of the man Adonai had chosen, David approached the end of his days. On some afternoons I sat with him, wanting to keep him company.

One day, after he had finished scratching out a verse on parchment, I stood and went to his side. Motioning for Abishag to remain in her place, I removed the tray, pen, and parchment, then lifted the blanket and slid into the space next to him. Lying close to him, my head propped on my hand, my breath brushing his face, I studied the man who had been my husband and king.

My gaze rested on his wide forehead, the bearded cheeks and chin, the lips that had so often caressed mine. As I watched him rest in deep and peaceful slumber, the bitter memories of the past fled away. Long ago I had forgiven him. In that moment I wanted
to forget everything but his love, his friendship, and his willingness to defend our son. I had never felt for David what I felt for Uriah, but my feelings for David far overwhelmed my adolescent yearnings.

My hand moved under the blanket and came to rest against the tender flesh of his chest. I sighed and rested my cheek against his now-bony shoulder, my sorrows and joys blending seamlessly in the myriad intricacies of love.

The next day, David sent for Solomon, and as he often did, Solomon invited me to come with him. Together we went to the king’s bedchamber and knelt on the carpet by the side of the bed.

As David struggled to sit upright, Abishag arranged pillows to support his head. “Solomon, my son,” David began, “I am going where everyone on earth must someday go. Take courage and be a man. Observe the requirements of the Lord your God and follow His ways. Keep the decrees, commands, and regulations written in the Law of Moses so you will be successful in all you do and wherever you go. If you do this, the Lord will keep the promise He made to me. He told me, ‘If your descendants live as they should and follow me faithfully with all their heart and soul, one of them will always sit on the throne of Israel.’”

While David spoke, I stood and quietly slipped into the shadows. This moment existed for David and his son, and I had no part in it.

“There is something else,” David continued, wheezing. “You know what Joab did to me when he murdered my army commanders Abner and Amasa. He pretended it was an act of war, but the murders were committed in a time of peace, staining his belt and sandals with innocent blood. Do with him what you think best, but don’t let him go to his grave in peace.

“Be kind to the sons of Barzillai of Gilead. Make them perma
nent guests at your table, for they took care of me when I fled from your brother Absalom.

“And remember Shimei, the man from Bahurim in Benjamin. He cursed me with a terrible curse as I was fleeing to Mahanaim. When he came to meet me at the Jordan River, I swore by the Lord that I would not kill him. But that oath does not make him innocent. You are a wise man, and you will know how to arrange a bloody death for him.”

I stared, shocked and dismayed, as David delivered his final charge to Solomon. We had lived through so much bloodshed that I’d hoped David’s thirst for war had been slaked. But he wanted peace for his son, and even in his final moments he was determined to achieve justice and remove unfaithful men.

David drew a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort. “This is the speech of David, the son of Jesse, the speech of the man who has been raised up, the one anointed by the God of Jacob, the sweet singer of Israel. The Spirit of Adonai spoke through me, His word was on my tongue. The God of Israel spoke; the Rock of Israel said to me, ‘A ruler of people must be upright, ruling in the fear of God; like the morning light at sunrise on a cloudless day that makes the grass on the earth sparkle after a rain.’

“For my house stands firm with God. He made an everlasting covenant with me. It is in order, fully assured, that He will bring to full growth all my salvation and every desire. But the ungodly are like thorn bushes to be pushed aside, every one of them. They cannot be taken in one’s hand; to touch them one uses a pitchfork or spear shaft, and then only to burn them where they lie.”

He might have gone on, but David’s next breath ended in a bout of coughing. When he had finished, he lay back and remained quiet.

Solomon stood and reached for his father’s hand. Curious, I stepped into the light and saw that David’s eyes had closed. He rested against his pillow, one hand in his son’s, the other limp at his side.

When I heard the sound of Solomon’s sobs, I realized that David, our shepherd king and my royal husband, had gone to the place where our infant son waited. Where he would find Samuel, his teacher, and Jonathan, his best friend. And where one day he would find me.

A few days after David’s funeral, I was surprised to find Adonijah waiting for me in the palace garden. I blinked when he approached and bowed, then lifted a brow. What did this shifty, scheming prince want now?

“Do you come with honorable intentions?” I asked, forcing a smile.

“Yes.” His mouth twisted in a way that reminded me of Absalom’s charming grin. “I come in peace, my lady. In fact, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Can’t you ask your own mother?”

He smiled as he shook his head. “I have a favor to ask the king, and who better to represent me than you?”

I folded my hands. “What is it?”

“Please speak to King Solomon on my behalf, for I know he will grant anything you request. Ask him to let me marry Abishag, the girl from Shunem.”

I stared, too startled by the request to offer any objection. Was he
insane
? To claim a king’s wife or concubine, virgin or not, was to claim the throne. If by some folly Solomon allowed his brother to marry the girl, Adonijah might not claim the throne immediately, but he would do it. At some opportune moment he would point out that he had David’s wife, so surely he was the son who ought to have inherited the throne.

I tilted my head and studied the young man before me. Hand
some, yes, but definitely not the brightest of the king’s many sons. Or, if he was not as thick as a plank, he must have believed I was.

“All right,” I told him. “I will carry your request to the king.”

My thoughts burned as I hurried to the throne room. Despite David’s resolute action, Adonijah had not been able to bury his ambition. Haggith’s son had proven to be a thorn in David’s side, and I would not let him needle Solomon. I would pass on Adonijah’s request, and I would trust Solomon to take the right action.

A dozen counselors bowed as I entered the king’s hall and moved immediately to the open area before my son’s throne. Solomon rose from his seat and bowed before me, a gesture that brought unexpected tears to my eyes. When he sat again, he asked a servant to bring a throne for me, as well.

Completely taken aback, I timidly took the chair by his right side and looked over the crowd assembled for the king’s attention. Men in armor, merchants in fine apparel, priests in their woven white tunics—in all my years I had never seen the throne room from this elevated perspective.

“What is it, my mother?” Solomon asked, keeping his voice low as he looked at me. “You know I won’t refuse any request.”

I gave him a guileless smile. “My king, I would be pleased if you would let your brother Adonijah marry Abishag, the girl from Shunem.”

In a flash, Solomon realized the motivation and the threat behind the request. “How can you possibly ask me to give Abishag to Adonijah?” His brows rushed together. “You might as well ask me to give him the kingdom! You know he is my older brother, and he has Abiathar the priest and Joab on his side.”