Bathsheba (6 page)

I turned, not wanting Elisheba to see the guilt on my face, and heard the soft groan of the leather door hinge as she went for water. Amaris leaned on her crutch and studied me, her head tilting as her gaze met mine. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You don’t seem at all like yourself.”

“I’m not,” I snapped, too frustrated to exercise my usual patience with my sister. “I want a baby, but everything and everyone seems to be working against me. My husband has gone away without a word of complaint, Adonai is deaf to my prayers, the priest at the Tabernacle ignores me, and Elisheba insists on lecturing me.”

I knew my accusations were unfair, but rather than listen to a rebuke from a child, I turned and walked into the garden at the back of the house. The air was sweeter outside, perfumed with flowers, and something in the quiet helped calm the thunderstorm in my heart. I gulped deep breaths and then looked up. The sunset had spread itself like a peacock’s tail, bright and brilliant, across the
western skies. Golden rays feathered across the balustrade on the roof of the royal palace, then streamed out to paint the tips of our cypress trees with yellow light.

Uriah had said we would stand together in this garden, so why wasn’t he with me when I needed him?

“Are you in a better temper now?” Elisheba joined me, the water pitcher on her hip and a forgiving smile in her eyes. “Let me rub your shoulders, child, and let the
mikvah
wash away your sorrows. You’re only upset because you miss your husband, but in time you’ll feel better. Besides, who’s to say he won’t be home as soon as the victory is won? The siege may not last nearly as long as you fear. And if a child is part of Adonai’s plan for you, then a child you will have, and do not doubt it.”

Her words patted my heart like soothing raindrops, and the clean, cool water sloshed into the trough with a bracing sound.

Perhaps she was right. Perhaps I would feel better with the start of a new month. And each passing day was one less I would have to wait for my beloved to come home.

I gave Elisheba what I hoped was a repentant smile, then unbelted my tunic as the gentle sound of Amaris’s harp streamed through the window.

I
HAD
NO
SOONER
SAT
TO
SHARE
THE
EVENING
MEAL
with my wife and daughters when I heard Adonai’s voice:
Come outside.

No warning this time, no premonition or sense of approaching disaster. Only a clear and insistent voice.

I gave Ornah an apologetic look and stood, then walked out of the house and waited. The voice gave me no further instruction, so I walked over to the spindly fig tree and sat in its shade. I leaned against its narrow trunk and waited for Adonai to tell me what He wanted me to know.

A communication from the Lord of Hosts almost always sent a tremor scooting up the back of my neck, so I waited with heightened senses and a thumping heart. Within a moment of being seated, an inky blackness crept over my field of vision, blocking out the familiar sights of my neighbor’s house. I blinked, but could not dispel the darkness or focus my eyes.

So this time Adonai would not speak with words, but with images. I was about to see something the Lord wanted me to see.

I sat motionless and waited for the vision to unfold.

The blackness moved, re-forming itself into a familiar landscape. Though I could feel solid earth beneath me and the fig tree against my spine, my eyes informed me that I had been swept up by an eagle, a cormorant, or the very hand of Adonai. We flew over the Kidron Valley and the hills of Jerusalem, the city walls passing beneath my dangling legs. We did not zig and zag along the established paths, but flew straightway to the summit. Looking to my right, I saw the Tabernacle’s fluttering curtains. Beneath me, the rectangle of David’s stone palace. To my left, the twisting streets where the residents of Jerusalem had built their homes. Then Adonai lowered me until the flat rooftop of the royal palace sprawled only a short distance beneath my sandaled feet. Servants had erected a tent there, and after a moment the king stepped out from beneath that tent, yawning as if he had been asleep.

HaShem lowered me until my eyes were level with the king’s, but though I hovered directly in front of him, he did not acknowledge me in any way. By some working of the
Ruach HaKodesh
, I must have traveled in spirit only.

I glanced around, but no one else stood near the king. So why had I been brought here? Would I appear before the king in a moment, or would he never see me? If I materialized, how was I supposed to explain my presence?

Adonai offered no answers, so I breathed deeply and waited. The king yawned again before calling an order to a servant standing near the doorway. The man quickly disappeared, then returned with a cup of wine.

Sipping from his cup, David walked to the edge of the rooftop and studied the city, where buildings were springing up like mushrooms. Many houses on the palace’s south side were still under
construction, and the sound of hammering reached my ears even though the hour was late. Something in the sight must have pleased him, for he crossed his arms in a pose of great satisfaction.

Then he shifted his position and turned slightly, peering down at a row of homes within shouting distance of the palace wall. I studied David as he studied his city. Why was the king in Jerusalem when his army had gone to Rabbah? David was known for courageous military exploits, and I had every reason to believe he thrived on the challenge of battle strategy. So why had he remained behind?

An image focused in my memory—on my last visit to David I had relayed a message from the Lord, a promise that Adonai would secure David’s kingdom forever. Was the king now so confident in his success that he no longer felt the need to personally invest in Israel’s military campaigns?

I frowned and considered the question. If David considered Adonai’s last message an eternal reprieve from a king’s duties of work, worship, and righteous war, he had forgotten the nature of HaShem. The Lord of Hosts loved David, but like a good father He chastened His children when they went astray. Surely Adonai had not given His promise in order to lull David into complacency. A complacent man would eventually neglect the Lord, because he would depend upon HaShem’s promise and not HaShem himself.

I bit my lip and scrutinized the king’s countenance. From where I watched, the rays of the setting sun tinted his hair with red-gold highlights, painting him like a man ablaze. He had aged since claiming the throne of Israel, and looked as if he had lived hard in each of his thirty-nine years. Laugh lines radiated from the corners of his eyes like cracks, and time had etched deep grooves from the edges of his nostrils to his red beard. But his hair had not yet gone white, nor had it measurably thinned.

David’s posture shifted abruptly as he bent from the waist and lowered his forearms to the balustrade. He leaned into open space,
and for an instant I feared he would fall. Then I glimpsed his face and saw this was no careless king. He wore the expression of a man who has not eaten in days, and his eyes had gone from dreamy and contemplative to black and dangerous. His expression—dare I say it?—was that of a man overtaken with the mindless fervor of a stallion in rut.

Alarmed, I looked down on the city to see what had caused this abrupt change in his countenance. My gaze skimmed rooftops and gardens, houses and pathways, and then I spied two women in a tree-lined courtyard. One sat in a
mikvah
, her back to me. Her hands gripped the sides of a stone trough while her servant poured fresh water over her hair and shoulders. But even though the younger woman’s face was not visible, the glimpse of slender shoulders, the gentle tapering of ribs to a narrow waist, the flare of feminine hips . . . my own loins began to stir. I turned away, realizing I had no business gazing at any woman in that manner. I looked at the king and saw that he had not averted his gaze. Instead of turning aside or closing his eyes, he remained focused on the tantalizing sight. He then straightened and signaled for the guard at the door.

My hope—my confidence—in Israel’s anointed king shriveled as the guard hurried to answer his master’s command.

“See that house?” David pointed to the courtyard below. “Make note of it, go inquire, and return straightway to tell me who that woman is.”

With only a brief downward glance, the guard jogged away while David bent again, devouring the sight of the woman as she stood, accepted a robe from her servant, and left the garden, her long wet hair streaming over her back like silk ribbons.

My viewpoint abruptly shifted, as if the giant hand or bird holding me aloft had jerked me to another position. I saw the guard hurrying down the rooftop stairs, crossing the paved courtyard,
and exiting through the palace gates. I lowered my heavy eyelids, not needing to see anything else.

What was I supposed to do with this knowledge?

My stomach clenched as my heart overflowed with angst and despair. “Why have you shown me this vision?” I asked the darkness. “What am I to do with this knowledge? Is this something that might happen, or is it something that
has
happened? And if it has happened, how can I confront the king? He holds the power of life and death in his hands, and I saw the look in his eyes just now—he is not in a mood to be reasonable.”

When I lifted my head, I found myself sitting beneath my spindly tree with only the whisper of fig leaves to disturb a stillness as deep as a Sabbath morning.

I
HAD
JUST
SLIPPED
A
PLAIN
TUNIC
OVER
MY
HEAD
when we heard a pounding at the courtyard gate. Elisheba’s wide eyes met mine, then she hurried to the front door and opened it, reflexively ducking when she saw the tall guard standing outside the house. With one glance the man took in Elisheba, me, and Amaris, then his gaze settled on me. “The king summons you,” he said, gesturing with a hairy hand. “Do not delay, but come at once.”

“The king?” My heart filled with fear as I turned to Elisheba. “Do you think something has happened to—?”

“At once!” the guard repeated.

“I have just dressed for bed,” I tried to explain, “yet if the king wants to see me, I will dress properly. I can’t go to him like this, with wet hair and no shoes—”

“Now!” The guard stepped forward and crossed our threshold, something he would never have done if Uriah had been home. While
Elisheba stared in disbelief, with trembling fingers I lifted a cloak from a wall hook and threw it over my shoulders. My thoughts scampered in such panic that I couldn’t remember where I left my shoes, so I slid my feet into a pair of tattered papyrus sandals. They were not fit for an audience with the king, but at least I wouldn’t have to lace and fasten them.

When I reached the doorway, the guard gripped my arm with surprising force and half led, half dragged me along the cobbled street toward the palace. The sun had hidden itself behind the horizon, so we scurried through shifting shadows as my neighbors gathered around their cook fires to enjoy the evening meal. I found myself grateful that few of them would witness my frantic journey to the king’s house. Something terrible must have happened to Uriah, something so horrible that the king had returned to Jerusalem to personally explain how my husband died.

My escort glanced at me when we reached the palace gate, then whispered to the guard on duty. Without a word, that man stepped aside and let us pass.

We walked across the large paved courtyard, past a building with several doors, and finally through a long passageway that ended in a flight of narrow stairs. The guard gestured for me to precede him, so I did, carefully lifting my tunic so I wouldn’t trip.

When we reached the top of the stairs, I found myself standing on the wide roof I’d observed from my garden. A colorful canopy had been erected against a wall to provide shade from the slanting sun. Potted plants stood around the periphery as a sort of screen, I supposed, to offer a measure of privacy from the servants and guards.

Was the king here? If he had news of the battle, I would have expected him to meet me in his council chamber or the great hall.

I did not have time to ponder the odd setting, for the guard placed his hand in the small of my back and prodded me forward, his touch altogether too rough for a man who’d been sent to fetch a
warrior’s widow. I glanced back to rebuke him with a look, but his dark eyes remained impassive and unreadable. Instead of speaking, he pointed toward the canopy.

With no other choice, I walked past the line of potted palms and caught my breath when I recognized the red-bearded man seated on a couch. Since the return of the Ark, I had seen King David only from a distance, and on those occasions he had always seemed regal, strong, and impressive. Now, softened by twilight and with no more space between us than was proper for an ordinary man and woman, he looked far less royal and more like the man who had danced in the dust.

Only when he lifted his gaze did I fully realize where I was.

“O King, live forever.” I collapsed on the floor as my quivering knees gave way. I stretched my hands toward the king of all Israel and struggled to find breath to speak. “If I have found mercy in your sight, please tell me what news you have of Uriah the Hittite.”

Keeping my gaze downcast, I heard him utter two words to the guard. “Leave us.”

Was the news so dire he could not bear to share it before a guard? A tumble of confused thoughts and feelings assailed me, but I knew I ought to remain bowed and submissive until the king gave me permission to rise. Grandfather had taught me about official protocol, but at that moment I had neither the patience nor the discipline for royal rules. Desperate for news of my husband, I raised my gaze to study the king’s face, searching for some hopeful sign. Perhaps Uriah had been captured, or perhaps he had been injured while on patrol. As long as his body hadn’t been discovered, I could hope, the king could negotiate, and others could search for him. Together we could find some way to bring my husband home.

My stomach dropped, however, when I beheld the king’s expression. The eyes I had never examined at close range were not cloudy with grief or soft with compassion; they sparked. They burned, in
fact, with the same heat I saw in Uriah’s eyes when he came home after a long day and wanted to take pleasure in his wife. I delighted in that look when I discovered it in my husband’s eyes, but seeing it in the king’s . . .

Cold panic bloomed between my shoulder blades and ran down my spine.

“By all that is holy, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” The king leaned forward and grinned, his hot gaze searing my skin. “When I looked out and saw you bathing, I knew I had to have you.”

I covered my ears, unable to trust what I’d heard. This could not be happening. The king possessed a harem of women, many of them famous for their beauty, and all of them righteously belonged to him. He ruled over an entire kingdom of families with beautiful virgin daughters, any one of whom would willingly leave her home to become a royal wife. He could have any unmarried woman he wanted, so why did he send for me?

“My lord and king.” I lowered my head in the proper posture of submission. “I am honored you sent for me, but I came because I thought you had news about Uriah, my husband. He has been at Rabbah with the army these past five months—”

I did not have an opportunity to finish. Without warning the king loomed over me, his hands clasping my wrists like iron manacles. I gasped as he lifted me to my feet, and his mouth smothered mine before I could remind him yet again that I belonged to another.

Somehow, even as his hands gripped my wrists, he found the cord that tied my cloak and loosened the knot. My mantle slid away from me, leaving me exposed and vulnerable in my light tunic.

I stood, stiff and still, as urgent thoughts pushed and jostled in my head. The king tasted of wine, he smelled of perfumed oils, and his mouth felt hard and demanding. What was I to do? For a moment I considered slapping him in the hope of bringing him to
his senses, but he still held my wrists, and who was I to strike the king? I thought about screaming when he finally pulled his mouth from mine, but even if someone heard, who would take action against Adonai’s anointed ruler? Not the guard who had brought me to this place, and surely not the servants. No one would come to my aid. The king was the king, and he could do as he pleased with his people.

Familiar words from a long-dead prophet whirled in my head.
“She will be a
tob
woman.”
One who possessed intoxicating beauty. One who would be desired. Coveted. Craved.

The king’s mouth traveled down my neck, over my thin linen tunic, and pressed against my breasts. In that moment I would have given my life to be ugly.

“My lord, please.” My voice trembled. “You are a far better king than this. I am your servant, but I am another man’s wife—”

“If the king cannot take what he wants, why is he king?”

The words were a warning growl. The inner trembling that had begun when the guard appeared in our courtyard now spread to my limbs. I shuddered as he pushed me onto the couch and gasped when he planted his knee, forcing a space between my legs. “My lord and king,” I begged, openly weeping, “please let me go. I will say nothing of this. I will go home and remain silent like a good soldier’s wife. You have other women. You have but to send for them, and they will come. You are king of Israel; nothing righteous will ever be denied you—”

“Be quiet now, and do not resist.” A feral light gleamed in the depths of his eyes as he stared down at me. “I will not hurt you if you do not struggle. And no one ever need know.”

No one? I would know. I would never forget this horror, nor would I ever hear his name without reliving these moments. How was I supposed to face my husband, who adored the king? How was I supposed to listen to my Uriah
praise
Adonai’s anointed one?

What could I say to the man above me? He had not listened to reason, and I had run out of words. I neither wanted nor welcomed his attentions, but he was a king and I a mere woman. All I could do was surrender . . . and trust him to keep his word about keeping this secret.

Because greater than this sin would be the sin of hurting my honorable, loyal, and trusting husband.

In reluctant acquiescence, I stopped struggling. The king loosened his grip on my wrists, apparently satisfied that I would not strike or claw at him.

As my arms went limp, I closed my eyes and felt my heart turn to ice as the king of Israel used me for his personal pleasure. During the assault, I focused my thoughts on Uriah and promised myself that I would remain silent to protect the man I loved. I would not speak of this to Elisheba, or Amaris, or even Adonai, because I could not understand how HaShem could know everything and do nothing as I suffered.

When the king had finished, he sat on the edge of the couch without looking at me, poured himself another cup of wine, and then summoned a guard. “A new tunic,” he told the man, jerking his thumb toward me. “The other is ruined.”

The guard glanced at me, then removed his cloak and held it open, silently indicating that I should stand and wrap myself in it. Ignoring him, I darted toward my own cloak, then wrapped it around me. I waited, silent and shivering, until the guard returned a few moments later with a tunic to replace my torn garment.

When I had again made myself presentable, I left the king sitting in a chair, sipping from his cup and gazing into the darkness. The guard led me down the stairs, then escorted me home.

But I did not go inside the house. Unable to face Elisheba and Amaris, I curled up like a wounded animal on the gritty stones of our courtyard and wept until daybreak.