Bathsheba (7 page)

T
HE
SUN
SEEMED
TO
RISE
RELUCTANTLY
the morning after my vision. Weak, gray light seeped into my house, announcing an end to my sleepless night and the beginning of a dreaded day. I stared at the rugged ceiling beams as the darkness thinned, unable to look at my wife or daughters lest they wake and see the distress on my face.

I had not seen everything in my vision. In His mercy, Adonai had spared me the violence of what must have happened after David learned the woman’s identity, but I had seen enough to know that the Lord’s anointed king had coveted a beautiful woman and sent for her. If David had only lusted, Adonai would have forgiven him, and the Lord would not have shown me the event. If the king had learned that the woman was married and put thoughts of her aside, again, Adonai would have forgiven and forgotten the offense. But the God who knows past, present, and future had known what would
happen after David lusted for that beauty, and Adonai wanted me to see the result of a darkness that had entered the king’s heart.

Our beloved king, who had been anointed to replace disobedient Saul, had also disobeyed the Law and the moral instruction given to Adonai’s chosen people. Why? Because he believed he could get away with sin.

I closed my eyes as Ornah stirred beside me. I had not yet regained my composure, and better that she should think me asleep than to know what troubled my thoughts.

What did Adonai expect me to do with the knowledge He’d given me? I could go to the palace and confront the king, but few men relished being caught in their crimes, and fewer still handled rebuke with gracious repentance. David might say that a king had the right to take whatever he wanted, and most of his counselors would support his position. I would look like a fool, and for what? If the woman had not been injured, some would say no harm had been done. To my knowledge, the king had not violated a child or committed any unnatural act. He had simply seen a lovely woman and sent for her, practicing the same right held by the kings of the many peoples around us.

But David . . . I had held such hope for him. I had placed such faith in him. He was a better man than the king I watched last night.

Unable to remain motionless a moment longer, I swung my legs off the mattress and rested my head on my knees as my heart filled with despair. Was Israel doomed to be led by men who allowed power to corrupt their minds and hearts? Could
any
man be trusted with the authority and responsibility necessary to govern the affairs of a nation?

HaShem had warned us that our cry for a king would result in misery. Samuel told the people that a king would draft our sons and assign them to his army, making them run before his chariots. Some would be generals and captains in his military forces, some would be forced to plow in his fields and harvest his crops, and
some would make his weapons and chariots. He would take the best of our fields and vineyards and olive groves and give them to his officials. He would take a tenth of our grain and grape harvest and distribute it among his officers and attendants. He would take our male and female slaves and demand our finest young men; he would take our donkeys and force them to carry his loads. He would demand a tenth of our flocks, and we would be his slaves. And he would take our
daughters
 . . .

But Israel did not listen. We insisted that we wanted to be like the nations around us, and now we were. Our king was as prone to evil as their kings, and last night David had been every bit as predatory.

I slid onto my knees and asked HaShem if I should go to the king and admonish him for his misdeed. But I heard no response.

I exhaled slowly, grateful that Adonai had not told me to confront David. This sin would remain hidden until Adonai chose to reveal it, yet one small detail gave me hope. In my vision, as the guard hurried down the palace stairs, I saw Ahithophel, the king’s chief counselor, pause in the courtyard to watch the guard rush by. With his brow crinkled, the counselor followed the guard to the gate as the man exited, then Ahithophel crossed his arms and leaned against a pillar, apparently eager to see for whom the guard had been so speedily dispatched.

I was not the only one who witnessed last night’s events at the palace. Servants had seen, and at least one guard knew what the king had done. Ahithophel, reported to be the wisest man in the king’s court, had been alerted that something might be amiss. None of those people were likely to confront the king about his unrighteous behavior, but neither were they likely to deny my vision should Adonai command me to reveal it.

I lifted my head and opened my eyes in time to see Ornah prop herself on one elbow and regard me with a speculative gaze.

I
ROSE
BEFORE
DAYBREAK
,
stumbled through darkness to the courtyard gate, and walked to the well in the gray gloom of a dawning day. After reaching the well, I leaned on the edge for support as my legs began to quiver. My thoughts kept drifting into a fuzzy haze, a mishmash of memories, sensations, and pain.

I gripped the stones beneath my palms and forbade myself to tremble. Nothing moved in the stillness but a wayward chicken, so no one was around to notice that I was dirty and terrified. That I was not myself.

Quietly I pulled the rope and drew water. When I had splashed the last traces of sand and grit from my face, I smoothed my hair with wet hands and walked home, firmly placing one foot in front of the other until I reached our courtyard. Then I slipped inside the house and pulled a pat of resting dough from my bread bowl.

I was desperately kneading it when Elisheba’s hand dropped
onto my shoulder. The unexpected touch caused me to flinch and draw back in terror.

“Sorry.” Elisheba’s eyes widened. “And I’m sorry I fell asleep before you came in last night. I tried to stay awake, because I was desperate to know—how is our dear Uriah?”

I avoided her gaze. “He is well.”

“The king summoned you to say
that
?”

Fresh tears stung my eyes as I struggled for words. The king had not only forced me to lie with him; now I would have to lie to my dearest friend. “The king—” I punched the dough—“wanted to tell me that Uriah was a fine soldier.”

Elisheba said nothing, but from the corner of my eye I saw her cross her arms and lean against the wall, her appraising eye focused on me. The intensity of her gaze scalded my skin.

“I don’t mean to upset you,” she said, her voice low and controlled, “but the king does not send for a soldier’s wife to share such mundane news. So what did he really say?”

My hands clawed at the dough. How could I do this? But better, surely, for Elisheba to believe a hundred lies than to know one horrible truth.

“Apparently”—my voice sounded strangled to my own ears—“there was some sort of ambush outside Rabbah. Uriah risked his life to save others. His act was unusually brave, the king said, so he wanted me to know my husband was a hero. He said we should be proud of him.”

Panic flitted across Elisheba’s face. “Was Uriah hurt? Poor man, charging into the fray like that. If he was injured, he ought to come home and mend here—”

“He wasn’t hurt.” I gave her a tight smile. “He could have been, but he wasn’t.”

Elisheba clasped her hands. “May Adonai be praised. HaShem has sheltered our Uriah.”

“So it would seem.” I kept my attention on my bread, working the dough as if I had to beat it into submission.

“Did the king give you that new tunic?”

I clenched my jaw as memory filled my ears with the sound of tearing cloth. A scream rose at the back of my throat, but somehow I transformed it into words. “Yes. A gift.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Is it?”

“Of course. But you would look lovely in anything, child.”

I snatched a quick breath. “It really doesn’t suit me. I don’t think I want it.”

“Really?” Elisheba tilted her head. “All right, then. Give it to someone else.” She turned away, then hesitated. “You were out very late. Did it take so long for the king to give you this news?”

“One cannot simply walk into the palace and see the king.” Exasperation clipped my voice. “Others demand his attention, too. I had to wait.”

“Oh.” She spoke in a quiet, wounded tone. My sharp reply had hurt her, so again my conscience smote me.

“Elisheba, I am sorry.” I lifted my sticky hands and met her gaze straight on. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Please forgive me for being short with you. I am exhausted.”

“Of course you are.” Elisheba stepped forward to squeeze my shoulders, then moved to the corner where Amaris slept. “How is our little bird faring today? I know
she
slept—even in my dreams I heard her snoring.”

As Elisheba woke Amaris and helped her roll her sleeping mat, I patted my dough into a rectangle and set it on the coals smoldering in our fire pit. I washed my hands in a basin and looked around, eager for something else to do. If I could stay busy with ordinary things, maybe I would be able to convince myself that nothing had happened. The king had stolen only a few hours of my life, so if I put
my troubling thoughts aside, I ought to be able to resume living at the point where my ordinary life had been interrupted. I would fill our pitchers at the well while the air was still cool. I would speak to the other women and laugh at their stories. I would milk the goat and make cheese. I would take mature cheeses to the market and haggle with visitors to Jerusalem. In time, if I kept working and talking and haggling, I would forget all about my encounter with the king.

“Elisheba . . .” I pulled a scarf from a basket and wrapped it around my hair. “I am going to fetch water.”

“I’ll go for you,” she answered. “As soon as I help Amaris dress—”

“I would like some fresh air,” I assured her, lifting an empty pitcher. “I’ll be back soon.”

With the pitcher on my hip, I stepped outside and again followed the road to the well. How many times had I walked this path with a smile on my lips? Until last night I had generally been a happy bride. I’d experienced a few frustrations, of course, but I had celebrated my love for my husband with every bucket I pulled to the surface. I worked eagerly, happy to be serving my family, and smiled “me too” smiles at other women with husbands and families.

How could I face Uriah after last night? Would I ever be able to think of him without a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach?

I reached the well, waited for another woman to finish filling her jar, then caught the bucket. Lowering it into the well, I stared down the length of the rope, and every detail came flooding back—the king’s scent, the oily feel of his beard against my cheek, the drops of perspiration that dampened the hair on his chest . . .

I groaned and closed my eyes. No matter how sincerely I wanted to forget, I couldn’t think of Uriah with bruises on my wrists and the smell of the king’s perfume on my skin.

“Well met, Bathsheba.” I lifted my head to see one of Elisheba’s friends approaching, her brow raised. “A new tunic? The color suits you very well.”

Abruptly realizing that I hadn’t noticed the color, I glanced at my sleeve. The fabric was royal blue, a shade far too rich for my station. I gave the woman a polite smile and another lie. “My grandfather is most generous.”

The woman bobbed her head in appreciation. “You should wear that color more often, though I’ve never seen anyone but the king’s women wear it.”

I tried to smile again, but my lips wobbled precariously and my gorge rose. I turned to the side and vomited, then stood, panting and weak-kneed, as my companion stared with wide eyes. “Are you ill? Should I fetch Elisheba?”

I pressed my hand to my forehead as fresh memories of the king’s burning gaze rose in my memory. “Please. Tell her to come quickly.”

“I need a bath. Please.”

Elisheba chuckled and helped me sit on a small stool by the front door. “You need to sleep; that’s why you are sick. But Amaris is at her friend’s house, so you’ll have lots of time for a nap.”

“I don’t want a nap. I need a bath.” I looked at her, hoping she could read the desperation in my eyes. I didn’t want to spill my secret, but I needed to be clean, I needed to wash every trace of the king from my body.

Elisheba’s brow wrinkled, and something moved in her eyes as she studied me. “All right, then. I’ll draw a bath, and soon you’ll feel as good as new. Let me fetch some water and fill the trough outside—”

I caught her arm in a death grip. “Not there. Never again out there. I need . . . to be clean, but I must bathe inside the house . . . where no one can see.”

“Where no one can—” Elisheba’s smile faded, and she nodded
and eased my hand from her arm. “We’ll have you feeling better in no time,” she said, filling a basin with water. “Almost ready. There. Lift your arms now.” She pulled the blue tunic over my head and began to fold it.

“Don’t.” I crossed my arms over my nakedness. “Throw it away. I never want to see it again.”

A line appeared between Elisheba’s brows. She dropped the tunic and placed a hand on her hip. “Enough,” she commanded, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m going to give you a sponge bath, and you’re going to tell me what’s troubling you.”

I buried my face in my hands. How could I tell her that I had lost control over my own life? That the king had stolen my dignity, even my sense of self? I didn’t know who I was anymore. Was I the esteemed daughter of Eliam and the virtuous wife of Uriah, or was I a street prostitute? My life had become a confused tangle of fears and insecurities.

“Bathsheba.” Elisheba stepped closer and lowered her voice. “You can tell me anything. Did someone insult you on your way back from the palace? Did someone . . . accost you?”

I burst into tears. I had hoped I would be able to keep my secret forever, but Elisheba knew me too well. And I knew her—she would not rest until she had the entire story. So now she would have the truth whether or not she wanted to hear it.

“I will tell you, but you cannot look at me. Please, turn away and let me speak to the wall.”

I could see Elisheba’s mind working behind her eyes. She looked at me with a perplexed expression, as if she’d formed a question but lacked the courage to ask it. Then she nodded and moved behind me, sliding the basin to my side.

I drew a deep breath as she dipped a sponge into the water.

“That guard,” I began, flinching beneath the cool touch of the sponge, “took me to see the king. I thought . . . I was afraid
he had bad news about Uriah, so I hurried. If I’d known what would happen, I would have sat in the road and refused to take a single step.”

A small strangled sound came from Elisheba’s throat, but she asked no questions. “Go on,” she whispered, swishing her sponge in the bowl.

So I told her everything. I told her about my protests, and I told her how the king had answered and what he had done. As I hugged my knees and shivered beneath her gentle ministrations, I heard her tongue click against her teeth as she ran the sponge over bruises on my arms.

“He did not otherwise hurt you?” she asked when I had finished. She stepped in front of me, and when I did not look up, she put her hand under my chin and lifted my head. “Did he strike you? Did he force you to do anything . . . unnatural?”

I stared, bewildered, then made a face. “No, no. He promised not to hurt me if I didn’t resist.”

Elisheba breathed out a sigh. “I have heard of worse things done to women,” she said, her voice heavy with dread. “Among the Philistines and other nations, women are often subjected to unspeakable practices.”

“I cannot imagine anything worse—”

“Then bless Adonai for His mercy, child, and know that you will survive this. My heart breaks because this happened to you. I would have given my life in order to prevent it. But now you must go forward. You should obey the king, remain silent, and try to forget about what happened. Our king is as much a man as any other, and though I do not condone what he did, you had no choice. You are not to blame for this.”

“But if Uriah finds out—”

“Uriah is not here, nor will he be for some time. So rest, daughter, and put it out of your mind. In time, Uriah will come home, you
will create a family, and you will forget everything that happened in the palace. Give yourself time to heal, child.”

Elisheba slid the basin forward, then bade me step into it. As I crossed my arms and shivered, she climbed onto the stool and poured a pitcher of water over me, living streams that should have made me ritually clean.

But when I stepped out of the basin and dried myself, I realized the bath had not washed away the king’s sin. A leper could not have felt more unclean than I did at that moment.

After I put on a tunic and curled up on my sleeping mat, Elisheba draped a blanket over me and urged me to rest. I didn’t believe I would ever forget what had happened, and something in me wondered if I would ever be able to welcome my husband’s caress without thinking of how the king had touched me.

As I drifted into drowsiness, I remembered how much pleasure my mother derived from the prophecy that I would be a
tob
woman, and I wished the prophet had cursed me instead.

But Elisheba knew more about life than I did. Hoping she was right, I finally slept.