Bathsheba (9 page)

A
DELICIOUS
WARMTH
SPREAD
THROUGH
MY
LIMBS
as I left the house and walked the road to Jerusalem. Above me, a hawk scrolled the updrafts, mindlessly circling, doing what Adonai had created him to do. Just as I was.

Nothing in the setting or the landscape signaled that the day would prove to be a turning point for David and the kingdom of Israel.

I passed the houses of my neighbors, most of whom were already at work clearing their fields, and waved at their distant figures as I took care to avoid stones that might cause me to turn an ankle on the road. More mothers than fathers worked those fields, for many of the men were still at Rabbah, enforcing the siege. Had they engaged the enemy at all? Perhaps I would hear news at the palace.

After reaching the king’s house, I walked through the gate and approached the well, where I could wash off the dust from the journey. I had no sooner finished splashing my feet when I glimpsed a familiar face.

I turned, my jaw dropping. I expected all of David’s elite soldiers to be hunkered in the hills outside Rabbah, so a shiver of shock rippled through me when I saw Uriah the Hittite striding across the courtyard. I stared as the warrior embraced Bathsheba’s grandfather and kissed him on both cheeks.

Why wasn’t the man with Joab?

Adonai had not spoken to me in days, so I moved closer to eavesdrop. By the time I positioned myself in a pillar’s sheltering shadow, Uriah and Ahithophel had finished exchanging greetings. “The king sent for you?” I heard Ahithophel ask. He pinched the end of his oiled beard and twirled a portion of it between his fingers. “Do you know why?”

Uriah shrugged, his face shining with his customary good nature. “He wanted to know how the siege progresses.”

“And how does it progress?”

Uriah laughed. “A siege doesn’t accomplish anything unless the enemy surrenders or attempts to fight. So we have been sitting and waiting, reserving our strength for when the enemy emerges. We do not expect the Ammonites to surrender without a struggle.”

Ahithophel’s eyes narrowed even as his lips curved in a smile. “I suppose you will go home now. Bathsheba has been unbearably lonely since you’ve been away.”

“The king also urged me to go home,” Uriah acknowledged, grinning, “but a night with her would leave me unfit for anything but singing her praises. Then what good would I be to the king?”

Ahithophel continued to study his granddaughter’s husband, but I couldn’t tell what the older man was thinking. His smooth face remained utterly unreadable, a quality that undoubtedly served him well in the king’s court.

“Good-bye, son.” He clasped Uriah’s shoulder. “May God keep you until we meet again. Serve the king well.”

“I do my best.”

“I have never questioned your devotion to David. And I know how deeply you are committed to my family’s welfare. You have been kind and generous to both Bathsheba and Amaris.”

A shadow crossed the younger man’s face. “I’ve been wanting to tell you . . . we feel your son’s absence most keenly. I wish Eliam was still with us.”

Despite an obvious effort to retain control of his features, a spasm of grief knit the counselor’s brows. “We have our plans, and Adonai has His. I have stopped trying to predict what HaShem, blessed be His name, will do. Go in peace, son, and remain safe.”

The two men parted. Ahithophel moved toward the palace gate while Uriah hailed another soldier across the courtyard.

I turned toward the stone wall to sort through my thoughts. Uriah and Ahithophel, Ahithophel and Uriah—two men united by their service to a king and by the woman who had haunted my heart for years. Bathsheba had been the center of my youthful dreams, the sun around which I orbited, the answer to every longing of my heart . . .

In a flash that was barely comprehendible, I saw the truth as if it had been painted on the stones in front of me. When I spoke to Ahithophel a few days earlier, he had not only asked if I’d seen the woman’s face in my vision but if her house was near the king’s palace, a house he knew well because his granddaughter lived in it.

A whimpering sound escaped my lips as my knees buckled. Down I went, my hand slamming against the cobbled stones, my knee scraping the rough edge of a rock.

The king hadn’t summoned just any woman to his bed that night, he had called for beautiful Bathsheba. Ahithophel must have lingered in the shadows until he saw his own granddaughter being escorted to the king. He could not have been happy about David’s lechery, but even now he managed to maintain a countenance smooth with secrets.

Now I knew what he knew, yet this knowledge had not come
from Adonai, but from an undeniable reality—men who looked upon Bathsheba wanted her, and not even the sanctity of marriage could protect her from those lecherous gazes.

“Prophet, are you all right?” One of the king’s guards hurried over to assist me. “Here, take my arm and let me help you.”

I pulled myself into a sitting position and sat on the ground, knees bent, head bowed, and eyes filled with tears. Around me, voices flowed like water over a rock: “Is he ill?” “He has been out in the sun too long.” “Should we send for the physician?” “Perhaps HaShem struck him down.”

The last comment elicited a wry chuckle from me. I had been hard on David for lusting after Bathsheba, but hadn’t I been guilty of the same sin for years? I had not gone so far as to take her to my bed, but I had never had the power to do so. If I were king and David a prophet, would the situation be any different from what it was?

I shaded my eyes and looked up, then saw Uriah peering down at me, compassion stirring in his eyes.

“Do you need help?” He extended his broad hand. “Come sit in the shade. We have water and bread—”

“No, thank you.” Using my own hand for support, I pushed myself off the ground. Once upright, I looked around the circle of concerned faces and waved them away. “I’m fine. Let me be, please.”

I stood in awkward silence as the onlookers reluctantly walked away. At least Ahithophel had not been among them. I did not think I could bear to look in his eyes and see the confirmation of what I had just intuited. The king had taken Bathsheba to his bed. So what did the wise and powerful royal counselor intend to do about it?

I didn’t know, but before Uriah could rejoin his companions in the courtyard, I caught his arm and looked directly into his eyes. “I’m going home to comfort my wife,” I told him. “You should do the same.”

I
WAITED
,
MORE
NERVOUS
THAN
A
CAT
,
until the sun set and oil lamps glowed in my neighbors’ windows. Amaris and Elisheba waited too, and when the knock finally came, all three of us jumped.

I wanted to fly to the doorway to greet my much-loved husband, but shame and guilt weighed me down. Elisheba must have guessed what I was feeling, for she went outside to the courtyard gate. She returned a moment later, not with my husband but with a parcel.

“From your grandfather,” she said, her voice flat and passionless. She set the parcel on a table and cut the string around it. When I unfolded the fabric cover, the three of us stared at the gift: a new tunic. In royal blue.

“Grandfather sent you a tunic?” Amaris squeaked in the silence. “Whatever for?”

I had not believed my humiliation could grow any deeper, but in that moment I knew my shame would never be alleviated.

When not at his farm in Giloh, my grandfather lived and worked in the king’s palace, and lately he had been staying in Jerusalem to advise the king. Grandfather was in Jerusalem now, and so was my husband.

Grandfather sent the tunic as a message; he knew what happened to my old one. He sent it now because he’d seen . . . and he knew.

A wail rose within me. I pressed my lips together and tried to imprison the sound, but failed. I began to sob in earnest, keening over the knowledge that Grandfather knew of my shame, and not even Elisheba’s frantic shushing could comfort me.

“Bathsheba?”

Through my tears I saw Amaris’s wide eyes.

“Won’t someone tell me what’s wrong?”

“Go to bed, little one.” With her arms wrapped around me, Elisheba could only nod toward the corner where our sleeping mats waited. “Your sister is fine, she’s just . . . overcome.”

For once, Amaris did not argue, but hobbled to the corner and rolled out her mat. She stretched out beneath a blanket, yet I knew she wouldn’t sleep until we did.

“Come, child.” Elisheba drew me to the far corner of the house, then stood me against the wall and looked up into my eyes. “Tell me. Why has this gift upset you so?”

I hiccupped a sob, then swiped the back of my hand over my cheeks. “Grandfather knows.”

“How could he?”

“He knows, I tell you. He’s never sent me a tunic in his life, and now this? He knows, and he sent it because he saw my husband today. He’s going to tell Uriah what happened.”

Elisheba gasped. “He wouldn’t. He couldn’t know about the baby—”

“Maybe he does and maybe he doesn’t know about that. But he must have heard that the king sent for me, and he’s going to tell.”
My voice cracked as I clung to the possibility that my instincts were wrong. But I knew Grandfather, and I knew that men took inordinate delight in staking out their territories. Grandfather wanted Uriah to know he’d been betrayed by the king he served so selflessly. This tunic was a battle flag, a warning that Grandfather was about to avenge me. He was sure his news would enrage Uriah, and then my husband would—what? Strike the king? Murder David on his throne?

My eyes welled with fresh tears, and I trembled at the thought of my husband killing the anointed king to defend my honor. He would scarcely have time to thrust with his sword before the guards would strike him down.

“Come now,” Elisheba whispered. “It’s a tunic, child, nothing more. Your grandfather spoils you because he loves you.”

I shook my head, realizing that Elisheba might never understand. But I had grown up in my father’s and grandfather’s shadows. Grandfather wielded powerful words in the king’s court, and Father had wielded a strong sword in the king’s elite corps. They were strong men, proud men, and Uriah was cut from the same cloth.

How could Grandfather do this? Why hadn’t he talked to me? Did he care so little for me that he wouldn’t ask how I felt about what had happened or what should be done?

Or . . . merciful heaven, did he think I had gone to the king
willingly
? Did he suspect me of trying to attract the king’s attention?

Avoiding Elisheba’s confused gaze, I drew a deep breath and struggled to make sense of my whirling thoughts. No matter what Grandfather believed, he would never have talked to me because I was female. In his eyes I was a woman destined to have a great son for Israel, not a woman who would be raped and set aside. Grandfather could have only one reason for telling Uriah about what the king had done—he wanted to make David pay for his crime.

Grandfather wasn’t thinking about the prophecy; he was thinking about our family’s—about
his
—honor. He wanted revenge.

And as a woman, I could do nothing about his intentions.

Some time later, after the lamps had been doused and Elisheba and Amaris slept, I stood at the window and searched the darkened street for any sign of Uriah on his way home. Nothing stirred but a stray dog in search of scraps. For a moment I considered throwing him the fertility bread from the king’s cook, but the last thing the city needed was another litter of puppies.

A cock had begun to crow by the time I crept to my mattress, my eyes sandy with fatigue. No one had come to the house, no one at all. I couldn’t know if Grandfather had spoken to my husband, but with every passing hour I became more certain that I would never see Uriah again.

M
Y
FEET
FELT
HEAVIER
THAN
USUAL
as I trudged to the palace the next morning. Something in me wanted to learn if Uriah had torn himself away from his comrades and followed the king’s suggestion to go home, but something else in me was certain I’d find the man exactly where I’d left him.

I entered the palace courtyard with a growing sense of trepidation. The guards had cleared away their blankets and packs, and several stood at a basin where they drank and splashed their faces. I was beginning to think Uriah
had
gone home, but then I spotted him eating breakfast with another soldier. They were sharing bread and cheese, a soldier’s typical morning meal. Uriah had already laced up his sandals and put on his mantle.

Was he preparing to go back to Rabbah?

While I watched, Ahithophel came from the direction of the throne room and tapped Uriah on the shoulder. The warrior finished
his bread in a great hurry, dusted his hands, and followed his wife’s grandfather through a hallway. I trailed after them, but when I saw the two stop to converse in a small alcove, I knew I could go no farther without being noticed.

I returned to the courtyard and sat, only half listening to the conversations around me. The area filled with the bustle of a new morning—merchants bringing their wares to the king’s steward, guards changing shifts, donkeys loaded with fabrics and trinkets to tempt the king’s women and children. Zadok, one of the priests at the Tabernacle, caught my eye and nodded in greeting, but did not stop to talk. He was probably looking for Gad, the king’s seer, to inquire about the king’s daily sacrifice.

A good thing he wasn’t looking for the king’s counselor.

I drew a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, then from the corner of my eye I saw Ahithophel approaching. The counselor smiled at Zadok, then took the priest’s arm and led him away to discuss whatever counselors discussed with priests.

I didn’t care about the old man; I wanted to know about Uriah.

I did not see the soldier for several moments, when finally he emerged from the hallway and staggered to a bench against the wall. He fell onto it, staring at nothing while wearing a look of deep preoccupation. His face had gone deathly pale except for two red spots, one glowing in each cheek, as if cruel fate had slapped him again and again.

I could think of only one conversation that might have such an effect on Uriah the Hittite.

I sat stock-still and listened for the voice of Adonai. Would I be given words to share with this loyal soldier? Or should I remain silent?

My heart roiled with emotions I wanted to express. Part of me disliked Uriah because he had married the girl I adored, but another part of me felt compassion for what he must be feeling if my instincts were true.

For a long while I sat and watched Uriah on his bench. More than once another soldier approached and attempted to talk to him, but Uriah rebuffed them all.

As midmorning approached, one of the king’s young messengers entered the courtyard. He rose on tiptoe, peering through the crowd, then walked directly toward Uriah. He said something to Bathsheba’s husband, and to my surprise, Uriah stood and followed the lad into the king’s house.

Overcome by curiosity, I rose and entered the great hall. A small group of men stood in the vestibule, but when the doors to the throne room opened, they shuffled inside. I brushed dust from my tunic and moved forward as well, hoping I would be permitted to remain and observe. After all, I was a prophet of Israel and personally acquainted with the king.

I whispered my name to the guard at the door and was quietly surprised when he allowed me to enter the long, rectangular room. At the farthest point of the chamber, David sat on an elevated throne surrounded by his counselors, several of his sons, and a great many guards. The king slouched casually, but a muscle in his jaw tensed as Uriah neared the dais.

I drew closer, threading my way through the others who sought an audience with the king.

“Uriah the Hittite,” David called, his voice resonating in the high-ceilinged space. “What’s this I hear? One of my guards has reported that you spent the night with your comrades in the palace courtyard. After being away from home so long, how could you do that?”

Uriah stepped forward, but instead of prostrating himself, he inclined his head in the slightest of bows. “I had to think of my comrades, O king. The Ark and the armies of Israel and Judah are living in tents, and Joab and my master’s men are camping in the open fields. How could I go home to dine and sleep with my wife?”
His husky voice solidified to a tone as hard as iron. “By your life, by your very life, I will not do this thing.”

I blinked in astonished silence. I had quietly observed Uriah for months, and I had never heard him use a harsh tone with anyone. Furthermore, no one spoke to the king without addressing him as “my lord and king,” yet Uriah had just spoken not as a subject to his king but as one man to another.

If the king noticed any change in this steadfast soldier’s attitude, he didn’t remark on it. His lips curved as his chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. “Stay here today,” David said, giving the man a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Enjoy yourself. Dine at my table tonight so that I may honor a true warrior. And tomorrow I shall send you off.”

I tugged on my beard, suspecting that the king had not been truthful about his motivation. Dozens of courageous soldiers served in the armies of Israel, and David had never summoned any of them for such vague reasons. Uriah had not saved his commander’s life or killed a giant or captured a city. The only thing that connected him to David was Bathsheba, but why would the king want to unite a cuckolded husband with the woman he’d victimized?

I stared at Uriah, fascinated by the question, and watched as the soldier dipped his head in icy acknowledgment of his king’s request.

Unless I had completely misjudged the Hittite’s character, I did not believe he would go home no matter how much food and wine David forced on him. So what would the king do tomorrow? And how would Uriah respond?

I bit my lip, curious, but not at all eager to find out.

The next morning, Ornah rose before I did. After waking, I propped myself on my elbows and studied her as she squatted to care for our little girls. Her shape was more solid than sensual,
composed more of straight lines than curves, but she had never been anything but a loyal, virtuous wife.

My heart flooded with gratitude that Adonai had not given me a beautiful woman.

Without speaking, I tossed off the blanket, then bent and wrapped my arms around my wife. She squealed in surprise while my daughters’ eyes rounded to full moons.

“Nathan? What ails you?”

I spun Ornah around and kissed her, then grinned at Nira and Yael. “Your mother is a wonderful woman,” I told them in an overflow of gratitude for Adonai’s blessings. “Be nice to her today.”

As Ornah stared, I pulled a clean tunic from the wall peg, put it on, and then grabbed my mantle and staff. “I’m going up to Jerusalem.” I reached for a hunk of bread in the table basket. “I should be home by sundown.”

Ornah looked at me like a woman who had just been knocked over by a charging goat. “You’re going again? Is everything all right?”

“All is well with us.”

“Are you sure?”

I didn’t answer but opened the door and breathed in the clean scent of fresh air. When I looked back at my wife, a small smile trembled on her lips.

I hadn’t seen her smile in a long, long time.

I left my family and began to climb the ascending path. I had barely traveled one hundred paces when I met a caravan of soldiers. Walking in pairs, most of them led donkeys that carried baskets, water jugs, and other goods—surely supplies for the army at Rabbah.

My pulse quickened when I recognized Uriah among the men. He walked with a spear in his hand and his head down, as if he were deep in thought.

Without thinking I stepped into his path and was nearly run
over for my trouble. He looked up, blinking in surprise, then his face lit with recognition. “You’re the prophet.”

“Well met, Uriah the Hittite.” Turning, I scrambled to keep up with his long stride. “When I saw you yesterday, you were on your way to the king’s dinner.”

Uriah groaned. “Never drink too much of the king’s wine. My head is pounding even now.”

He looked at me, awaiting some kind of response, and I didn’t know what to say. I was desperate to understand what had happened with the king, but Uriah was not a man who liked to chatter.

“Please.” I tugged on his cloak. “Please stop a moment.”

Uriah looked at the man beside him, then shrugged and stepped out of formation.

While I stood beside the road, the voice of Adonai thundered so unexpectedly that I staggered backward. Uriah must have heard nothing but the wind whistling among the rocks, because his only reaction was a subtle frown. “Are you well?” His eyes ran over my form, taking in the unadorned tunic, the mantle, and the walking stick. “You’ll never reach the city without water. It’s too hot to ascend without it.”

“It’s not thirst that makes me tremble,” I whispered, struggling to speak and listen at the same time. The familiar light-headedness had settled in my brain, and the world had gone soft, without edges.

“What . . . ?” I struggled to hear the words Adonai rumbled in my ears. “What is that you carry at your belt, Uriah?”

Uriah startled, clearly surprised, and I understood the reason for his reticence. “I know you are carrying a message from the king,” I said, “for Adonai has told me so. If you would tell me what it says . . .”

“If you are a prophet, ask Adonai to tell you.” His face split in a grimace. “As for me, I do not know. And I will not open a sealed message from the king.”

No sooner had he uttered those words than the
Ruach HaKodesh
revealed all, and the weight of the revelation was enough to make me stagger.

Uriah caught my arm. “What is it?”

I shook my head, then lifted my hand to shield my face from the bright sunlight. Aided by this small shade, I studied the Hittite’s face, knowing I would never see him again.

“I am grateful,” I whispered, my heart welling with sympathy for the man who had given his all to a friend who had betrayed him. “I am glad that you did not kill the king. And I am so very sorry for what must happen at Rabbah.”

“Do not fret on my account.” Uriah’s eyes gleamed in a moment of clean, transparent truth. “My life is the king’s to command. David is the Lord’s anointed and I—”

“You are a loyal soldier,” I interrupted, unable to stop myself.

Uriah shrugged. “Yesterday a wise man told me that HaShem has His purposes, and we need not try to understand them. No matter what my heart feels, no matter who implores me to act, I am sworn to serve the king. And so I shall.”

I lowered my gaze from his compelling eyes and spied the leather satchel at his belt. Inside, I knew, lay a missive written in David’s own hand, a letter commanding Joab to put Uriah in the front of the fiercest battle and draw back, leaving the Hittite to die.

With Uriah out of the way, David would be free to claim Bathsheba . . . and the unborn child.

Comprehension emerged from confusion, and the
Ruach HaKodesh
confirmed my intuition. Bathsheba was pregnant. Uriah had not gone home to sleep with his wife, and now the king wanted him out of the way.

And the Hittite knew it.

“I should not detain you.” I stepped aside, leaving the pathway open, even though we both understood where it would lead. I
looked again at the man who loved Bathsheba and asked a simple question: “If you knew this road would lead to your death, would you continue on it?”

For an instant, a laughing light filled Uriah’s dark eyes. Then he sighed and gave me a grim smile. “Others may not fulfill their vows, but I will. I could not live with myself otherwise.”

“Even for
her
?” My eyes searched his. “Because she does love you deeply.”

He hesitated, and only his eyes revealed the torment within his soul. He flexed his jaw and stared at the road ahead. “I love her, and I
know
her. So I will not torture my wife by making her choose between a hard truth and an easy lie.”

I stepped back, my soul filling with admiration. Uriah the Hittite was a better man than I . . . and a far better man than his master.

I cleared my tight throat and clasped my walking stick. “Go then, my friend. And may HaShem grant you peace.”