Queenmaker (17 page)

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Authors: India Edghill

BOOK: Queenmaker
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“Enough of this folly.” David arose, now, and came to put an arm around my shoulders, and would not let me move away. “If Phaltiel is dead, as you say, then Yahweh’s will is clear—you are my wife, and the queen. I will not have the people see you weeping and wailing for another man. Come, now, you have been content enough here all this month past—be content now.”
I said nothing, and David stroked me, caressing now he thought he had won. “You are too fair, beloved, to use yourself so.” The day was hot, and his hands slid damp on my skin. He was smiling, now.
Even his eyes smiled, his beautiful eyes in his beautiful face. Phaltiel’s eyes had been beautiful once, before he had lain two days as pleasure for the jackals and the crows.
“I will send your maids to you again, Michal, and now you will let them bathe you, and anoint you, and dress you as befits David’s queen.”
King David, the sun for beauty—I would have marred that beauty if I could, but David held me close and hard and I could not move. So I smiled, and spat in his face.
“Give me a dress befitting David’s harlot,” I said, thinking of Caleb’s last words to me, “and I will wear that.”
Most men, guilty or not, would have broken my bones in payment for those words. But David was always smooth as sand and water, swallowing up what was meant to hurt and keeping it buried to repay later. He lifted one of my loosened braids and wiped his face with my hair.
“Your father was a king, Michal—and he was a madman as well. All the land knows that. Now your women tell me you talk wildly, and demand odd things. So be calm, or you will be queen of silence, and see no one who will excite you to these strange fits.”
He did not say more than that; he did not need to say more. The bargain was as plain as any carved in the market clay-boards. The king’s house was large, and held many, many rooms within its walls, and not all of them were spacious, painted things. If I were not docile and obedient now, I would leave the light and the air
and the companionship of my women, and be kept alone in the darkness known to soothe the mad. And all men would bless David’s charity in keeping his poor mad wife locked safe away, when other men would have put her aside and cared nothing for her.
I was still young; I might live so twenty years, or thirty—I trembled, and sour liquid welled up and burned in my mouth.
“You see? You are tired, you must rest,” said David, as if my comfort were his only care and delight under the sky.
“Yes,” I said, and did not look at him. “Yes, I am tired. I will rest.”
“Good. I will send your maids.” He kissed my forehead, and made me lift my head. “Be content and happy, and you may ask anything of me and I will grant it. Now smile for me, Michal—our people like to see their king and queen smiling. Smile.”
I made some movement with my mouth; the scratches I had scored in my cheeks for Phaltiel stung and cracked.
“There, you see? It is easy and simple. I will come to you tonight, Michal, and you will smile for me then. You are lovely as lilies when you smile.”
 
 
“Is there yet any that is left of the house of Saul … ?”
—II Samuel 9:1
 
After David had gone I went up the shallow steps to my balcony, to the air and the sun’s light. My body was stiff, and hard to move; I knew now how my bones would feel when I was old.
My mind also would not obey. My thoughts pulled always back to one thing, like a wheel dragged into the deep rut made by others in the summer earth. And that thing was not Phaltiel’s death, but David’s eyes when he had spoken of it.
I stood in the hot light, stared unseeing across the heat-shimmered roofs of Jerusalem. He would come to me tonight, David had said. Did he think I would lie willing?
No,
I told myself.
I will not. Never.
So said my heart. But my rebellious mind knew better. If David came to me I would lie with him; yes, lie as if I loved him dear. I would be as meek and docile as a pet lamb, as he had told me I must be, lest I be called mad.
But I was not mad; my mind was clear as well-water now that I no longer must look into David’s eyes. Now I saw the path I might tread to safety, and to David’s undoing.
Nathan,
I thought, and stared out and past the city walls to the road that led over the hills to Gallim. Nathan the prophet, the upholder of Yahweh’s Law.
In our land, a prophet held in his hands more power than a
king. Had not Samuel raised my father high, only to bring him down to dust and give his kingdom to another? To David—
Oh, yes, I would speak to Nathan. And when Nathan had heard what I now would tell him, David would have no power over me. Yahweh’s king was not held above Yahweh’s Law; Yahweh’s Law did not condone lustful murder. Phaltiel would be avenged.
But first I must wait yet again, wait for Nathan to return from Gallim. When he did, surely he must come to me, to tell the sad news.
First I must live through the days, and the nights. I thought of David, and of the coming night, and clenched my fingers hard on the burning stones of the balcony wall. I swore to myself that I would lie beneath David meek and obedient; that David would not know I was other than that.
 
 
That night David demanded smiles, and kisses, and caresses, as if nothing but love had ever been spoken between us. I was wise, and remembered my vow. I smiled, and kissed him, and did all as he would have it done.
I was rewarded; I felt nothing, and gave nothing. And I thought of nothing, not even of Phaltiel.
When it was over, David lay beside me and stroked my hair, and smiled upon me, and promised me whatever I wished for pleasing him so.
“You see, Michal? You are mine, and mine alone—your body tells me so. There is no other woman like you for pride and passion. Yahweh has blessed our union with joy, and it will bear royal fruit.”
No, I thought.
I am mine, and mine alone, and Yahweh. has blessed me.
For I knew now that I could endure and wait; David could not touch me. David would take the surface, and think me loving. He would not know I gave only shadow.
He would never know, until I stood before him with Nathan
at my side and accused him of his crime before all the people. Nothing would bring Phaltiel back from the land of ghosts and shadows, not even justice. But justice would mean Phaltiel slept there in peace.
“Do not look so solemn—see, I will give anything for a smile from your lips,” said David, begging me like a true lover. “Come, now, ask and it shall be granted, if only you will grant me a smile. Let me show you how I love you, queen of my heart.”
“You have shown me already,” I told him. My voice was steady, gentle as a dove’s. “And there is nothing I want more than what you have just given me.”
And then I smiled at David, just as he had asked. It was easy to smile, then. It was only later, when David had gone at last, that I wept, and could not stop.
 
 
I was calm, as David had ordered that I be, as I waited for Nathan to return to Jerusalem. I asked for nothing, I wished to see no one. By day I sat upon my balcony and watched the road to the city; by night I wept into my pillow so that no one would hear.
Four days after Caleb had come to me to tell me that his father was dead, Nathan returned to the city. I suppose he thought there was no need for haste with the news he carried. And as I had known he would, Nathan came. David himself brought the prophet to me.
It was close to midday; I had been staring out over the city since dawn, watching through the hours as the sunlight changed and shadows slid over the walls and houses like oil. I rose to my feet when I saw the two men standing there, David tall and beautiful, Nathan round and plain.
“I bear unhappy news,” Nathan said, and his eyes were kind. He was not one who took joy in bad tidings.
“I know your news already,” I told him. “Phaltiel lies dead.”
Nathan stared at my words. “That is true, but how can you
know that, daughter?”
David answered before me. “You know her father King Saul once fell down and prophesied. Perhaps that is how Michal knows what she has neither heard nor seen.”
I smiled; this time it did not make my face ache. “No, I am not mad. But I must speak to the prophet Nathan.”
“Speak, then,” said David. And smiled.
“Alone,” I said, and waited for David’s smile to change, for his eyes to warn.
“Speak alone, then,” said David, and his expression did not alter; there was no warning there. There was nothing but kindness and forbearance. “I will await you here.”
David sat upon the bench where I had spent so many hours watching for Nathan’s return. He looked out over the city below, all his city now. I led Nathan to the far end of the balcony; no one would overhear us there, and I could watch David as I spoke.
“Someone came before you, and so I know your news already,” I said, before Nathan could speak. “And there is something you must know—it was King David who slew Phaltiel.”
Nathan looked kindly upon me and took my hand. “No, no,” he said. “The king was here, you know that. It was robbers who fell upon Phaltiel. The king has ordered men to search for them, that they may be punished.”
“Tell the men to search here, in the king’s house, then! For it was David—he sent someone to kill my husband, that he might keep me. You know I am here against my will.”
I still spoke calm and firm, but my bones were chill; they knew already what I still could not bear to know. Nathan did not believe. Nathan would not believe. I could tell it from his eyes, and from the slow sad way he shook his head at my words.
“You are a good woman, Michal, and you grieve rightly for Phaltiel.” Nathan patted my hand, as if I were a small child. “But you are wrong. King David did all as he should—why, he even sent me with rich gifts for Phaltiel and all his family, to show that he bore no ill will.”
“Kings give easy gifts,” I said. “Nathan, you must listen—”
“No, you must listen,” Nathan said, and his voice was gentle. “You must not say such things about King David, Michal.”
“They are true!”
Nathan shook his head. “Look into your heart, daughter, and you will know that it is only your grief that speaks. When you are calmer, you will regret your hasty words.”
“I am calm, and I have given much thought to my words,” I said. “David wanted me, and Phaltiel would not give me up. That is why he was killed.”
Nathan looked sad. “What is your proof, child?”
I was silent; there was no proof, only my heart’s wisdom. But I had thought that Nathan would know truth when he heard it, and believe me. Samuel would have believed.
“You see? There is none. And you do not know that Phaltiel would not have given you up. For I will tell you a thing that the king would not—he also sent a message to Phaltiel, to ask if he would consent to give you to the king. And King David offered him much if he would do this, for David loves you well. So you see, there was no need for the king to slay Phaltiel—no need at all.”
“No.” I was numb, as if I had drunk too much wine. “No. Phaltiel would not have done that. He would have taken me back. He swore it.”
Nathan patted my hand again. “David is a great man, Michal—and greatly loved by Yahweh. Such a man is born but seldom. Only see what he has already done for our people—why, even the Philistine kings do him honor. David will bring glory to Yahweh, glory to Yahweh’s people. No longer will we be weak, but strong—yes, stronger than all our enemies.”
I stepped back, away from Nathan. “You will not help me,” I said. “You will let David do this thing. Are you blind, Nathan? Can you not see what David is?”
But Nathan’s eyes glowed now as if he saw bright visions. “David honors Yahweh and walks meek before him. David honors Yahweh’s priests and prophets. David is Yahweh’s beloved and
Yahweh will raise him up, and all his people with him, until his kingdom covers half the earth.”
I looked past Nathan. David sat still upon the bench, watching us. He still smiled. When he saw me looking, he rose to his feet.
He walked across the balcony to me, slow and confident, like a lion advancing upon a fallen lamb. I thought I stood there proud and waiting; I did not know I had moved until I felt the stones of the balcony wall hard against my back.
David stopped before me. “You have spoken alone with Nathan, as you wished,” he said. “Now can you rest content, my love?”
“I have told her the truth, O King.” Nathan seemed to take pride in calling David so.
My mouth was dry and my skin cold, but I spoke. “So now kings buy truth in the marketplace. What does truth cost you, David?”
Nathan looked upon me and spoke again, soft and kind. “The sun is hot, and you have had ill news, daughter. You should rest quiet inside, where the air is cooler.”
It was useless; I looked away, but saw nothing save hot bright light. I heard Nathan go, his sandals brisk against the stones. Then I looked back at David, the golden king shimmering before my eyes in the cruel sun.
“You see?” David said. “You rave, Michal.”
And still he smiled. I closed my eyes and bowed my head; when I looked again, David was gone. But my women were there—there to tend me gently, and to make me lie down quiet inside, in the cool shadowed rooms.
I let them do with me as they would, as if I were a child’s doll, with no more will than that toy possessed. And when I lay upon my bed and they had closed the ivory shutters, I asked for Zhurleen to be brought to me. I had not seen Zhurleen since she had come to tell me Caleb was safe away from Jerusalem. Now I wished to see her once more, to speak with one who saw the world clearly.
One who did not lie to me and slant her eyes away. One who was my friend.
So I roused myself enough to ask for her.
“Zhurleen?” said Chuldah, with her sideways look. “The Philistine concubine? Why, she is gone, O Queen.”
“Gone?” I stared, my mind blank as new parchment. “Where has she gone? I wish to see her.”
“I do not know. I know only that she no longer dwells under the king’s roof. But she was only a Philistine harlot, not worthy of your notice.” Chuldah smoothed the linen sheet over me and nodded at the others. “Now you will rest, and Keziah will fan you. Do not trouble yourself, O Queen—we will take great care of you, for you are precious to us.”
It was useless; David had reached out his hand and all was bone and ash. I turned my face away and closed my eyes.
 
 
I thought I never again would care for anything, after that. I lay upon my bed weak and silent, as if I were ill. But I was not ill; at least my body was not. I think now it was my mind that sickened.
It was my mind that would not let me truly rest, or sleep. When I closed my eyes I saw Phaltiel’s face, saw him smiling at me in love and trust. Trust that I had betrayed, thinking myself faithful.
When I stopped my ears, I heard again Zhurleen’s words; she had warned me, but I had been both blind and deaf. Zhurleen, my wise friend—why had I not heard or understood? If I had bowed to David’s wishes, Phaltiel would live today.
Now that it was too late, I knew that David had won even before the battle. But I did not yet know how complete was his victory, how tight-closed his trap. That was left for Abigail to show me.
 
 
When I had lain three days upon my bed, Abigail came to see me. She came in malice, and not for kindness’s sake; her first words told that plain.
“The queen is bored again, I see.” Abigail’s lips, were pinched thin; the lines around her red mouth cut deep.
Abigail’s woes were no fault of mine. I looked at her once, and then closed my eyes. It was easiest, I had found, to let people speak over me as they would. I need not listen, or heed.
“Perhaps the queen will not be so bored when she hears what I next will tell the king.” Abigail had bent over me, her voice hissed close to my ear.

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