Queenmaker (26 page)

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Authors: India Edghill

BOOK: Queenmaker
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“And Nathan said to David, Thou art the man.
”
—II Samuel 12:7
 
That night I lay awake; through my window I watched the sky grow dark and darker still, and then pale again, until it was dawn at last. I told over all that had happened since first David watched Bathsheba bathing in the sunlight. Now I saw how, and where, David had caught life’s thread into his own hands, twisting events into a knot he alone could undo. That night I did not wonder why he had done it. I thought only of David, and of what he had made me do, to save Bathsheba.
Time is long, and women weak, and I might have come to forgive even Phaltiel’s death, or forget. But now David had forced me to be no better than he, to buy Bathsheba’s life at the price of a man’s death.
For that, I never forgave him.
 
 
The next seven days were hard to bear. I kept Bathsheba with me as much as I could, and tried to reassure her while telling neither truth nor lies. “Do not weep, all will be well. Do not weep, the king has promised to come and see you today—tomorrow—soon.”
I tried to think only of Bathsheba; I did not want to think of Uriah. An ambitious man, but good enough to his wife, in his
way—no, I would not think of Uriah. Only of Bathsheba, and of the child.
David did not come to see Bathsheba—“He told me it would not be wise, just now. He said you are to wait, to be patient. You must trust him, Bathsheba. There is still time enough.”
And so I soothed and cozened and tried not to think of the message that had gone out to Joab. Soon word must come of Uriah’s death—unless David had tricked me once again. That thought tormented me; I could barely eat or sleep; my face grew pale and my eyes bruised with fear. Then I would cling to Bathsheba, and say only that I was weary, that I was ill. Then she would try to comfort me.
But Bathsheba could not ease my mind or heart; she could not banish my terrors. Bathsheba did not know what I knew, or what I feared. And I loved her too well to wish her ever to understand.
 
 
David brought me the news of Uriah’s death himself: a gift set before his queen. David liked to be the bestower of gifts.
Bathsheba was with me, helping me sort my bracelets; I hoped the task would keep her hands busy for a time. It was the sort of work that pleased her, after all. But it was growing harder to find such tasks. “Wait”, I had said—but soon Bathsheba could not wait. She was past two months gone with child—
I handed her a pair of bracelets all glitter and flash; gold and pure rock-crystal. “Here,” I said. “These are for you, to show how I love you.” My voice sounded strange, even to my own ears; even to Bathsheba’s.
“Michal?” She did not take the bracelets; she touched my cheek. “Are you ill again? Shall I call for Narkis?”
I shook my head, and tried to think of a pretty lie—and then I saw David.
He stood tall in the doorway, waiting for us to see and wonder
at him. Beyond him I could see my maids stretching their eyes, all admiration for the great king. Bathsheba gasped; her cheeks flushed bright dawn-roses. She took a step toward David, then stopped.
I did not move. “We are honored,” I said, and still my voice was not my own. “How can we make the king welcome here?”
“I come not for honor, but for duty,” David said, and went to stand before Bathsheba. “I bring sad tidings to Uriah’s wife.”
Bathsheba stared up at him; I saw that she trembled. I knew it was with love of King David. “Sad tidings?” she said, puzzled. “I—I do not understand, my lord king.”
David took her hands. I knew how David saw it: he was a shepherd gentling a timid lamb. I knew how Bathsheba saw it: the king loved her still.
“There has been a great battle at Rabbah—we have won the city, but we have lost many good men.” David sighed, bowed down by kingly grief. “War is hard, but your husband died as a man.
“Uriah is dead?” Bathsheba only sounded surprised; then her eyes widened. “Dead? Oh, no, no!” And then she burst into tears, weeping for Uriah as if she had loved him well.
“Do not weep so,” said David quickly. “Uriah was a fine man, a true warrior—and I have vowed to care for my soldier’s families as if they were my own. So the king will care for you, Bathsheba—you have his word on it.”
Then David set Bathsheba aside to weep or not, as she chose, and came to me. “Does that please you, my gracious queen? Shall I take this woman into my house, and many her?”
“That is more than you promised.” My mouth was dry, my face hot. Words came hard. “Yes, that pleases me. I am fond of Uriah’s wife.”
“That is good hearing,” David said. “I would have my women dwell together in peace under my roof. Come to me tonight, my love, and we will share joy between us.” And he kissed me upon the mouth.
Then he went away again, with only a pat upon her shoulder
for Bathsheba, as if she were a puppy. I took her into my arms and let her weep upon my breast. Nor did I try to stop her and make her dry her eyes. She had much to grieve over; more than she knew.
But Uriah was dead and David would marry Bathsheba. And David and Bathsheba’s child would come early into the world, and that was all anyone could ever openly say. Bathsheba was safe; I did not wish to know more.
I did not wish to know if the blow that killed Uriah came from before him—or from behind.
 
 
So David wept over the loss of his brave captain Uriah, and took Uriah’s widow into his own house, and married her.
See what care the king takes for his people; a shepherd indeed. Even the meekest lies safe under the king’s hand.
That was what David showed the world.
Of course there was talk; Narkis brought me news from well and market. But no one spoke against him. What would have been scandal in any other man became virtue in David the king.
The women whispered at the well.
Of course the Lady Bathsheba’s child is the king’s, what can you expect from a hill-girl, and her husband gone. Of course she dropped her veil for the king’s eyes—ah, if the king would only cast his eyes upon me—
Yes, that was what was whispered among the women.
The men whispered too.
Look at our King David! Still a lusty man, for all he’s a great king. Another child, too! Ah, that I were king, and could do as well.
Envy, and pride. That was all. Perhaps if Uriah had not been a foreigner, a Hittite, there would have been blame, even for King David. But there was not. No one thought of Uriah, save me.
The siege at Rabbah ended; a great victory at last. Once more David’s star shone bright, and people forgot what the city of Rabbah had cost in men and blood.
No one fretted over the loss of one Hittite captain. No one
questioned what the king chose to do.
No one save the prophet Nathan.
 
 
Then I thought only of Bathsheba, and of myself. And so I did not wonder why Nathan chose to rant at David over this sin when he had ignored so many others. In truth, I did not care; I thought Nathan a blind fool. He had done nothing when I had become a sudden widow, nothing when I had told him plain that David had killed my husband. I knew Nathan would hear no word against David.
And that was not strange. David had long bowed humble before Nathan, and given the prophet all honor. Nathan, like so many others, was loyal to the David he saw.
But now Nathan spoke out and chastised David, and harshly too. I heard it all, and Bathsheba with me, and did not need to rely on rumor for Nathan’s words.
Bathsheba had wished to see David act the king in his court; to please her I had taken her and shown her a king’s secret—“And a queen’s,” I said, and smiled.
The secret was a small dark room set deep into the wall behind the throne; here one might stand and spy upon the daylight court. From the court below, one saw only the glazed garden of lilies and reeds and lotus-flowers behind the king’s throne. From where Bathsheba and I stood, all that went on before that throne could be seen and heard through cunning lattice-work.
Bathsheba was delighted with the secret room, of course. “Oh, how clever!” she breathed, and touched the screen-work with cautious fingers. “And no one knows we are here?”
“No one. See, I have set cushions for us so we may sit in comfort—and I warn you, Bathsheba, court business is long and dull. You must tell me when you grow bored.”
“How could I be bored when I watch the king?” Then Bathsheba frowned in thought. “But Michal, who sits here? Not
the king—he is there—” She pointed; thin streams of light pressing through the lattice danced splashes of gold and silver over her wide bracelets.
“Why, no one—save those who dally here with a sweetheart, or seek to evade a task. David heard of an eastern king with such a spy-room as this, and so he must have one as well. But of what use it is to the king, I do not know. Nothing said in the court can be private—only see how many men stand there to listen.”
“And—and I suppose the workmen all know it is here, unless they worked blindfolded!” Bathsheba laughed, and put a guilty hand to her mouth.
“Well, this room is not a
great
secret.” I smiled, pleased to see her happy, which she often was not. Oh, she tried to hide her pain, but I had once suffered from her illness, and so what she might conceal from others was plain enough to my eyes. Bathsheba was still sick with love for David; she could not yet believe that David’s love was gone. Had he not married her, after all—and yet he never came to her, or saw her unless she was with me—Oh, yes, I knew what Bathsheba suffered.
And so we sat hidden there when Nathan came before David’s throne and spoke. Nathan strode through the waiting men; he pushed aside those who bowed low before David and spoke of trade with Tyre. Then the prophet stood there, and thumped the marble floor with his wooden staff, and demanded justice.
David’s boast was that no one asked the king for that in vain, and so he begged Nathan speak. In truth, he could not have stopped him.
There were two men, Nathan said, one with many sheep and one with only one ewe; the rich man prepared a feast and slaughtered the poor man’s ewe instead of one of the many he himself possessed—what should be done with such a man?
“Why, the answer is simple. He is a thief, and must make fourfold restitution for the ewe he stole.” David spoke firmly; he liked to be seen as just and fair in his judgments. This would show
that even the simplest matter was not too lowly for King David to see to.
“You are the man! You are the thief, O King! You took another man’s wife in secret, you who have many women of your own, and stole her away and sent him to die in battle. You have sinned greatly, and Yahweh will strike you for your crime!”
There was silence in the great court; all men waited to see what the king would do. David did nothing. He sat cold upon his throne and did not move.
I did not move, or breathe; I could not.
Uriah,
I thought.
Nathan knows.
“Do you speak of the wife of Uriah?” David’s voice was calm enough. “Why, that is no sin—and no secret either. All men know how I took her into my house. A king cares for his people, as a shepherd tends his flock.”
There was a murmur from the watching men; agreement. Nathan drew a deep breath and stood as tall as he could. But prophet or no, Nathan was not impressive; he was still a short man, and now he was rounder than ever. King David kept a lavish table.
“Do not mock, O King. This is a grievous thing that you have done. You have broken Yahweh’s sacred Law.”
David spread his hands wide. “I am humble before the Lord. Show me the sign of Yahweh’s anger, Nathan. I have done nothing but what I must and should.” David raised his voice; his words echoed among the pillars of the court. “And you all have seen how I have been rewarded. Rabbah is ours now, and there is peace in the east. The Ammonites send us talents of silver and bushels of wheat in tribute to Yahweh’s greatness.”
Bathsheba and I sat hidden behind the throne; I could not see David’s face. But I saw Nathan’s. The prophet looked stubborn and desperate, like a boar facing dogs and spears. Now, I thought, now Nathan believes; now, when it is too late.
I knew Nathan’s next words must be of Phaltiel, and of me, and then Bathsheba and I would stand accused before the priests.
Murder and harlotry, and both crimes called for death. I knew better now than to think David would stand beside us; we would be sacrificed to purify David’s name. Abigail would happily bear witness against us—
“The sword will dwell in your own house and you shall find no peace therein!” Nathan did not answer David, but raged on as if he had not heard. “The child of sin will perish! Yahweh will not be mocked by one whom he has set up, and can as easily cast down below the worms in the dirt!”
Bathsheba cried out in distress. I put my arms around her; her belly was moon-round now with the child. “Hush, Bathsheba. Nathan raves—he says nothing, nothing. Do not cry—” I held and rocked her, and listened hard, fearing the next words would destroy us.

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