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Authors: India Edghill

BOOK: Queenmaker
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Abner somehow made the last three words a mockery of all David’s beautiful songs.
“Can no one talk of anything but that damned shepherd’s son?” my father bellowed, striking the table. It shook and the rolled maps jumped. “First Jonathan, now you—praise Yahweh that Merab listened to her father—that
one
of my children is free of his spell! Now get out, girl, and go to your room! And I’ll tell you when you can leave it!”
Too shattered to move, I managed to say, “But Father—I love David.”
He turned on me and for the first time in my life I was afraid of him. “David—David—always David! I swear by Yahweh that the next person who says that name to me shall be—”
Abner coughed. It was a little sound, but it caught my father’s attention and he rounded on Abner. I would have fled then, but I could not make my legs obey me.
“Listen to me, cousin,” said Abner quietly. “Princess Michal’s suggestion has a certain merit.” My father glared at him, eyes rolling
like a wild bull’s. “Yes, a certain merit,” Abner repeated. “There is, after all, something owing to David—”
“Owing
! I’ll show that damned upstart who owes—”
“—and there would be the question of the bride-price,” Abner finished calmly. “Perhaps even such a price as we were just discussing. You know I felt it was not necessarily wise to deny him Princess Merab—perhaps Princess Michal will serve as well.”
The dull red faded from my father’s face. His eyes were shrewd once more, the strangeness vanished. “Yes … Yes, Abner, you may be right. Michal!” He swooped upon me; I flinched, but he merely flung one massive arm about my shoulders. “So you would marry our fair young hero, eh? Well, well, so it shall be. Now run along, child, run along. We have work to do. Yes. Run to David, Michal, and tell him to come here to me.”
He bent and kissed my forehead, just as David had and upon the very spot David’s lips had blessed. There was a light in his eyes that made me uneasy, but I could not tell why.
“Go, child,” King Saul repeated.
I went, and did not look back.
 
 
My bride-price was to be one hundred foreskins taken from the Philistines. So my father said to David before the priests and judges in the open court. David and Jonathan came to me with the news, to tell me before others could. It was the first time I heard Jonathan call our father mad. But I do not think King Saul was truly mad—not then.
“But Jonathan—” I was so shocked that I could think of nothing to say. How could anyone pay such a price? One hundred Philistines! David was a great warrior, but even David could not hope to kill one hundred men before I was too old to care whether I married or not. I would not even think that the Philistines might kill David instead.
“If he is not mad, why should he set such a price for you?”
Jonathan demanded. “Who has ever heard of such a thing before in all the land?”
“But—but he said David might have me!”
“And he has not said I may not.” David put an arm around me. “Now do not cry, Michal—and Jonathan, do not look as if you already mourned me.”
I sniffed, but obeyed, and David smiled. He could always draw back a smile from me; this time my smile was an uncertain thing, but it made him hug me a little. “That is better, Michal. Understand, I still mean to marry you, but you will have to wait longer than we thought before you put on your bride-clothes.”
“Where are you going?” said Jonathan. “And what do you mean to do?” He did not sound as if he thought he would like what he would hear in answer.
“Why, I am going to Philistia, to fetch back the price King Saul has set on his daughter—I will hear no words from you, Michal, for I will have you for my wife, and that is a settled thing.”
I was afraid for David, but to hear him speak this way was exciting, too. All that had been paid for Merab was silver and sheep and some men for the army. But Merab had not married a hero.
“I will go with you.” Jonathan spoke slowly, as he did when he had been thinking deep; I could tell he liked nothing about this.
David laughed and shook his head. “You will not, brother—this is my task, and I alone will set my hand to it. Do not fear for me, for Yahweh will protect me.”
“Yahweh will not stand at your back with spear and blade.” Jonathan spoke so sharp that my eyes stretched to stare at him. “David, are you mad as well? Do you think the Philistines will lie down for your knife? You know what my father must mean by this!”
“He means that his youngest daughter is of great worth in his eyes,” David said, and hugged me again. “And I am but a poor man’s son—what else could he ask of me? Gold and spices? I am a simple warrior, so he set a warrior’s price. No, no more, Jonathan.
I mean to do this, and I will come back to pay Saul what he asks and claim his daughter as I have said.”
“Oh, David,” I said, “you will be careful, won’t you?”
At that both men laughed, which made me angry. I could not see that I had said anything to mock.
“I will be as careful, Michal, as you are meek and obedient. There, does that satisfy you?” He and Jonathan smiled at each other, and I scowled. “No, do not frown at me, but kiss me farewell. Come, now, smile for me, Michal—and you too, Jonathan. Do not worry if I am gone long without word—and pay no heed to any tales you may hear of me. True news will come only from my lips, so trust no messenger.”
So we both kissed David and said farewell. He left that day, taking no men and carrying little. Jonathan and I stood on the wall over the gateway and watched him go until the haze and dust swallowed him into the blue distance.
 
 
We did not see David again for half a year. We had no word of him either, until the day he came to Saul’s gate at the head of two hundred armed men. They had marched fast and hard from the Philistine border, and no messenger had outdistanced them to warn of their coming.
“Behold, King Saul—David son of Jesse has returned to claim your daughter Michal for his wife, as you promised him.” David stood tall before the gate; he did not shout, but his voice somehow carried clear even to the top of the walls where all the city watched.
“Well, well, so you are back,” my father called down to him. “You have been a long time about it, boy, but you are welcome. And if you have brought her price, you will have my daughter, as I said before the priests.”
“If I am welcome, will not King Saul open his gate to me?”
My father and Abner looked at each other, and Abner spoke
next. “Who are the men, David? Why do you come leading the enemy to our walls?”
David smiled up at those who watched and waited. “They are not the enemy of Israel, Abner.”
“They wear Philistine armor. The Philistines are not our friends.”
David stepped back and spread his arms wide. “Look, King Saul—you set a price for your daughter’s marriage of one hundred Philistine foreskins. I have brought two hundred—for these men who were of Philistia have abandoned their idols and now worship only Yahweh. They were converted and circumcised by the prophet Samuel himself, and have come to serve the King of Israel.” Now his voice was raised to shout a triumph. “A great victory for Yahweh and no man lost, but many gained!”
He stood there in the sunlight, and smiled, and the people watching from the walls cheered and called his name; some flung jewelry to him. I saw many gold leaves and silver flowers tossed down from women’s hair.
My eyes were all for David, but then there was a sound from my father harsh enough to make even me look away from David for an instant, and so I saw him turn round on Abner. There was such a noise from the people that I could hardly hear, but some words rose too sharp to be lost.
“Samuel
—Samuel,
did you hear, man!”
All the people had heard; I was glad the old prophet had forgiven my father at last.
“Well, Abner,
well?
And what is to be done now, eh?”
Abner looked at me and I looked away, down to where David stood with his men in the bright noon light.
“Plan the wedding, O King,” said Abner, and it seemed to me that he wished to make people hear his words plainly. “What else?”
 
 
My father grudged nothing for my wedding-day—not the bride-clothes, nor the fatted lambs and calves for the feast, nor the
honors for my bridegroom. Saul was the open-handed king to all the world, now, to prove his joy. The wedding festival was to last for seven days and seven nights. A king’s daughter did not wed a hero every day, Saul said. How could he do less?
Indeed, how could King Saul do less for David? Of myself, I did not think much. I was so enraptured that I saw the world already as through my wedding veil, golden and beautiful.
On my wedding day I awoke at dawn and watched the sun claw its slow way over the hills to spill shadow and light over the land. The day shone like glass, echoing the joy in my heart; I danced around the room in the pale light until the women came in to catch me and make me stand while I was adorned to delight my husband’s eyes.
All the women of the house wished to help deck the bride for this wedding. There were so many helping hands that it took half the day to dress me; plaiting my hair alone took all the forenoon. I was little help to them, for I could not be still. They would have been cross with me on any other day, but it was ill luck to scold a bride, and so it was all jests and laughter. Even when I shook my head to hear the coins ring and there was half the braiding to begin anew they only laughed, and slanted their eyes at each other and teased me for being too eager.
Their voices hinted at things I did not yet know, but was hot to learn with David. Still, I was young enough to blush and duck my head, to keep my face from their eyes.
“And wouldn’t we all be eager if such a man waited for us on the other side of the veil!” said Rizpah briskly. “Now stand still, do, child, and let me finish with your hair, or you’ll be a maid another season!”
“Not she!” another said. They all laughed, and nodded wisely to each other.
I liked to be mocked as little as any girl at such a time; then each experience is new, and some are sacred to your own heart. “It is only proper for a woman to submit to her husband,” I said with great dignity, trying to sound more knowing than I was.
That set them off again, their laughter rising like the shrieks of hoopoes, until my face was as hot as the roof-tiles at summer midday.
And then I was ready, or so the women said. When they pulled down the veil and tugged at my hands, crying that my bridegroom awaited, there was a moment when I would have died rather than follow.
It passed, of course; bride’s fears are well known and there are always many hands to help her along the way. And once I was moving all was well again, and I was as eager as before.
All the long day there was noise; people singing and chanting and playing every kind of instrument that would clash or chime or jingle. I was not allowed to put back my veil, so I saw it all as a yellow haze of sunlight and sweet incense smoke. That is what I remember about my first wedding day—music clanging in my ears and golden mist dazzling my eyes. I do not remember seeing David at all, though we must have met in the public courtyard when he claimed me as his wife before the people.
Later there was much wine and spiced fruit, and more singing and dancing. I was not let to dance; I was the bride—
“And must save your dancing for your husband,” my sister Merab whispered into my ear. She was full-round with her first child; now she laughed and patted her belly. “It will be your turn next year if your husband is truly good with his spear!”
Merab’s was not the only bride-jest. I sat among a flock of women who all talked and giggled as though my bridal veil made me deaf, or invisible.
Later still it was night at last, and I was taken in a roar of torches and banging of cymbals to the tower room that had been made ready for us. And then it was quiet and dark, and David my husband put back my veil.
I had dreamed of this moment when I thought I would never know it; I had thought of nothing else since my father had promised me to David over half a year ago. David would free me from my veil and I would go to him and we would know great joy
together, as all the songs and stories promised. I had now what I had longed for most in all the world. David stood before me as my husband.
I looked at him as if I were a ewe-lamb and he held the slaughter-knife. David did not let me stand there cold afraid, but took me into his arms.
“Poor Michal,” he said, and held me close. His heart beat under my ear louder than morning drums. “Yahweh save me from another wedding! Better forty battles! And now you are tired, and afraid.”
“I am
not
!” I wished to sound regal, but my mouth was as dry as if I had eaten dust, and I squeaked like a mouse. “But—oh, David—I—I am not beautiful, as Merab is—”
David smiled at me and stroked my hair. “No, you are not beautiful as Merab is. You are beautiful as Michal is. And that beauty is marvelous to my eyes.” And then he made a song, and sang it to me, softly, as we lay down together in the thin lamplight.

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