‘Is everything ready?’ I ask, with a polished smile. ‘People will be arriving soon. I’ve heard some children outside.’
‘We’re ruined, Mistress,’ Oren, the head servant, replies. ‘You should escape.’
‘Why, what's wrong?’ I ask, envisioning Nabal's fury should weevils have infested the storeroom or last year's wine have soured.
‘It's not for me to say.’
‘Nonsense! You just have.’
‘Ten men came to see the master this afternoon.’
‘I heard. Weren’t they labourers from the river field?’
‘No, they were bandits from the camp at Maon.’
I know all about the camp, which is barely an hour's ride away and a concern throughout Carmel. David, the great general who married the king's daughter, fell from favour and fled into the wilderness, where followers have flocked to him, some equally disaffected and others, among them the youngest son of one of our clansmen, lured by his legend. The elders urged Nabal to make overtures to him, but Nabal, eager to avoid taking action of any sort, let alone the clash that might result if his approaches were rejected, temporized. As weeks passed with no news from the camp, he boasted that David was too in awe of his eminence and power to confront him. I, having climbed to the roof and seen the distant camp swell like a festering boil, was less convinced. The fact that ten men have come, in a show of strength as much as a neighbourly visit, confirms my fears.
‘You shouldn’t call them bandits. After all, no one was hurt; nothing was stolen.’
‘So far.’
‘What did they want? Did any of you hear?’
‘A11 of us. They knew about the sheep-shearing. They begged the master for a share of the feast.’
‘And he refused?’ I ask, already knowing the answer.
‘He rounded on them,’ Oren replies. ‘They were respectful – at least their voices were soft. But the master raged that he hadn’t sweated and strained all his life to squander food on a pack of bandits.’
‘That was his word,’ Oren's wife, Helah, interjects.
‘Only you can save us,’ Oren says.
‘How? What you are to me, I am to the master.’
They gaze at me in reproach. Chastened, I make my way to Nabal's chamber to find him drinking with his brothers, Achim and Yimnah. I pray that I’ve come at a good moment, when the wine has rendered him docile but not yet bellicose or insensible.
‘My lord,’ I say, showing him the subservience that he demands in company. ‘The servants – misinformed as ever – claim that you’ve refused alms to our new neighbours in Maon. I rebuked them soundly. “How dare you?” I said, “when your master's munificence is renowned throughout Judah. Besides – “‘ I add, turning my rebuke into a reminder – ‘“it's the custom at sheep-shearing to share our feast with everyone: beggar, bandit or king.”’
‘That's enough!’ he says, draining a cup of wine, not all of it down his throat. ‘Of course I refused them and would do so again. Neighbours, you call them? They’re brigands. Traitors to the king and to the land. Their leader – this David of whom there's so much talk – offered his services to the Philistines. He sought shelter in Gath but, terrified that they’d kill him, he pretended to be mad, since the Philistines revere madmen as we do prophets.’ His brothers laugh politely. ‘But King Achish was cunning. He knew that David would do more damage to us here than at the head of a Philistine army, so he sent him back, where he's gathered a rabble of outcasts and murderers.’
I listen to him in bewilderment. I’ve heard whispers that King Saul is possessed and has turned against his own son as well as David, but they remain whispers since no one dares repeat them out loud. I’ve heard too that David plotted to seize the throne, using the princess to further his ambitions. Who knows what to believe? The truth is like a traveller growing dustier with each step away from home. What's certain is that people no longer hold David in the same regard that they did when he slew the Philistine champion eight years ago.
Nabal's voice, dripping with scorn, rouses me from my reverie. ‘This David is a scoundrel. He saved the people of Keilah from the Philistines yet, a month later, they were ready to yield him up to the king, preferring to risk another enemy attack than to have him and his men plundering the town. So he went on to Ziph, but no honest man would have any dealings with him. Would you have me be the first? When his mob came this afternoon, they had the gall to claim that, if it weren’t for them, there would be no feast: that it was their presence in the hills that had prevented raids on our flocks. I told them that they were the only raiders I needed protecting from and turned them away.’
‘Of course you’re right, my lord,’ I reply, but, while I acknowledge the justice of his argument, I am dubious of its wisdom. ‘And yet, to keep the peace, wouldn’t it be prudent to give them what they ask?’ I look to his brothers for support, but they would rather see me chastened.
‘And have every blackguard in Judah knocking at my gate? I may as well hand over the keys to my storeroom! And why not my strongbox for good measure? You forget that I have responsibilities to my clan,’ he says, in his most sententious tone.
‘Didn’t the elders ask you to negotiate with David?’
‘At the time of the barley harvest, yes. Now they’ve urged me not to submit. First, he will take our wealth; then, the king will take our lives.’
‘Remember his reprisal against the priests of Nob last year?’ Achim says.
‘And they were priests,’ Yimnah adds.
I have no doubt that the elders are keen for Nabal to make a stand, since it will be his house that is razed to the ground, his stores that are pillaged, and his women that are violated if David wreaks revenge. But I know better than to argue since it's only the wine that has saved my cheeks – and even my teeth – from punishment. I go down to greet our guests, whose voices, high and low, soon fill the courtyard. I am grateful for the women's chatter, which, while as trivial as that of my sisters-in-law, is at least different. After the usual round of illnesses, deaths and marriages (with pregnancies and births skipped over in deference to me), the talk turns to David. As elsewhere, some think him a villain and some a victim and it amuses me to hear them speak with such authority of a man they have never met. I pay more heed to a cousin from Juttah who saw him pass through Kain. Although the lack of detail is frustrating, I am intrigued by her account of his appearance: ‘as splendid in his mud-stained tunic as Joseph in his many-coloured cloak.’
As the meal wears on and melons and pomegranates replace pigeons and geese, I learn that David's men have visited most of the women's husbands, none of whom has refused their requests. It's clear that, in encouraging Nabal to hold out, they have deliberately deceived him, either in the hope that he’ll prevail and David will withdraw from the region or, more sinisterly, that he’ll fail and David will attack him. Jealous of his wealth and authority (and forgetting that they or their fathers acclaimed him chief), they long for David to humble him. Despite myself, I feel a pang of sympathy for his plight.
The guests leave, to return tomorrow, their resentment of Nabal not preventing their accepting his hospitality. Making my way upstairs, I look into his chamber to find him supine in a puddle, which I suspect isn’t wine. On other nights I would have tried to clean him but, tonight, my revulsion is too acute and I retreat to the chamber that I share with my maidservant, Ahinoam. The snores, loud and soft, that usually lull me to sleep now compound my agitation. I lie restless, brooding on Nabal's folly in rebuffing David. Convinced that I alone can avert his impending revenge and save the household from ruin, I conceive a plan, which, for once, doesn’t dissolve at dawn. Before Shirah, Nabal or any of the family wake, I rouse the servants and tell them to join me in the storeroom. Assuming that David sent so many messengers not just as a threat but to indicate the size of gift that he anticipated, I inspect the food for tonight and tomorrow's feasts in a kind of frenzy, instructing Oren and the others to take one... no, two... no, all fiv
e of the roasted sheep, two sacks of beans and peas, three sacks of sesame seeds, three sacks of barley, and as many loaves of bread, lentil and fig cakes, gourds of grape and date syrup, and skins of wine, that can be loaded on to our dozen donkeys. I’m exhilarated by the prospect not just of appeasing David but of thwarting Nabal and Shirah who, with no call to check on the provisions, will welcome their guests this evening to a meal of empty bowls. I shall be beaten, locked up and perhaps even cast out, but it will be worth it. After twenty-five years of coercion, the one thing that they haven’t destroyed is my will.
The donkeys protest at their burdens, sparking my fear of discovery, but even Shirah, alive to every transgression, sleeps through their telltale brays. I lower my veil and, with each servant driving two beasts, we make our cumbersome journey to Maon. Approaching the ridge, I find that we’re too late as three or four hundred men pour out of the camp and head towards us. The servants panic and urge retreat, but I overrule them. Even if we abandon the donkeys and reach home, the house will never withstand such an onslaught. Besides, if David is the brute that Nabal claims, he will slaughter us all, masters and servants alike. Our one hope is to throw ourselves on his mercy so, with a show of confidence, I press ahead. A terrifying roar rises up from the bandits, who sweep down on us like a rockfall. I await the inevitable but, just when they’re poised to attack, David raises his hand and they draw back. I dismount from the donkey, as glad of my veil as a soldier of his helmet, and walk towards him. Although my vision is clouded, I am dazzled by his presence. He's a slight man, poorly dressed, riding a donkey that Nabal would have spurned, and yet he lights up the landscape. The trees and boulders, the clefts and mounds, the very earth and sky, seem to frame him like the setting of a jewel. It makes no sense; he's twenty paces away and yet I feel as if he is standing next to me, his eyes... his hands wandering over me, evoking sensations I have only ever known in my dreams. All my life I’ve envied Rebecca, who fell so in love on seeing Isaac that she almost slipped off her camel. She was set to marry him, whereas I may be about to be killed by David. Nevertheless, I find to my consternation that even death at his hand seems preferable to life with Nabal.
I fall at his feet and the dirt in my mouth and nostrils seems fitting. I raise my head, clear my throat and speak.
‘My lord, your servant begs a hearing.’
‘And what servant is this?’
‘Abigail, wife of Nabal.’
‘Well met! My men and I are about to pay your husband a visit. You are wise to have left home.’
‘Will you hear me, my lord? I will not rise from this spot until you do.’
‘You think that I am to be bargained with?’
‘No, but I trust to be reasoned with.’
‘Ha! You’re bold to venture out here. Did your husband send you?’
‘No, my lord. Not him nor anyone of his house. I came of my own accord to redress the wrong done to you yesterday.’
‘And I come to avenge it.’
‘Then avenge it on me, for I alone am to blame.’
‘Was it you who refused aid to a “base shepherd”? Was it you who described my men as “ragged sheep”? He will learn that they can be ravening wolves.’
‘No, but it was me who failed in my duty. Had I been free to greet your men, I would have granted their request. But I can make amends.’ I point to the donkeys, who alone are oblivious of the danger. ‘Here is every morsel of food prepared for this evening's feast. The boards will be as bare as on the Day of Atonement.’
‘You make amends for your husband's negligence, but what of his insult?’
‘Surely that is of no consequence? He is of no consequence. A braggart! A buffoon! He spouts bile when he's sober and spews it when he's drunk. He is unworthy of my lord's wrath. You kill him and you kill a fool. You kill his household and you kill those whose only offence is to serve a fool. We aren’t all blessed to serve a man like my lord.’ He frowns and I fear that I have spoken out of turn. ‘What's more, the beasts that you’d need as sin offerings would exceed all Nabal's flocks and herds.’
‘Your words are as sweet as your husband's were bitter.’
‘And true, my lord. Our lives are paltry but yours is of great worth. Don’t lay it open to reproach.’
‘Too late! I am an outcast in the wilderness living on what I can extort from honest men.’
‘But the Lord favours you.’
‘What?’ He looks shocked.
‘I see you wearing a crown.’ A sunbeam turns the blaze of his hair to gold. ‘And your son and your son's son.’ I don’t know what possesses me – the Lord doesn’t speak through women – but I am as sure of what lies ahead of him as I am of what lies before me now.
His intense stare frightens me. Whatever else, he is still the king's son-in-law and I have spoken treason.
‘How do you know?’ he asks, in a voice that is gentler than his gaze.
‘I don’t know; I see.’
‘Won’t you raise your veil?’
‘Would my lord open his gate to his enemies?’
‘Am I your enemy?’
‘Isn’t every man the enemy of a defenceless woman?’
‘Defenceless, you?’ He laughs. ‘Your words have stayed my sword. Tell your men to bring over the donkeys. They won’t be harmed. Then go home. Your husband; your household; your whole clan owe you their lives. I trust that they will honour the debt.’
The transfer effected, David tugs on his donkey's reins and turns round. His men appear to waver, as if weighing the richness of the provisions against the thrill of bloodshed, but after a minute they follow him. As I watch them leave, I’m riven by conflicting emotions: joy that I – and I alone – have saved a score of innocent lives; desolation that I shall never see David again. I have no words for what I feel or why I feel it, but for a few heart-stopping moments I have encountered the only man who would give my life meaning... that is, he would if I weren’t married and he weren’t at least a dozen years my junior. True, there was a flicker of interest in his eyes, but it was my judgement that he praised, a quality men admire more in other men's wives than their own. Nevertheless, it's a flicker for which I would be ready to risk everything, riding after him and removing not just my veil but my robe and my tunic... Appalled by my recklessness, I seize on the servants’ congratulations to laugh at myself under the guise of general relief.
In my preoccupation, I barely register that we have arrived home until roused by Shirah's rasp.
‘Where have you been? And why the attendants? These dolts’ – she indicates Helah and the servants who have remained behind – ‘purport to know nothing.’
‘No more they do.’ I see that my plan of shaming Nabal in front of his guests is not to be and describe my encounter with David. ‘There's no need to thank me,’ I say, when, screeching like a hawk, she clambers up to Nabal's chamber. Feeling the gaze of the household upon me, I follow, only to stop at the door. Nabal lies where he did last night, although the stench of sweat, wine and wastes now seems to have penetrated the walls. Even Shirah can’t hide her disgust as she skirts a puddle and, with grim relish, shakes him awake. He opens first one eye and then the other, his arms flailing as if to waft away the swarm of bees that he slowly identifies as his mother's voice. Allowing him no respite, she shrieks: ‘We’re undone! Your wife – that woman – has taken everything we set aside for tonight's feast – the mutton, the bread, the barley, the wine, the seeds – and given them to the bandits.’ While he struggles to make sense of her charge, she repeats it with fervour, as though the prospect of my punishment offsets the loss. He totters to his feet, fixing me with a glare that empowers me to speak.
‘No, your mother hasn’t told you everything. She's left out the beans, the syrups, the lentil and fig cakes.’ He staggers towards me, aiming a blow so clumsy that I make no attempt to duck. ‘She also omitted to tell you that I’ve saved you and her and the whole clan from the consequence of your avarice. On the way to Maon, I met four
hundred men coming to raze the house to the ground and massacre its inhabitants.’
‘She's lying! Hit her!’ Shirah shouts.
‘I’ve saved you both but I don’t expect thanks, any more than for the twenty-five years I’ve grubbed and toiled for you.’
‘Hit her!’ Shirah repeats.
‘Yes, hit me,’ I say, and I’m shocked to discover that it's what I want. Why? To consolidate my hatred for him? To punish myself for my desire for David? To affirm my strength: that, after this morning's encounter, no hand nor stick nor whip will hurt me again?
He stumbles forward, right arm raised and foaming at the mouth, but, just when he's poised to strike, he collapses gibbering at my feet. He gasps and clutches at his chest, then all at once falls still. The colour seeps from his cheeks like water from a sieve. I should feel elation or, at the very least, relief, but all I feel is a gaping lethargy. Shirah crouches and cradles his head. ‘He isn’t dead; he isn’t dead!’ she exclaims, and what I take for a vain hope turns out to be true. ‘Help me lift him on to the bed,’ she says. Then, either assessing his weight or reluctant to let me touch him, she pushes me away. ‘No, run for help. Now!’
I obey blindly, fetching two servants who haul him on to the bed. He's not only heavy but stiff and I am taken back twenty-five years to when I found the corpses of my mother, my father, my sisters, my brothers, my aunts, uncles and cousins scattered across the courtyard, covered in flies, with no one to help me bury them. Whereas their flesh had hardened in several hours, Nabal's has taken a matter of minutes. Moreover, he is not dead. He may be impervious to word or touch, but he's still breathing, like a snake that sleeps through winter. Shirah sits by his side, sponging his face, although for once it isn’t soaked in sweat. I shuffle like a bird with one wing, unable to fly away and unwilling to draw near.
‘I’ll mix a potion to revive him. Aloes, cinnamon, cumin and anise, if we have any left.’
‘If you didn’t give it away to the bandits!’ she says savagely.
The Anointed Page 7
