He swallowed hard, surprised at the sudden emotion he felt, knowing how close he had come to sinning against Yahweh and killing the king. “Yes it is, my lord the king.” He drew in a breath, lifting his chin, trying to bolster his wavering pride and confidence. “Why is my lord pursuing his servant? What have I done, and what wrong am I guilty of?” He’d said similar words to Jonathan when Saul had first hunted him down, a lifetime ago.
Would it never end?
“Now let my lord the king listen to his servant’s words. If Adonai has incited you against me, then may He accept an offering.”
Could Yahweh have done this? Had David somehow offended the Almighty that He should allow him to suffer this way? Please, Adonai, accept my broken heart on Your altar.
David stood straighter, making sure his voice could be heard below. “If, however, men have done it, may they be cursed before the Lord! They have now driven me from my share in the Lord’s inheritance, and have said, ‘Go, serve other gods.’ ” Was that the answer to get away from Saul’s pursuit? Must he run away from this land he loved? “Now do not let my blood fall to the ground far from the presence of Adonai. The king of Israel has come out to look for a flea, as when one hunts a partridge in the mountains.” Indeed, he was no more significant, but oh, for the wings of a bird to take him far from this place. He could return to Moab or try again to find refuge among the Philistines.
“I have sinned,” Saul said. “Come back, David my son. Because you considered my life precious today, I will not try to harm you again. Surely I have acted like a fool and have erred greatly.” Saul’s voice broke despite its strength.
David watched Saul’s head bow and his shoulders droop as though in grief. He put a hand to his head and looked up once more. Did he honestly think David would return to Gibeah with him? The man deluded himself!
“Here is the king’s spear!” David pointed to Abishai, who lifted the weapon again. David met his nephew’s gaze and read in his eyes a desire to thrust the blade toward the old king even now. David shook his head and looked back at Saul. “Let one of your young men come over and get it. Adonai rewards every man for his righteousness and faithfulness. Adonai delivered you into my hands today, but I would not lay a hand on Adonai’s anointed. As surely as I valued your life today, so may Adonai value my life and deliver me from all trouble.”
Saul lifted his hands toward the hill where David stood. “May you be blessed, my son David. You will do great things and surely triumph.”
David stepped away from the edge and turned his back on Saul, rejoining his men. Had he been any other man, Saul’s blessing might have meant something to him. But David knew how fickle the king could be, how untrustworthy the men who supported him and incited him against David were. Even if Saul spoke the truth, David could not believe him. Saul would never quit his hatred or his pursuit, and David would never kill him. Which meant one of them must move or die. And it wasn’t likely to be Saul.
David walked on in silence until they reached the camp where men and women sat about in circles, breaking the fast from the night before. He moved ahead of Benaiah, who had kept at his side throughout the arduous trek back to the wilderness compound, and stood in the main area at the central fire. He called the thirty together, and they hurried to gather the men and women to listen. Abigail stood near her mother, her face a study in concern. He met her gaze but could not bring a smile to his lips.
When the crowd quieted, he jumped up on a large rock and faced them. “We have come from the camp of Saul, where Adonai delivered him into our hands.”
A cheer erupted from the crowd, but David cut it short with a gesture. “But I would not, will not, kill Adonai’s anointed.” Murmurs turned to stony silence at the announcement, confusion and anger evident among both men and women. Uncertainty settled in his gut until he caught approval in Abigail’s eyes, and a sense of peace settled over him. He had done the right thing. “As long as Saul walks the earth, he will never stop hunting me, and since I will never kill him, we will never stop running. Unless . . .” He paused, waiting to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “Unless we go where Saul cannot find us. Where Saul would not dare to go. Then we can live in safety and peace until Saul is dead.”
“Where will we go?” Joab asked, his usually confident face wreathed in a scowl.
In that moment, David realized that his advisors might not support him, as they had not supported him when he’d first fled from Saul to the king of Gath. But that was before he had a mercenary army at his command. Now they were a force to contend with, a force the king of Gath would be pleased to accept. As these people must also accept if they were ever to acknowledge his leadership as king. They might not like it, but they would obey. He would allow nothing less.
He took his time, letting his gaze scan the crowd and making eye contact with as many men and women as he could. He smiled with a confidence he hoped he would soon feel, determined to make them feel it as well. At last he stopped at Joab, whose scowl had still not left his dark, beady eyes.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought, and there is only one place to go—a place where they will welcome our military skills as mercenaries to fight their battles . . . or so we will make them think.”
Joab’s scowl softened the slightest bit, his interest piqued. “You want to take us out of Israel.”
David nodded. “Yes. To a place Saul would never go and where we will live in peace.” He scanned the crowd once more, his gaze resting on Abigail. “Tonight we will sleep one last time in this place. Then we move west toward the sea—to the land of the Philistines.”
22
Abigail carried a large earthenware jug filled with water atop her head from the well to the outskirts of Lachish near the edge of Israelite territory. The six-day journey across the barren wastelands of Judah to this place had been slow going with the women and children and flocks of sheep and goats. David had left some of Nabal’s shepherds and servants in Maon to manage Nabal’s estate in their absence, but he’d taken some of the herd along to provide for their ever-growing entourage.
Abigail teetered as she lowered the jug to the earth near the campfire, then caught herself before she lost her balance. Ahinoam squatted nearby, flipping flat bread on smooth stones set over a low flame, and lentil stew bubbled in an earthenware pot above another small fire. The spicy scent of cumin made Abigail’s stomach protest her self-imposed secret fast. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and drew in a slow breath.
Why, Yahweh? Why do You not stop my husband from making a horrible mistake? Why won’t he listen to reason?
At least David did listen at first. Six days ago before they left the wilderness of Judah, some of his advisors had tried to talk David into reconsidering this trek into Philistine land. But enough of the people supported him, including Ahinoam, to convince him he was doing the right thing, the only thing to ensure their safety.
Abigail worried her lower lip as she knelt beside Ahinoam to scoop the finished flat bread into a clay bowl, and Ahinoam poured more batter onto the stones. Life would change the moment they set foot on Philistine soil. Would Yahweh go with them? She shuddered at the thought.
“Are you all right, Abigail?” Her mother’s voice lacked the sharp edge she’d noted since they left the wilderness. Her parents were not in favor of this move either, but her father would never complain or raise an objection to David, and Daniel thought David could do no wrong. “Here, let me take that.” She felt her mother grip her elbow as she took hold of the bowl of flat bread with the other hand. “Sit over there. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
Abigail held a hand to her middle and moved to do as her mother commanded, her legs struggling to carry her to the makeshift bench.
“I’ll take this to the men and be right back. Don’t move.”
She couldn’t move if she tried. Oh, Adonai, why do You not answer my prayers? She’d prayed and fasted for six long days, but David’s scouts had returned from Gath with the good
news that Achish, their king, was quite willing to accept David’s mercenary army and was waiting to welcome them at the palace. How would they avoid contamination from idols if they lived in the midst of them? Hadn’t Adonai called them out to be a separate people? Did David think himself or his followers immune from such temptation?
“When was the last time you ate?” Abigail looked up into her mother’s concerned face. “I’ve noticed the way you seem to avoid sitting when the women gather to eat. Are you trying to starve yourself, Abigail? Fasting will not change anything.”
Abigail would have argued a few days ago, but now, with no answer in sight, she couldn’t think of a thing to discount her mother’s words. “I had hoped my prayers would keep us from leaving Israel,” she said softly, covering her face with both hands. “But Yahweh does not hear my prayers.” Her throat grew thick with the emotion she had held in check since David’s announcement. She would not give in to it now, but she couldn’t seem to stop a few tears from escaping her eyes.
Her mother’s strong arms came around her shoulders and pulled her close. “There, there. Everything will turn out all right.” She patted Abigail’s back. “Do not worry about this so much, Abigail dear. Adonai surely heard you, but sometimes He expects His people to take their own action. Perhaps rather than praying, He wants you to talk some sense into that husband of yours. When David finally listens to you, you’ll have your answer.”
Abigail pulled away from her mother’s embrace to look at her. “David listens to his men, not to me.”
“He listened to you before, didn’t he—when you stopped him from killing Nabal?”
“Yes, but that was different. Now he is too busy and I am only a wife.” She’d done her best to allow Ahinoam time with David since his return from the camp of King Saul, and never told him how Ahinoam had acted toward her. The last thing David needed was a whiny wife.
“You are more than a wife, you are a confidante. David trusts you, Abigail. Surely if you talk to him as you have done in the past, he will hear your words. If you don’t speak up, we will end up living among the pagans. For your own peace of mind, eat something and speak to your husband.”
She slowly nodded. “The bread does smell good.”
Her mother clucked her tongue. “Well, of course it does. Wait there.” She moved to the fire where Ahinoam still squatted and snatched a small round loaf, then returned before Abigail could change her mind. “Eat.” She thrust the bread into Abigail’s hands. “And when you feel your strength return, you must speak to David. I will tell him you need him tonight.” She hurried off in the direction of the men’s circle.
“Mama, wait!” Abigail called after her, but her mother did not respond. She would push Abigail to do this thing whether she liked it or not. But could she be right? Was God’s answer to her prayers to take matters into her own hands and do something to stop this madness herself? Such a thing had seemed so right when she’d rushed off to appease David’s wrath, but now she felt uncertain, nervous. How did one appeal to a man who teetered on the edge of discouragement, even despair? David’s faith needed an infusion of strength. Strength she didn’t have.
She nibbled the bread as she fought her own bout of despair and wondered what she would say to her husband when he came to her.
Stars sprinkled the night sky as Abigail set a three-pronged griddle along the middle partition of the goat-hair tent that separated David’s side from hers and Ahinoam’s. With the new wealth she had brought to the marriage, they would each have a tent of their own one day, or, better yet, a room or home of their own, but for now, David kept them together in this large enclosure. Who knew what kind of dwellings they would have in Philistine territory?
She closed her eyes, then opened them again, willing her nerves into submission. If only Yahweh would hear her and change her husband’s mind. Perhaps if she were a man . . . Did God care about the prayers of a mere woman?
She turned at the swish of sandals on the swept dirt floor behind her and felt David’s arms go around her waist, his lips close to her ear. “Your mother said you wanted to see me.” He turned her around and kissed her. “You’ve been quiet on this journey. I was beginning to wonder if something was wrong. Ahinoam finally seems happy, but now all I see is sorrow in your eyes. Are you missing your old home in Maon?” He held her at arm’s length, his dark eyes hopeful. “You’re not regretting your decision to marry me, are you?”
She shook her head. “Never.” She smiled at his boyish grin, wanting desperately to please him. She had no desire to be the one to take the joy from him—a joy he’d had since his announcement to move out of Israel. What if God had spoken to him and told him to do this? Maybe her worry about temptations and false gods was just her own fear of change.
“So what did you want to talk to me about? Your mother made it sound urgent.” He let his fingers slide slowly down her arms, then captured both of her hands in his.
She glanced through the tent opening at the pockets of men and women sitting in front of their nearby tents, playing games and chatting by firelight. “Can we go somewhere quiet?” People could overhear, especially Ahinoam, who could walk in on them at any time.
His look grew sober as he studied her again. “There is a place up the hill a ways. Or we can go to my side of the tent.” His bed of soft wool was there, but she feared he would be less likely to listen in such an intimate place.
“Up the hill would be nice.” She gave him a coy smile. “Then we can come back to your side of the tent.”
“Let me get a torch.” His eyes lit as they often did when they were alone, as though he could think of no one else but her. But if he walked away . . .
“Is that necessary?” Someone else might grab his attention, and she would never get this chance again. “The moon is nearly full. Isn’t that enough?”
He looked doubtful but nodded. He tightened his grip on her hand and led the way up the hill behind their tent. He paused every so often to pick his way with care, then finally stopped in a small rock enclosure. He led her to a large rock to sit, then took the seat beside her. Moonlight bathed his face, and she read concern in his earnest, unwavering gaze.
“What is so important, Abigail? Has someone offended you, upset you? You know you can tell me anything. I will never hurt you.” He touched her face with one hand and stroked her cheek with his fingers, his look tender. He was so used to fixing everyone else’s problems, sometimes he jumped ahead of them, certain he knew what they wanted.
“No one has offended me or hurt me, my lord. It’s just . . .” She glanced down for the briefest moment but couldn’t keep from looking into the fathomless depths of his eyes. “Don’t you worry about living among the pagans, my lord, about the influence of their false gods on the people? If we are in the Philistines’ royal city, we will be surrounded by their gods, and even if the king accepts us, the Philistine people will find us offensive. How will we keep our people from straying away from the true worship of Adonai?”
She fought the urge to chew on her lip as she watched David’s expression change. He leaned away from her and placed both hands on his knees, shifting in his seat to look first toward the dust, then toward the stars. Crickets and the whisper of wings moved in the air around them, breaking the silence.
Abigail folded her hands in her lap, longing to undo what she’d said, wanting to restore David’s boyish grin and pretend her world was at peace. But she kept silent, waiting for an eternity for David to respond.
At last he looked at her, and relief flooded through her at his tender expression. “I thank God for you, Abigail, for your wisdom and your love and concern not only for me but for all of the people. You will make a wise queen someday, should the Lord give us a kingly heir.” He took her hand and caressed it. “I too am concerned about the false gods of the Philistines, but there is no easy solution. What I can promise you is that I will ask Achish for a city of our own, far from the places where most Philistines dwell. Achish will understand ou
r need to practice our faith apart from theirs, and we will still be out of Saul’s reach. How does that sound?” He held her gaze, his own so hopeful she couldn’t bear to object to anything else, despite the sinking feeling in her heart.
“That sounds good, my lord.” She smiled, hoping he would take her at her word and not read in her expression the sorrow still filling her soul.
He let go of her hand and pulled her into his arms, joy lighting his eyes. “You’ll see, beloved, this move will be good for all of us, give us the rest we so desperately need. I’m weary of running.” He paused to search her gaze. “I need this, Abigail.”
“I know, David.” She reached up to kiss him, and he bent to meet her lips, his passion drowning out any thought of protest she had left.
23
The palace of the Philistine king sent chills down Abigail’s spine. Almost every wall held relief paintings of the gleaming half-man, half-fish idol Dagon. She shuddered as they passed trim, armored soldiers wearing red-feathered leather helmets who flanked the halls and widely pillared open courtyards. How could David trust this man? She felt exposed and vulnerable despite the hospitality and the rich apartment Achish had offered them.
She leaned against a gilded couch, still recuperating from her long fast and the trek through Gath. She’d kept her face veiled at David’s request, to hide her beauty from the men of Philistia. Now, in the room she shared with Ahinoam and their maids, she could remove her headdress and veil and let her hair fall to the middle of her back. It felt good physically to unwind after so much running. But her spirit still shriveled in fear of the future.
Her gaze traveled over the rich carpets and mosaic tile floors of the room. Heavy embroidered curtains hung over stone walls and could be drawn across wide windows facing west. They pointed toward the direction of the Philistines’ ancestral homes, the islands of the sea. Sculptures and paintings of sea creatures covered walls and sat atop oak tables, with Dagon the central theme of them all.
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