She pressed her hands against her temples. Seven wives and ten concubines! What need had he of her? Would he even care that she was with child as a result of her night with him? In a few months, everyone was going to know she’d committed adultery. Her handmaiden had already guessed she was pregnant—and by whom. Soon her mother would notice the changes in her. Soon every man, woman, and child who laid eyes upon her would guess her secret.
Trembling, she placed her hands on her abdomen. She was torn between terror and exultation. Within her womb was the child of a king—not just any king, but King David, hero of her childhood dreams. David, singer of songs, conqueror of nations! He had been like a god to her.
Anger filled her. She looked up at the wall of his palace where David had stood on that fateful day of her undoing. She’d always thought she would rejoice when she was with child, eagerly anticipating the happy event of bearing a son to her patient, loving husband.
Never in her life had she felt such despair and fear!
Was it the love she’d felt for David all these years that had made the soil fertile enough to accept the seed?
Only the king could protect her from suffering the consequences of their sin.
But would he?
She grieved over David’s silence and was terrified at what Uriah would do to her when he found out how she’d betrayed him. What defense had she? David hadn’t dragged her into the palace kicking and screaming!
She’d never wanted to hurt Uriah. He was a good man, a kind and generous husband. But Uriah’s touch didn’t make her burn. David’s embrace made her soar and melt. Was it so wrong to crave the caresses of a man she’d loved for as long as she could remember? Wasn’t she entitled to one night of happiness without having her entire life destroyed by it?
Life was unfair!
She’d never been meant for Uriah. She’d been meant for David. Surely that made it all right for them to steal a few hours together. She’d thought she would have wonderful memories of their night together, enough to last a lifetime, but she was tormented instead. The fire David had built in her was turning her life to ashes. She felt abandoned and terrified of the future. She’d been filled up with love for him. She’d poured herself out like a drink offering for David, her king. David, her idol. And now, she was consumed by fear, her loneliness worse than ever. It was too late to go back and undo anything. What price would she pay for that one night? What cost to others whom she loved and who loved her? Uriah, her mother, her father, her grandfather. She couldn’t bear to think of it. She would rather die than have them know. But did she have the courage to take her own life?
Shaking, she put her hands over her belly again. If she died, so would David’s child. Part of her rejoiced over the life growing within her. Part of her wished the evidence of her sin would be swept from her body with a stream of blood before anyone else knew of it. Everyone was going to know this child was conceived in adultery. How could she defend herself when her husband had been away at war for months? She imagined the angry shouts of a mob closing around her, taking up stones. She imagined the condemnation in her mother’s eyes, the hurt, the disappointment. A mother knew a daughter’s heart better than anyone. Her mother had known for years that she was in love with David. Hadn’t she counseled Bathsheba to give up her childish fantasies, her unrequited love? Hadn’t her mother told her to guard her heart? The blame wouldn’t be put at the feet of the king, but laid firmly upon her head.
No one could help her now. No one but David. But would he?
Lowering her hands, she clenched them in her lap. Silence did not always mean indifference. Hadn’t he promised that no harm would come to her? Hadn’t he sworn it? Hadn’t David always been a man of his word?
She cut a piece of papyrus from Uriah’s accounts. David would help her. He had to help her! She wrote him a brief message. Rolling it tightly, she tied a string around it. Then she summoned her handmaiden. “Take this to the king.”
“What if the guards won’t let me through the gate?”
“Ask for Joram. Give him the message. Tell him it’s from me and meant for the king’s eyes only.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Bathsheba closed the door and pressed her forehead against it. All types of fearsome possibilities swirled in her mind. Surely David would be honor bound to help her. Surely he wouldn’t forsake the daughter of Eliam, the granddaughter of Ahithophel. Surely he would try to do something for her so that Uriah would never find out she’d betrayed him. But what could he do? What? He could secret her away so that she could have his child in another city. Where would he send her? Where? Where!
Oh, David, help me! Please help me!
She refused to believe he was indifferent. How could he be after the risks he’d taken to bring her into the palace? But what would David do to solve this problem?
Exhausted by worry, she sat. She had no choice but to wait, for her life was in the king’s hands.
David felt an ominous premonition when his guard whispered, “The handmaid of Bathsheba, wife of Uriah, has come with a message.” The mere mention of Bathsheba’s name was a jolt to his senses, arousing feelings he knew were better forgotten. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. How many times over the past weeks had he denied himself the pleasure of summoning her again because he knew it would increase the risk of exposure? He’d had to remind himself repeatedly that she was the wife of a friend, the daughter of one of his most valued captains, the granddaughter of Ahithophel, a man he’d respected for years! He had enough trouble in the kingdom without turning friends into enemies!
“Bring the maidservant to me.”
He felt curious eyes upon him as he untied the string around the small papyrus. He read Bathsheba’s brief message, and his stomach dropped. Heat climbed up his neck and spread across his face. Three words, enough to shock him from his complacency and trumpet disaster:
I am pregnant.
He felt the accusation in those three words and heard Bathsheba’s desperate cry for help. He brushed his fingers lightly over the words and frowned. Guilt gripped him.
Oh, Bathsheba. He remembered his promise and wondered how he could fulfill it. Her handmaiden stood in the doorway, waiting for his reply. He saw heads leaning toward one another, whispering. Speculation already! He could hear the soft buzz. Would it grow into screams for blood? His and hers? Disaster stretched ahead for both of them if word of their affair spread. He needed time to think, time to find a solution to this problem!
Crumpling Bathsheba’s message in his hand, he leaned back indolently and smiled, beckoning forward the next person who had come to present a case before the king. He listened impatiently and made a decision he saw was ill received. What did he care about their petty differences when Bathsheba faced certain death? He had to find a way to rescue her from the dire situation she was in. If he didn’t find a way to cover their sin, there would be trouble in the ranks of his fighting men. They would lose faith in him, possibly rebel.
“Enough!” He stood. He waved his servants away. “I need to be alone.”
When he entered his chamber, he closed the door and put Bathsheba’s crumpled message in among the embers of burning incense, watching as it burned.
He sat for an hour with his head in his hands before a plan came to him. He knew it would save them both from exposure and would even give cause for celebration among his closest friends. He smiled at his own cleverness as he summoned Joram.
“Send a messenger to Rabbah and tell Joab to send me Uriah the Hittite.”
Joram bowed and left.
Strangely agitated, David removed his crown and tossed it on his bed. He raked his fingers back through his hair. Temptation gripped him to summon Bathsheba and explain his plan, but he squelched the impulse. Why take any more risks when, in less than a week’s time, there would be no cause for fear of reprisals? Uriah would return to Jerusalem, where his king would treat him with the respect of an emissary. David intended to find out wha
t was happening at Rabbah.
And then he would send the Hittite home to his wife.
Bathsheba was the granddaughter of Ahithophel. Surely she would be quick to see the means of her salvation and fulfill her part in the plan. He would even send food and wine as reward for Uriah’s service. Any man who’d been gone as long as Uriah would be eager for his wife.
David clenched a fist as jealousy gripped him. The plan was repugnant, but he could see no flaw in it. Whatever he felt now about Bathsheba’s lying with another man, the act would save her life as well as that of his child. The plan would also save him embarrassment. If all went accordingly, Uriah would never know he’d been betrayed by his wife and cuckolded by a friend. David found grudging satisfaction in knowing that this child of his loins would be brought up by an honorable man who had adopted the ways of Israel.
He relaxed his fist and sighed heavily. He would allow the Hittite one night to get the deed done, and then he’d order him back to his duties at Rabbah. In a few weeks, Bathsheba could send word to her husband that she was with child, and Uriah could celebrate with his friends in the army while finishing the job of taking Rabbah.
The matter thus resolved in his mind, David stretched out on his bed and slept for the rest of the afternoon.
When her maid opened the door at last, Bathsheba jumped to her feet. “What news?”
The girl’s eyes flickered in discomfort. “The guard took me to the king’s court.”
“The king’s court?” Bathsheba felt weak and light-headed. How many courtiers had been in attendance when her message was delivered? How many tongues were now wagging with speculations? She didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know.
“Joram demanded to know who had sent me.” Her handmaiden started to weep. “I had to tell him, my lady. I had to. But I said it quietly. I said it so quietly, he had to bend forward and tell me to repeat what I’d said. And then he went forward and informed the king.”
“For all to hear?”
The girl’s face was pale. “No. He whispered into the king’s ear.”
Somehow that made everything worse. Bathsheba shuddered. “Did Joram take my message?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Did he give it to David?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And did the king summon you then? Did he give you a message to bring back to me? Did he say anything to you?”
“No, my lady, no, no—but how could he say anything with so many around to hear and wonder? He called for . . .”
“Called for . . . ?”
“The next case.”
Bathsheba turned her face away. “You may go.”
“Oh, my lady . . .”
“Go!”
Alone, Bathsheba sank to the floor and covered her face. It was too late to regret loving David, too late to regret giving herself to him without a word of protest. All she could do now was wait and see if David would remember his promise to her.
For now, it appeared he’d chosen to remember her not at all.
DAVID assessed Uriah as the soldier approached the throne. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, his skin weathered and ruddy from years in the sun, his mouth an uncompromising line. He’d removed his leather helmet and tucked it beneath one of his arms. David noticed the streaks of gray at the Hittite’s temples. He stopped in front of the throne, hit his fist against his heart, and bowed low before David. “My lord the king!”
When the Hittite straightened, David inclined his head with the respect due a man of proven loyalty and courage, well respected by captains as well as commanders, and even the king. No sign of curiosity lit Uriah’s eyes now. He was a consummate soldier, who obeyed his supreme commander without question. David knew that whatever he commanded, Uriah would do.
Relaxing, David leaned back. This was going to be easy. “How does Joab fare? Tell me about the people and how the war prospers.”
“All goes well, my lord the king.” Uriah gave detailed information on how Joab and Abishai had employed the captains and the soldiers beneath their command. Uriah gave a full picture of the situation. He spoke of skirmishes in which the Ammonites had been chased back inside the city “like dogs with their tails between their legs.” David laughed with him. Uriah spoke of the fear upon the land since David had defeated Hadadezer and his allies the previous year. “Hanun is alone. It’s only a matter of time before Rabbah falls and Hanun’s crown will be placed in your hands.”
Nodding, David smiled. “Good news, indeed. Is it not so?” He looked around at the other men in court who received the news eagerly. He returned his attention to Uriah. The time to show magnanimity was right. “You may take your leave, my friend. Go on home and relax.”
A frown flickered across Uriah’s brow. “My lord the king!” With a fist against his heart, he bowed low again, straightened, stepped back, and turned with the precision of a marching man. David stifled his jealousy as he watched the Hittite stride from the throne room.
“Joram.” He beckoned his guard. “I want a meal prepared for Uriah and his wife, something special, something that will bring back fond memories of their wedding feast.” He gripped the arms of his throne tightly. “Have it prepared and delivered to Uriah’s house immediately.”
“Yes, my lord the king.”
Good food would help Uriah relax and make the transition from battlefield to a peaceful night in the arms of his beautiful young wife.
David spent the rest of the day hearing various cases brought before him by the people. The trifling disputes tried his patience, but the time he spent resolving them kept him from dwelling upon the thought of Bathsheba in the arms of another man.
He would give Uriah one night to do what was expected, and then the man was going back to Joab at Rabbah.
Bathsheba was feverish when her mother greeted her in the marketplace with news that Uriah had been seen entering Jerusalem. “He must have news from Rabbah,” her mother said, going on to make a dozen speculations while Bathsheba felt the sweat break out on her body. What could David possibly be thinking? Was he going to confess to her husband? Would he claim she’d seduced him by parading naked in front of him? Or had he other plans? Would he offer gifts to absolve his guilt? She told her mother she wanted to prepare to see her husband and hurried home, where she remained, pacing in agitation.
When Joram and several servants of the king came to her house laden with trays of succulent food, enough quantity and variety to please a king, she was alarmed. “What is all this?” Surely David wasn’t intending to come into her house. Her neighbors would see and talk. The whole city would know of their affair!
“Tell Uriah that the king sends his best wishes for a pleasant evening,” Joram said with a mocking smile.
“Uriah has been serving in Rabbah.”
“Indeed, until he was summoned from Rabbah to report to the king about the war. My lord the king gave him leave to return home and spend the night with you.”
She felt the heat come up from her toes to the top of her head as she understood the full implication of what Joram was saying. “Uriah isn’t here.” And even if he had come home, he would not put a hand upon her. Did David know his men so little? Had he forgotten the Law? When a man was called out to war, he was to remain abstinent from sexual relations. He was to save his strength for battle against the enemies of Israel rather than spend it on his own pleasure.
“Then I will find him,” Joram said. “I will inform him of what the king has done to honor him.” He waved the servants out and left.
Honor Uriah? Shame swept over Bathsheba as she realized the way David had chosen to help her. He was attempting to hide their sin of adultery by enticing her husband to sleep with her and believe he was the father of her child! Was this the fulfillment of David’s promise to help her? He was drawing her into deeper sin, pulling her down further into sorrow and shame. If Uriah gave in to his fleshly nature, David expected her to lie and pretend to rejoice that she was with child, for everyone
would naturally assume the child was Uriah’s. Uriah would have to bear the embarrassment of having broken his vow of abstinence.
Oh, she saw everything so clearly now. David, commander of the army of Israel, rested in his palace while his army fought the war. The king, restless and bored, peeping at her as she bathed and summoning her for his own pleasure. He hadn’t cared that she belonged to another man, a man who’d been his friend through the hard years of running from King Saul, a man of proven loyalty, a man both valorous and honorable! And she had gone to him, her heart in her hands, giving everything of value to him. She’d prostituted herself to her idol-king, who took his leisure while men like her husband risked their lives to win his battles against Israel’s enemies!
How would she face Uriah when he came home? How would she look into his eyes and survive the anguish? How could she have betrayed him like this? She’d succumbed to her childish fantasies and made a fool of herself, imagining that one night of passion meant anything lasting to a king! She’d served to sate his desire for a night. She meant nothing to him. He’d probably forgotten all about her until she sent him that message! Did he curse the inconvenience of her conception?
“What have I done?” She groaned, her arms hugging herself as she rocked back and forth. “What have I done?”
Joram returned. “Your husband is sitting at the door of the king’s house with all the servants of David. I told him of what the king sent in his honor.” He stepped forward. “You must go to Uriah, my lady. Go to him and do whatever you must to bring your husband home to you for the night. It is the king’s wish that you do so.”
The king’s wish.
If she fulfilled her part in the abominable plan, the king’s reputation would be unblemished by scandal, she would live, the child would live, and Uriah would never know the truth. She could go on pretending she was the dutiful, loving, faithful wife. She could have the child she’d longed for. The people would be spared the same anguish she now felt, realizing the man she’d loved and worshiped for so many years was deeply flawed. He was no longer the charismatic boy who had killed Goliath and rallied the nation. He was a king whom power had corrupted, for he had become selfish, cunning, and capable of deceit.
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