Warrior Poet

by Timothy J. Stoner

  The prince had vanished.

  David’s foot slid forward, but a roar spun him around. As the animal pounced, it let out a bellow that slammed into him with the force of a rockslide. The ambush had been so sudden, and his turn so quick, that he lost his balance and was falling backward as the beast landed on top of him.

  Something hot and sinuous seemed to pool and gather in David’s chest. It coiled, gathering strength, kneading all his rage into a dense, dangerous mass. He clutched the rock in his hand and slammed it into the side of the monstrous head above him. He struck again and again, the animal’s blood spraying onto his arms and face. Finally, with a shuddering sob, he stopped. His fingers dropped the weapon, and he pushed the inert body off him. He lay motionless, his chest heaving as he drew in great gulps of air.

  That was when he had felt the hard edge of the couch on his shins and forced himself awake.

  He gave the couch one more kick and untangled himself from the cloak. I’ll sleep on the floor from now on, he promised himself, giddy with relief. He righted the couch and found the kinnor underneath. He set it in the corner and walked over to the small stand and poured water from one of the jugs into the bowl. He was throwing the cool liquid on his face when he heard a cautious knock.

  “Come in,” he said, drying himself with a soft cloth.

  A servant pushed his head into the room. “The prince asked that you join him and the king for a late breakfast.” His inquisitive gaze made David wonder what kind of information had begun circulating through the palace.

  “Is there something more you wish to say to me?” David asked, more pointedly than he’d intended. Images from his nightmare were still troubling him.

  The young man’s face reddened, and he looked away, shaking his head. He shut the door quietly. Through the hole in its center, David could see the servant stop and then move quickly away.

  The courtyard was empty except for the king and Jonathan. They were seated on pillows around a low square table under one of the canopies near the fountain. On the table, which was set for three, were colorful lacquered plates with matching small bowls and mugs in front of each. The centerpiece was an oblong dish heaped with small loaves of brown bread. Saul was speaking—but so softly that David could not make out the words. His son was sitting stiffly to his right, looking down at the food. A steady stream of servants wearing brightly colored tunics were coming and going, bringing trays of fruit and cheese, thinly sliced dried fish, pistachios, and almonds. Sisha was standing behind the king. He was holding a jug from which he was filling the empty cups with an unusually colored liquid.

  David stood uncomfortably across from the king, waiting to be acknowledged. The palms of his hands were damp. Saul lifted a cup to take a drink and took notice of David. Beyond the dark smudges beneath his eyes, there was nothing to indicate what had occurred the night before. The king seemed a different person. For an awkward moment, Saul stared at David without recognizing him. Imitating what he’d seen others do, David placed his right hand over his heart. He pressed hard, trying to keep his fingers from trembling.

  “This is David, Father,” Jonathan interjected smoothly. “He is the musician who performed for the army”—he stopped for a beat, as if weighing how to continue—“and sang for you last evening.”

  “Ahhhhh.” A brief cloud passed over Saul’s face, but confusion and embarrassment quickly gave way to a practiced courtesy. “Yes. Yes. The musical shepherd.” He inclined his head slightly, as if grateful to be able to place the young man. “Sit down. Sit down.” He pointed to the pillows opposite him, sounding not so much like a king but like an affable host.

  “Please try our cook’s specialty. I drink it every breakfast.”

  Tentatively, David sat down on the cushions. As he did so, he surreptitiously rubbed his hands dry on the soft material. Then he picked up the cup to the left of his plate and took a sip.

  “No! No!” roared the king.

  David nearly dropped the cup onto his lap.

  “Don’t drink it like an old woman,” Saul urged. “Take a manly swallow. It will not harm you.” He demonstrated by draining his cup in one gulp.

  David felt himself blush and drank deeply. He could taste grape and pomegranate juice, and a little honey. But there was a tang he could not identify. He smiled widely, unable to hide his exuberance. “That is delicious!” Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “May I have some more?”

  The king grinned broadly, looking as though he would have thumped David on the back if a table was not separating them. “You certainly may. By the way, I had a hand in the recipe.” Jonathan glanced at David, nodding at him encouragingly. “My own special touch is the crushed lime—for tartness.”

  David took the prince’s hint. “King Saul, this is by far the most refreshing drink I have ever tasted,” he enthused, taking another drink.

  The king lowered his head, acknowledging the compliment. When he lifted his eyes, he stared at David, not saying a word. Jonathan cast a nervous glance at his father but kept quiet. The silence stretched and was becoming uncomfortable, but David could not think of anything else to say. He waited, growing increasingly anxious.

  “You are a fine musician,” the king said eventually. “By far the best in the kingdom.” He took a long, slow sip from his cup, swirling it around in his mouth.

  It was David’s turn to beam.

  “I want you to be a part of the royal court.”

  Had he not already been sitting, David would have probably dropped to his knees. The blood rushed from his head, and everything seemed to be swaying in front of his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His tongue felt like leather. Not knowing what to do, he drew his shoulders back and placed his hand fervently over his heart.

  Saul’s eyes gleamed. “My son tells me that you are a gifted slinger as well. According to him, despite being a Judite, you are on par with our Benjamites, who, as I’m sure you are aware, are the best in the land.” He gave David a sly smile.

  “Though they are from my tribe,” Saul continued, “I will say this: they have a tendency to strut about as if they invented the weapon. They are good—and they know it. Till now, they have been the only members of my personal detail. I want you to join them. You will be the first Judite in the group of armor bearers.” He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “It will do them good to know they cannot make exclusive claim to excellence. It is not a wise thing for a servant of the king to grow overconfident.” There was steel now in Saul’s gaze.

  David swallowed hard. The tart drink was souring in his stomach.

  Jonathan looked at his father in surprise. “Father, I had intended to select David for myself—we agreed—as a replacement for Asa.”

  The king raised his hand to dismiss his son’s concern, but he stopped himself, shame creeping into his eyes. He threw up his palms in mock surrender. “Well then, I shall not take him from you.” He thought for a moment. “We shall appoint him to both. When we go on maneuvers and the forces are split, he can go with you. Otherwise he will be part of the Benjamites.”

  Jonathan’s jaw stiffened and his eyes sparked; then, with obvious effort, he gave an acquiescent nod. “Very well, Father. It shall be as you say.”

  They ate in cool silence until Sisha whispered in Saul’s ear. “I have matters of state to attend to,” the king declared without preamble, almost knocking over his cup as he lurched to his feet. Jonathan did not respond. Saul turned to leave, then stopped and looked at his son. “My apologies for yesterday,” he growled. “It will not happen again.”

  His expression softened as he glanced at David. “Young man, your music is a gift from God.”

  David pushed himself away from the table to rise to his feet.

  “No need for that,” the king said, gesturing for him to remain sitting.

  Saul ran his fingers through his beard,
looking over David’s head. David stared at the king awkwardly, waiting, unsure whether some kind of response was expected. Jonathan was taking a bite of fish and not offering any help.

  “I thank you for your singing last night. I sometimes don’t know what comes …” For a moment, Saul seemed about to continue, but instead he shook his head, turned heavily, and shuffled out of the courtyard. Two guards followed at his back, holding their spears across their chests.

  “He is very taken with you,” Jonathan said when the king’s chamber door shut. “And, I must admit, he is not the only one.”

  David looked down at the plates of food on the table. He did not trust himself to speak. His chest felt like it would burst. He knew that if he tried to say anything, his voice would betray him and make him sound like a child. To hide his discomfort, he took a bite of the dried fish.

  “What you did last night was nothing short of a miracle. My mother is extremely grateful. She made me promise to convey her appreciation. She wanted to tell you herself but is not feeling well.”

  The fish was so good, David took another piece.

  “Here, try this,” Jonathan said, holding out a cake of raisins and figs. “It’s one of my favorites.” David took a bite. The flavor was unexpected—sweet and tart as if the fruit had been dusted lightly with salt. He did not much care for it. “My sister is anxious to meet the new hero,” Jonathan continued. “And I am not referring to Michal, of course.” Jonathan’s face was inscrutable. “You have already made her acquaintance.”

  David looked at the dark, sticky mass of crushed dates and raisins in his hand. He was beginning to feel slightly nauseous. Not wanting to offend, he raised his hand to put all of it into his mouth. Suddenly a question came to him. “But, Prince, how can I stay here without my father’s permission?”

  Jonathan smiled. “The messenger is on his way to Bethlehem at this moment. My father sent him before breakfast. He will deliver news of the royal appointment directly to your father.” He stood, and David followed his lead. “I think that suffices for our breakfast. If you are going to be armor bearer to the king as well as to the prince, you will need to put in some practice with the bow. And you don’t want too full a belly, I can tell you. If you get good enough, maybe we will go bow hunting later. There is a bear that keeps attacking the flocks. I have told the guards that I want to kill him myself.”

  A shiver ran through David. “That would be an honor,” he said with a weak smile.

  “Knowing how you prize that lyre of yours,” the prince added, striding ahead of him down the hall toward the palace entrance, “I’ve given instructions for the messenger to bring it back with him.”

  “I appreciate that, my prince.”

  Jonathan had turned a corner and did not hear him.

  For the remainder of the day, he and Jonathan worked with the royal trainers. David learned more about the bow and arrow than he had thought possible. He was introduced to one of Jonathan’s younger brothers, Malki-shua, who was in a small group working on spear throwing.

  By early afternoon, David was near the bull’s-eye on more than half of his attempts with the bow and arrow. When his fingers had grown sore from pulling back the gut string, he began work on the use of the sword and shield as weapons of offense and defense. By the time the first session was over, his arms felt as if they had been battered by a thousand clubs.

  “Excellent work,” Jonathan said, clapping David’s back. “You began as a novice and reached the level of mediocre in only one day.” He laughed. “Don’t take me so seriously. I was joking. You have a natural skill with weapons. The instructors were impressed, and that is not easily accomplished. Even Uriah spoke well of you, and he rarely compliments anyone. You should be pleased.”

  Inside the palace’s entryway, Jonathan gave David’s shoulder a squeeze. “I am very glad that you are going to be part of the royal court.” He looked up the three stairs to the courtyard, where one long table had been made out of the separate tables scattered about. He gestured apologetically. “The evening meal is reserved for immediate family, unless it is a special feast. Then we have nearly a hundred milling about. Tonight you are free to eat with the guards if you desire, or the servants can bring you your food. It is your choice.”

  “I’m exhausted,” David responded quickly. “My arms and legs feel like boiled cucumbers. If it’s not too much bother, I think I’d prefer eating in my room.”

  “Fine,” Jonathan said. “Maybe we can go hunting tomorrow. Give you a chance to work on your marksmanship,” he said, heading for the staircase to the upper chambers.

  A servant brought David a plate heaping with food that he recognized from breakfast that morning. David was delighted; it was better food than he had ever tasted, and the quantities were impressive. On the table the servant also set a round lamp twice as large as Lydea’s.

  David ate sitting on a bench, looking out the narrow window. Saul’s palace was built on the highest elevation in Gibeah. Lights from scores of houses stretched out beneath David. Pride and excitement were bubbling inside him. He could not believe how much had changed in one day. Behind him, in the center courtyard, he could hear children’s voices and maternal scolding, along with the clinking of dishes and knives. He turned around to listen in. It was impossible. There were several conversations going on at once. Getting up, he walked to the door and put his ear against the hole in the center.

  He could now hear Jonathan’s voice, interrupted by male laughter and female gasps, as the prince recounted his attack on the Philistine garrison. David recognized the voice of Malki-shua, Saul’s second-born. David had not yet met the two other boys. He listened carefully but could not hear Saul’s voice. Everybody seemed to be talking over one another.

  David walked back and blew out the lamp so he could not be seen as he peered out through the hole. The king was partially obscured by the curved trunk of a palm tree. He was sitting at the head of the table, his back to David as he ate slowly and thoughtfully. At the foot of the table, David could see a woman whom he assumed to be Saul’s wife, Ahinoam. She was heavyset, with high cheekbones that still bore traces of youthful beauty. As she bent toward a little boy sitting next to her, David saw her face light up. Her smile was stunning.

  David felt a pang. He had never been part of a family meal like this. It was the happiest, most tranquil scene he had ever witnessed. There was the sound of more laughter, and he recognized it as Michal’s. It soared like a swallow on quick wings, settling in the palm branches above. He could just make out a head of dark hair and a band of silver cloth. All at once, he felt utterly alone. His throat tightened, and his eyes stung.

  He moved away from the door, feeling terribly tired. Recalling what had happened the night before, he removed the cushion on the sleeping couch and placed it on the floor. He was asleep as soon as he lay his head on it.

  He was awakened within moments, or so it seemed. A hand was shaking him. He opened his eyes with a start. Sisha was holding an oil lamp in his hand.

  “The king is sick.” The old man’s voice was taut. His hand trembled, causing the lamplight to dance drunkenly on the walls. “You need to come immediately.” His deep-set eyes looked like empty caverns.

  David glanced out the window. It was well past midnight. He pushed himself up and, as he was about to follow Sisha, noticed that his kinnor was lying on the round table next to the two jugs. He looked inside, saw that the broken string had been fixed, and closed the bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he walked out of the room. The darkness in the palace was lit by torches hung on the corner columns of the courtyard. David followed the guttering light that seemed to float several paces in front of him. Unlike the gentle flame suspended before the golden ark, this one jerked and twisted as if straining to fling itself at him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sisha stood at the entrance to the king’s private chamber. The doors were open,
and the guard was barely visible in the shadows. The gaunt servant was holding his lamp in front of him, directing its light into the dark interior. He turned his head and stared at David without uttering a word. Icy fingers tickled the back of David’s neck. The flickering lamplight was carving deep furrows along the sides of Sisha’s face. He looked like a corpse. David took the lamp and stepped into the doorway.

  Grabbing his arm, Sisha whispered, “Set it on the table next to the door. Bright light hurts his eyes. It makes him furious.” Sisha released his grip, and the doors closed behind David with a muffled thud.

  Strangely, Dishon was gone. David set the lamp down, trying not to make a sound. He waited for his eyes to adjust. The pile of cushions was empty. The curtains were pulled back, and through a large, triple-arched window a harvest moon measured him with a cool, unblinking gaze. On the rug in the center of the room, the shape of the arches was illumined by moonlight. Two measured steps placed him inside the patch of silvery light. He looked down at his feet and gave an involuntary start. The claws of a bird of prey woven into the rug looked like they were grasping at his sandals.

  He shifted sideways and glanced around the chamber. He was able to make out the king’s profile hidden in shadow. He was sitting on a wide couch in the farthest corner, staring down at an enormous two-handled cup on a low table next to him. Saul’s back was bowed, and his disheveled hair looked like a crane’s nest. He lifted his hand to push back a loose strand that hung into the cup in front of him. He could have been over a hundred years old.

  David sat in the center of the illumined patch to take advantage of the light. He slid his instrument out of its bag and with a gentle, sweeping motion stroked the ten strings. His kinnor was in perfect tune.