“Does my grief surprise you?”
“I heard stories . . .”
“Tell me. Come, you need not fear me. You have all been my own true friends in this palace. I Am knows I have precious few. What stories have you heard?”
“I heard of the frightened woman the king stole for himself. I came into the service of the court after the wedding, but I heard of the shock and fear which was plain on the bride’s face. I heard of the arguments, and how none can please her, and how she weeps at night.”
“And now you are trapped with her for months.” I turned away and looked down on the city, and the tiny fires which flickered like the stars above. “My husband is an evil man, but I Am promised justice would come. I suppose it has.” The faint weeping of a woman rose from far below. “And many suffer in the sins of their ruler.”
“Is that why you are sad?”
“I am sad because I am trying to tell myself I am glad the King is gone. But it is not true.” Abishai gave me a precious smile, full of the sweetness of a young woman who hopes for love and fears her life may turn out like mine; and I embraced her, something I had never done to any of my maids.
The next morning, it was Abishai herself who called us all to the curtains of moving glass which partition the balcony from my room. “A procession, mistress! On the horizon!” We all stood, silent, waiting. I gasped and spoke the curtains open and stood at the edge of the balcony.
“Mistress! You said it was dangerous!”
“Do you see the man at the head of the procession?” I rushed to the back room and placed my palm on one of the walls above the bath. It slid back. “I will return for you all,” I said; but when I saw the fear and hope on their faces, I went back and embraced each one, not having words to thank them. I saw to good marriages for each one of them, but only Abishai writes to me of her children.
Then I walked down the dark corridors of which few know, as far to the front gate of the palace as I could. I watched from high above as David, his beard unkempt and shoulders sagging and eyes bright, rode slowly through the crowds. They cheered from time to time, but I saw more than one weep as they welcomed their king. One man bowed before the King’s massive destrier and asked forgiveness for cursing him; another hobbled over to say he had not accompanied the king because his servant had lied. I watched as David embraced each one, and I saw the joy on each face as he did.
I waited in that corridor until nightfall, not wanting to return to the questions of my maids. When the sun had set, I asked the spirit in the wall where I could find the king, and took a route by which none would see me. I walked through the corridors of the palace, wondering what I would say.
I entered the hallway which led to his bedchamber and looked toward his room, expecting it to be crowded with servants. It was empty save for the most piteous weeping I have ever heard from man or woman. If your worst enemy wept so, you would go to comfort her. I wondered who else the King had hurt and something fiery and heavy flared within my breast. I clenched my fists and strode down the hall. The smell of Palm’s prison returned.
But when I turned the corner, it was the King whom I saw on his knees, sobbing in his grief for the son who had tried to kill him. I stared for a moment and then went and knelt with him and let him sob in my arms.
Another time, I saw one of the great Malakim, who serve above the cosmos before the face of the Increate, standing higher than any building and holding a dripping sword toward the royal city. And I saw the King hurry to buy a plot of land to make sacrifice and cover the wrath of I Am for his act of pride. And I saw the blessing which came on the city after. The people said the Malakim themselves were standing guard at our gates, even though their bodies are too subtle for human eyes. I half believed it.
Years later, when the King was so old he could not stay warm at night, I saw the young thing they brought to sleep with him. I saw her wide, frightened eyes, and although I knew they meant to keep her from me, I went to her and shared clothes with her and tried to be her friend.
And when gray had entered my hair and I walked with a stoop, my maid entered my chamber one day to comb my hair, but her hands shook. I asked her what was wrong.
“The King,” she whispered. “He is . . .” And broke into tears. I took my cane and hobbled to his bedchamber and saw him laid on his bed, surrounded by physics. I dismissed them and took his withered hand.
Through labored breaths, the King whispered, “I have not touched her. Abishag, the young woman they brought to me.”
“I know,” I said.
“Who are you?”
“Bat-Sheva, wife of Uriah your soldier.”
“Why are you here?” the King breathed.
“I am thinking of what the prophet said to you.”
“That darkness would never leave my reign. He spoke rightly. I Am has punished me less than I deserve.”
“No,” I said. “That you are beloved still.” The King blinked and looked at me, and his eyes seemed to clear. I felt we saw each other for the first time.
The chamber, already dark for the sake of the King, suddenly grew black. The King breathed still, but somehow it seemed his breaths slowed to the pace of years. There was another, standing in the bedchamber with us. Had fear not stolen my voice, I would have called for the guards.
“Daughter of Abundance.”
“That is my name, but that is not my truth,” I whispered. I did not think I could speak, but his voice summoned mine.
“Why is that?”
“I have no abundance. It was taken long ago.” I remembered the faint light next to the bed and felt my robe torn from me once more.
“You once told the King it was good that his kingdom might be destroyed. Do you still think so, Daughter of Abundance?”
“No,” I said, and did not know it for the truth until the word left my mouth.
“Why?”
“Because I have seen the good which his rule brings. I have seen how the poor love the King. And I have seen the chaos which contenders to his throne cause, and how they do not care. And . . . and I have seen him. David. I have seen the man, at his best and his worst, and I do not hate him.”
It was not light which then shone, my son, nor was it a man. But I have no other words for the being I saw, or his beauty. The man put his hand through my chest, and I felt him touch my heart, and something which had clung to me since the first night I saw the King fell away. I looked up at him, and saw he was weeping. I knew then that uncreated fire which ecstatics long to glimpse.
As I looked, my son, I saw in that man the King which David was meant to be. I knew then how badly David had failed. And I saw what you are intended to be, O my son Peace, and the peace you are meant to bring under the hand of I Am. And behind the man, I saw a great fire raging, and nations burning within it. But whether it was the destruction of the line of David, or its purging, or both, I could not tell.
Then I was alone in the King’s bedchamber. I put my hand on David’s chest. He had stopped breathing.
***
You know the trouble, O my son Peace, which I have taken to have you crowned. I hope you understand now what trouble it has taken me to rejoice in the reign of David’s line. You have excelled higher than any of the other rulers on the surrounding worlds, and none dares attack you, all courting your favor instead. Yet I fear for you, O my son.
I thought to write this as another embassy came to you, that it might remain with you when I lie in the dust. I saw how you watched the serving girls drag their shouting idol into your throne room. You did not care for the wonders which their idol performed, or the promises and veiled threats of their priests and messengers. Did you think your own mother would not see? There is darkness in each one of these embassies. I see it in the cruel curves of their armor and their crackling weapons and the massive, moving statues of their gods. And in their women, different enough from human women for you to be curious.
O my son, let your heart not be ensnared. I have seen what it
is for a kingdom to burn. I hope you never do.
I, Bat-Sheva, Daughter of Abundance, former wife to Uriah and queen to King David, do sign this to you, my last letter. Know that you are beloved, as your father was.
Issue 16 Page 8
