by Angela Hunt
I could think of only one conversation that might have such an effect on Uriah the Hittite.
I sat stock-still and listened for the voice of Adonai. Would I be given words to share with this loyal soldier? Or should I remain silent?
My heart roiled with emotions I wanted to express. Part of me disliked Uriah because he had married the girl I adored, but another part of me felt compassion for what he must be feeling if my instincts were true.
For a long while I sat and watched Uriah on his bench. More than once another soldier approached and attempted to talk to him, but Uriah rebuffed them all.
As midmorning approached, one of the king’s young messengers entered the courtyard. He rose on tiptoe, peering through the crowd, then walked directly toward Uriah. He said something to Bathsheba’s husband, and to my surprise, Uriah stood and followed the lad into the king’s house.
Overcome by curiosity, I rose and entered the great hall. A small group of men stood in the vestibule, but when the doors to the throne room opened, they shuffled inside. I brushed dust from my tunic and moved forward as well, hoping I would be permitted to remain and observe. After all, I was a prophet of Israel and personally acquainted with the king.
I whispered my name to the guard at the door and was quietly surprised when he allowed me to enter the long, rectangular room. At the farthest point of the chamber, David sat on an elevated throne surrounded by his counselors, several of his sons, and a great many guards. The king slouched casually, but a muscle in his jaw tensed as Uriah neared the dais.
I drew closer, threading my way through the others who sought an audience with the king.
“Uriah the Hittite,” David called, his voice resonating in the high-ceilinged space. “What’s this I hear? One of my guards has reported that you spent the night with your comrades in the palace courtyard. After being away from home so long, how could you do that?”
Uriah stepped forward, but instead of prostrating himself, he inclined his head in the slightest of bows. “I had to think of my comrades, O king. The Ark and the armies of Israel and Judah are living in tents, and Joab and my master’s men are camping in the open fields. How could I go home to dine and sleep with my wife?” His husky voice solidified to a tone as hard as iron. “By your life, by your very life, I will not do this thing.”
I blinked in astonished silence. I had quietly observed Uriah for months, and I had never heard him use a harsh tone with anyone. Furthermore, no one spoke to the king without addressing him as “my lord and king,” yet Uriah had just spoken not as a subject to his king but as one man to another.
If the king noticed any change in this steadfast soldier’s attitude, he didn’t remark on it. His lips curved as his chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. “Stay here today,” David said, giving the man a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Enjoy yourself. Dine at my table tonight so that I may honor a true warrior. And tomorrow I shall send you off.”
I tugged on my beard, suspecting that the king had not been truthful about his motivation. Dozens of courageous soldiers served in the armies of Israel, and David had never summoned any of them for such vague reasons. Uriah had not saved his commander’s life or killed a giant or captured a city. The only thing that connected him to David was Bathsheba, but why would the king want to unite a cuckolded husband with the woman he’d victimized?
I stared at Uriah, fascinated by the question, and watched as the soldier dipped his head in icy acknowledgment of his king’s request.
Unless I had completely misjudged the Hittite’s character, I did not believe he would go home no matter how much food and wine David forced on him. So what would the king do tomorrow? And how would Uriah respond?
I bit my lip, curious, but not at all eager to find out.
The next morning, Ornah rose before I did. After waking, I propped myself on my elbows and studied her as she squatted to care for our little girls. Her shape was more solid than sensual, composed more of straight lines than curves, but she had never been anything but a loyal, virtuous wife.
My heart flooded with gratitude that Adonai had not given me a beautiful woman.
Without speaking, I tossed off the blanket, then bent and wrapped my arms around my wife. She squealed in surprise while my daughters’ eyes rounded to full moons.
“Nathan? What ails you?”
I spun Ornah around and kissed her, then grinned at Nira and Yael. “Your mother is a wonderful woman,” I told them in an overflow of gratitude for Adonai’s blessings. “Be nice to her today.”
As Ornah stared, I pulled a clean tunic from the wall peg, put it on, and then grabbed my mantle and staff. “I’m going up to Jerusalem.” I reached for a hunk of bread in the table basket. “I should be home by sundown.”
Ornah looked at me like a woman who had just been knocked over by a charging goat. “You’re going again? Is everything all right?”
“All is well with us.”
“Are you sure?”
I didn’t answer but opened the door and breathed in the clean scent of fresh air. When I looked back at my wife, a small smile trembled on her lips.
I hadn’t seen her smile in a long, long time.
I left my family and began to climb the ascending path. I had barely traveled one hundred paces when I met a caravan of soldiers. Walking in pairs, most of them led donkeys that carried baskets, water jugs, and other goods—surely supplies for the army at Rabbah.
My pulse quickened when I recognized Uriah among the men. He walked with a spear in his hand and his head down, as if he were deep in thought.
Without thinking I stepped into his path and was nearly run over for my trouble. He looked up, blinking in surprise, then his face lit with recognition. “You’re the prophet.”
“Well met, Uriah the Hittite.” Turning, I scrambled to keep up with his long stride. “When I saw you yesterday, you were on your way to the king’s dinner.”
Uriah groaned. “Never drink too much of the king’s wine. My head is pounding even now.”
He looked at me, awaiting some kind of response, and I didn’t know what to say. I was desperate to understand what had happened with the king, but Uriah was not a man who liked to chatter.
“Please.” I tugged on his cloak. “Please stop a moment.”
Uriah looked at the man beside him, then shrugged and stepped out of formation.
While I stood beside the road, the voice of Adonai thundered so unexpectedly that I staggered backward. Uriah must have heard nothing but the wind whistling among the rocks, because his only reaction was a subtle frown. “Are you well?” His eyes ran over my form, taking in the unadorned tunic, the mantle, and the walking stick. “You’ll never reach the city without water. It’s too hot to ascend without it.”
“It’s not thirst that makes me tremble,” I whispered, struggling to speak and listen at the same time. The familiar light-headedness had settled in my brain, and the world had gone soft, without edges.
“What . . . ?” I struggled to hear the words Adonai rumbled in my ears. “What is that you carry at your belt, Uriah?”
Uriah startled, clearly surprised, and I understood the reason for his reticence. “I know you are carrying a message from the king,” I said, “for Adonai has told me so. If you would tell me what it says . . .”
“If you are a prophet, ask Adonai to tell you.” His face split in a grimace. “As for me, I do not know. And I will not open a sealed message from the king.”
No sooner had he uttered those words than the Ruach HaKodesh revealed all, and the weight of the revelation was enough to make me stagger.
Uriah caught my arm. “What is it?”
I shook my head, then lifted my hand to shield my face from the bright sunlight. Aided by this small shade, I studied the Hittite’s face, knowing I would never see him again.
“I am grateful,” I whispered, my heart welling with sympathy for the man who had given his all to a friend who had betrayed him. “I am glad that you did not kill the
king. And I am so very sorry for what must happen at Rabbah.”
“Do not fret on my account.” Uriah’s eyes gleamed in a moment of clean, transparent truth. “My life is the king’s to command. David is the Lord’s anointed and I—”
“You are a loyal soldier,” I interrupted, unable to stop myself.
Uriah shrugged. “Yesterday a wise man told me that HaShem has His purposes, and we need not try to understand them. No matter what my heart feels, no matter who implores me to act, I am sworn to serve the king. And so I shall.”
I lowered my gaze from his compelling eyes and spied the leather satchel at his belt. Inside, I knew, lay a missive written in David’s own hand, a letter commanding Joab to put Uriah in the front of the fiercest battle and draw back, leaving the Hittite to die.
With Uriah out of the way, David would be free to claim Bathsheba . . . and the unborn child.
Comprehension emerged from confusion, and the Ruach HaKodesh confirmed my intuition. Bathsheba was pregnant. Uriah had not gone home to sleep with his wife, and now the king wanted him out of the way.
And the Hittite knew it.
“I should not detain you.” I stepped aside, leaving the pathway open, even though we both understood where it would lead. I looked again at the man who loved Bathsheba and asked a simple question: “If you knew this road would lead to your death, would you continue on it?”
For an instant, a laughing light filled Uriah’s dark eyes. Then he sighed and gave me a grim smile. “Others may not fulfill their vows, but I will. I could not live with myself otherwise.”
“Even for her?” My eyes searched his. “Because she does love you deeply.”
He hesitated, and only his eyes revealed the torment within his soul. He flexed his jaw and stared at the road ahead. “I love her, and I know her. So I will not torture my wife by making her choose between a hard truth and an easy lie.”
I stepped back, my soul filling with admiration. Uriah the Hittite was a better man than I . . . and a far better man than his master.
I cleared my tight throat and clasped my walking stick. “Go then, my friend. And may HaShem grant you peace.”
The next day I presented myself at the king’s court to witness events as they unfolded. For Uriah’s sake, I wanted to watch the king’s scheme play out to its bloody conclusion. I also wanted to study David’s countenance when he learned that his loyal servant was dead.
My walk into Jerusalem had not been pleasant. A stinging wind had come up, riding the edge of an approaching storm, and sharp sand had invaded every crevice of my clothing by the time I reached the palace. I could not close my mouth without feeling grit between my teeth, and I knew I was leaving a trail of sand in my wake as I entered the king’s throne room.
The court bustled with the usual couriers, attendants, royal children, and guards. Content to watch and wait, I stood against the back wall and listened to various proposals, reports, and disputes that had been brought before the king.
The day was about half spent when a pair of couriers, dusty and perspiring, entered the king’s chamber, shouldered their way through the throng, and bowed before the man on the throne.
In a gesture that seemed overly theatrical, David gripped the gilded armrests of his royal seat. “Do you bring word from Rabbah? How goes the battle?”
I lifted a brow. He should have asked about the siege, but the king had slipped. Would anyone else catch his mistake?
One of the couriers stood and pressed his hand to his chest. “My lord and king.”
My vision misted over, and the scene shifted before my eyes. Leaning against the wall for balance, I saw Uriah hand the king’s letter to Joab. I saw the commander’s face twist with consternation as he read it. The king’s clumsy plan to leave Uriah alone at the front would leave no doubt that the man’s death had been arranged, so Joab would have to improvise. In order to successfully carry off the charade, more than one man would have to die—not only Uriah but other innocents, as well.
Though a vision of a field outside Rabbah filled my eyes, I heard the army courier’s voice echo in the throne room: “My king, the enemy came out against us in the open fields.”
I saw Uriah striding across a sunlit field, where a corps of valiant men waited. They welcomed him, slapping him on the back, then they crouched behind a stand of scrubby brush. Behind them, Joab stood with other soldiers, who faced the city and watched for any movement of the gates or along the stone walls.
The gates of Rabbah opened, and a group of defenders rode out on mules, spears and swords at the ready. Uriah and his companions sprang forward and attacked, unseating the men from their mounts and driving the city’s defenders back toward the walls.
A sour taste rose in my mouth. Every man in Israel’s army knew the danger of fighting next to a fortified wall, for during the time of the judges a tribal ruler had been killed when a woman leaned over a tower wall and dropped a millstone on his head. Joab knew of that danger, and he knew he ought to sound a retreat when the fighting drew near a city’s fortifications.
I watched, transfixed, as the previous day’s events continued to play before my eyes. I saw Uriah and his men strike at the Ammonites, who steadily retreated toward their stronghold. Step by step, blow by blow, Uriah fought his way forward, sweat streaming into his eyes, blood running down his arms, his sword flashing in the sunlight. Every ounce of his energy went into the fight; he was not looking for landmarks or keeping track of his position.
I saw one of Joab’s captains pick up a ram’s horn, ready to sound retreat and call the warriors back. He lifted the horn, but Joab put out his hand, stopping him.
A line of archers appeared on the top of the wall. I watched them knock their barbed arrows and pull their bowstrings, and then a rain of deadly missiles fell on the men of Israel. Undaunted, Uriah and his four companions continued to cut and slash and parry the enemies’ blows, until one by one they dropped outside the thick stone walls. Uriah, roaring with every effort, struck a death blow to the commander of the Amorite army. As he pulled his sword from his enemy’s corpse, an arrow sailed straight and true and struck the center of his forehead.
Uriah fell, wide-eyed, to the earth and lay silent, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword, his gaze blankly regarding the heavens.
I closed my eyes as tightly as I could, unwilling to stare disrespectfully at a hero of Israel.
And in the king’s throne room, lifting his voice in a dramatic crescendo, the courier finished his accounting: “As we chased them back to the city gate, the archers on the wall shot arrows at us. Some of the king’s men were killed, including Uriah the Hittite.”
My vision cleared, the city of Rabbah fading as my eyes focused on David’s face. The lines of tension that had marked his mouth and eyes melted away, and the faint suggestion of a smile twisted his lips. “I am sorry to hear this report,” he said, leaning back on the cushions of his throne. “Tell Joab not to be discouraged, for the sword devours this one today and that one tomorrow. Tell him to fight harder next time and conquer the city.”
Almost as an afterthought, David lifted his hand in a fist, a weak attempt at a call to arms, but I did not think the retreating couriers even noticed. They had turned to leave, their faces masks of relief. They had delivered a tragic report of their commander’s foolishness and hadn’t had to endure the royal tongue-lashing their report deserved.
I sank to the floor, overwhelmed by this brutal evidence of our king’s treachery. Was this why Adonai did not send me to upbraid the king for taking another man’s wife? HaShem had not been content to expose a mere thread of David’s sinful nature; He wanted to uncover the entire tapestry.
Chapter Nineteen
Bathsheba
I HAD JUST HELPED AMARIS TO BED when I heard the squeak of our courtyard gate. Alarmed by the thought of a guest at this hour, I hurried to the door and found my grandfather pacing in the courtyard. He walked with trepidation, his hands behind his back, his head lowered
and his brows tight with fury.
Through the gathering darkness I peered at his face. “Is there some trouble, Grandfather?”
He stopped pacing and spun to face me, then took a breath and lowered his voice. “Your king,” he said, his words clipped, “has murdered your husband.”
The words struck like a slap. I stepped back and felt the rough plaster of the house against my arms. “That can’t be true.”
“I only wish it weren’t.” With a glance to the left and right, Grandfather inched closer and shook his finger in my face. “I know, Bathsheba! I saw you leave the king’s palace that night, and I know David brought Uriah back from Rabbah in an attempt to cover his sin. I talked to your husband myself.”
“And you told him . . . what?” A thread of hysteria entered my voice as thoughts tumbled in my head. Uriah couldn’t be dead. As far as I knew, he was still in Jerusalem. The king was probably trying to find the right time to tell him what had happened, and then he would send Uriah to me.
A gleam of resentment entered my grandfather’s eyes. “I told him everything. He had to know that the Judean upstart we call king had stolen his wife. You should have seen his face when he heard. I’ve seen dying men look happier.”
Faced with the confirmation of my worst fear, I brought my hand to my mouth and choked off a scream. Pressure bloomed in my chest, tightening my throat and cutting off my breath.
“I told him, but my words didn’t have the effect I intended,” Grandfather snapped, his gaze falling on my still-flat belly. “It wasn’t difficult to understand why David kept insisting your husband return home. You are carrying the king’s child, and for that your honorable husband had to return to Jerusalem. I told Uriah to kill the king before he was killed himself, but instead he went off to war as if nothing had happened.” Grandfather shook his head. “Apparently he is less a warrior than I thought, and today’s news proved it. He is dead, killed at Rabbah. How convenient for your lover.”
