by Angela Hunt
Joab bowed again, then took the woman of Tekoa by the arm and led her away from the throne.
I leaned back and considered the scene with mixed feelings. Everyone who frequented the king’s court knew the king had not been himself since Absalom’s bloody feast, but most of us thought David mourned for Amnon. Yet Absalom had always been a favorite, no matter his misdeeds, so was the king actually pining for his murderous son?
From personal experience, David knew that murder was a serious crime against Adonai. David had repented of his sin, but to my knowledge, Absalom had not repented of his wrongdoing. In bringing his son back to Jerusalem, David would be ignoring Adonai’s requirement of blood for blood: “Whoever sheds human blood, by a human being will his own blood be shed; for God made human beings in his image.”
If David did not administer justice to Absalom, Adonai would.
With the eerie sense of detachment that precedes an impending disaster, I watched Joab leave. Absalom’s return could mean trouble, for the other sons, perhaps, but especially for Bathsheba and Solomon if Absalom ever learned that both Adonai and the king had already promised the throne to Bathsheba’s son. A man who had not hesitated to kill the king’s firstborn might not hesitate to kill again.
Adonai had decreed that the sword would never depart from David’s household. For the king’s sake, I hoped the decision to bring Absalom back to Jerusalem would not put the sword in enemy hands.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Bathsheba
WITH JOY SHINING FROM HIS EYES, the king had me sit on the edge of the bed while he explained that Joab had gone to Geshur to bring Absalom home. He told me about the woman from Tekoa, her fearlessness in artifice, and her insistence that Absalom not be harmed.
“When she told the story, she said her son’s life was at risk,” David said, pacing before me. “But I recognized her story as a ruse almost immediately. She was referring to Amnon and Absalom, and she was begging for Absalom’s life, pleading that no one harm him no matter how many people insisted he pay for Amnon’s death. So I have given the order. Absalom and his family are to be brought home, and my son is not to be harmed in any way.”
I clung to the edge of the bed and closed my eyes, unwilling to look at the king for fear he’d see the guilt in my countenance. Thoughts of Absalom living near Solomon sent a tremor of terror and dread through me. At fourteen, Shlomo was much younger than Absalom, but among the king’s sons, Shlomo sparkled like a ruby among rocks. What would happen if Absalom began to view Solomon as a rival? What would happen if he learned of David’s promise to me, and Adonai’s assurance that Solomon inherit the king’s throne?
I clenched my jaw, silently ruing the day I pulled Joab aside to express my concerns. I had wanted to end David’s sorrow, but I had not expected this outcome.
“When?” I managed to whisper. “When will Absalom return?”
“As soon as possible.” David stepped forward, clasped my shoulders, and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Bathsheba, it does my heart good to know my son will be home in Israel, where he belongs. I cannot have him at court, of course. People would think I was somehow condoning murder, and I could never do that. But it does my heart good to know he will be nearby. How I have missed seeing that boy!”
I stared at him, wondering if he realized what he had said. He’d missed seeing Absalom, missed taking pride in his handsome appearance and manly form. But he hadn’t missed being with Absalom, for if he had spent any real time with the young man, he might have realized how ambitious Absalom was.
The king sat beside me, looped an arm around my shoulders, and turned my face to his. Though I tried to disguise my apprehension, apparently I wasn’t successful.
“What’s this?” His mercurial brown eyes sharpened. “Are you not happy about Absalom?”
“May it please the king”—I forced a smile—“I am always pleased when you are happy. But I cannot help thinking of my boys . . .”
“Do not worry, wife.” He tapped my nose, then kissed me again, this time on the lips. “I’m sure Absalom has matured in his time away. Didn’t you hear me say that he won’t be allowed at court? Your sons will be safe, as will all my sons. And Absalom will be home.”
He leaned back on the mattress, searching my face as he waited for my reply. I nodded, reminding myself that I was only a woman, only one of many wives. “May Adonai prosper and protect my lord and his sons, wherever they are.”
He gave me an indulgent smile and ran his finger down my neck until it tugged my garment from my shoulder. “Now—” he pressed his lips to my bare arm—“let us celebrate this good news. I have been melancholy far too long, and I have missed you, my love.”
“I have missed you,” I replied truthfully. But as I caressed his face with gentle fingertips, I couldn’t help remembering the prophet’s curse. A sword hung over the house of David, and rather than let Absalom harm my sons, I would throw myself in front of that sword. I would do anything to preserve my sons’ lives, even if it meant conspiring against the husband I was trying to honor and obey.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Nathan
WHEN I DID NOT HAVE TO WORK IN THE FIELD or help Ornah make cheese, I enjoyed following the road to David’s palace. As a prophet, I had been given leave to sit in the great hall and watch as the king and his counselors governed Israel. David was now in his mid-fifties—an old man, according to many. Though he could be as fierce as ever, at a glance anyone could tell that he no longer possessed the wild courage of his younger days. Yet those of us who made a habit of studying David noticed a definite improvement in his disposition immediately after Absalom’s return to Jerusalem. While the king refused to visit his son or permit Absalom to come to the palace, David seemed content to know that Absalom and his family were once again living within the walls of Jerusalem.
Absalom brought more than his family and his flocks when he returned; he also brought the sad news that his sister Tamar had died in Geshur. The report spread throughout the city like a contagion, and those who told the story whispered that the girl had taken her own life. Soon all who lived in Jerusalem mourned for the king’s lovely daughter and praised Absalom for caring for his sister.
On the day of Absalom’s return, public opinion considered him the king’s wayward son. A week later he had become an avenging hero. Six months after that, he was quietly cheered as Israel’s future king.
In his mid-twenties, Absalom was a prime example of youth and virility. Everyone in the city fawned on his wife, three sons, and two young daughters, whom he’d named Maacah, after his mother, and Tamar, after his sister. According to all reports, the young Tamar’s beauty would one day equal or surpass her namesake’s.
Certainly no man in Israel was more celebrated for attractiveness than Absalom. I heard young women praise him as I walked the streets, declaring they could find “no defect on him, from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head.” The crown of his head was adorned by unusually long and thick hair. Seeking an explanation for such a wonder of nature, several learned men claimed the king’s son had been blessed with the hair of Adam, the first man of creation, making it a supernatural gift.
Absalom cut his hair only once a year, and the only reason he cut it then, he claimed, was because its weight slowed him down. After the annual haircut, the barber swept up trimmings that weighed over five pounds. At Absalom’s second annual haircut, the barber charged an admission fee for those who wished to watch.
As Absalom’s popularity grew after his return to Jerusalem, I wondered if Adonai had permitted David’s son to come home because Amnon’s murder might be considered justifiable. After all, the king’s firstborn had committed a serious sin against Tamar, and Tamar had subsequently gone to her grave in sorrow. The people of Jerusalem adopted this theory and held it firmly, but I was not a judge, and Adonai had never spoken to me about Absalom.
One day as I walked the path to the barley fields where each Jerusalem household maintained a plo
t, I spied a young family. Three boys were running through a newly planted acre while two little girls remained close to their mother. The father, a well-built, sturdy fellow, was calling directions to his servants, and he turned when he heard my footsteps on the rocky path.
I gasped, recognizing Absalom. If he hadn’t been recently shorn, I would have known him by his shining mane, but the striking face left no room for doubt. Holding my gaze, the young man finished his directions to his servants, then walked toward me.
“Wait, please.” His voice rang with authority. “I would have a word with you.”
I leaned heavily on my staff as I watched him approach with the sure grace of a forest creature. Adonai had blessed me with good health and an adequate body, but I would never command attention the way Absalom did. Some of HaShem’s creations—Absalom, Tamar, Bathsheba, and even David—had been blessed in a way I never would be, and I had never coveted that quality until that moment.
“You are the prophet, are you not?” Absalom smiled when I nodded. “Good. Perhaps you would be good enough to perform a service for me.” The shining dots of perspiration beading on his forehead only served to highlight his hair. “I have twice sent messages to Joab, and he has refused to acknowledge them. I would like to speak to him, but if I went to his house, I don’t think I’d be welcome.” Absalom tilted his head and grinned, every tooth in perfect alignment with the others. “I can’t search for him at the palace, so would you be good enough to tell him to come see me? He is a kinsman, after all.”
I hesitated, torn between good intentions. Ordinarily I wouldn’t hesitate to do a favor for another man, especially one of the king’s sons. Yet by refusing Absalom’s requests, Joab had made his wishes clear. If I were to do this favor, I’d be inserting myself into a situation that had nothing to do with my calling from Adonai.
I bowed as a sign of respect, then returned the prince’s grin, though mine was nowhere near as charming. “I am sorry, but I cannot do what you ask. If the captain wishes to speak to you, he will seek you out.”
A flash of irritation flitted across that handsome face, then Absalom heaved a sigh and gave me another shining smile. “Well said, prophet. I see you are as wise as you are circumspect.” He took a step backward, lifted a hand in farewell, turned and went back to his family.
Two days later, I heard that Absalom had commanded his servants to set Joab’s barley field afire. If that didn’t result in a conversation with the king’s commander, nothing would.
Lying beside Ornah in our small house, I dreamed.
In spirit I floated into King David’s room, where a harp lay on a table beside his bed. A wind blew over the strings, and the rippling tones woke the king, who stirred, sat up, and got out of bed to begin composing a new psalm. Bemused, I smiled at the busy king. Then the scene shifted. I was standing in a shadowy forest, the area dominated by a gigantic terebinth tree. The massive limbs spread toward the north, east, and west, its canopy effectively blocking the sunlight. The musical wind played here as well, moving the leaves until they applauded in praise to HaShem. Only then did I notice an object hanging from a low branch.
I moved closer. The object, which turned and twisted in the wind, was a man, and for a moment I didn’t recognize him. Then I realized I was staring at Absalom, the king’s son. His thick hair had become tangled within the tree, and Absalom had pulled a dagger from his belt and was attempting to cut himself free.
I stared as surprise siphoned the blood from my head. The sight of Israel’s best-known prince dangling by his hair was so unexpected, so absurd, that I nearly laughed aloud. Though I saw no sign of a mule, somehow the prince had lost his royal seat.
As I watched Absalom struggle, a great ripping sound shook the forest, and the ground split beneath the prince’s feet. He looked down into a breach filled with steaming red mud and hissing black stones that moved and melted in the fissure.
Without being told, I knew I was looking into the abyss of Gehinnom. From the expression of stark terror on his face, Absalom had recognized the place, too. He dropped his dagger, no longer willing to fall free of the tree, and then his panic-stricken eyes met mine. They widened and filled with wordless appeal, but I could do nothing to save him.
And then I woke.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Bathsheba
I SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED IT TO HAPPEN—knowing David as I did, and knowing of his obsession with his most handsome son, I should have been prepared.
But I had relaxed during the years Absalom lived as an exile from the king’s court, and the palace walls had sheltered me from the outside world. Because Elisheba lived with me, she was no longer a source of gossip about daily life in Jerusalem.
So when the king asked all his wives and children to attend court one spring morning, I dressed with care, thinking we were about to celebrate a treaty, a birthday, or some gift the king wished to bestow on one of his soldiers. Shlomo, tall and thin at sixteen, met his brothers and me in the palace courtyard, and together we walked through the central doorway to the throne room. We bowed before David, then made our way to the area where members of the royal family sat in attendance on the king.
When we had all assembled, David nodded, lifted his hand, and gestured to Joab. At this signal, the army commander, looking unusually grim, threw open the double doors and announced his guests in a loud voice: “Presenting Absalom, son of the king, his wife, and his children.”
Something cold trickled down my spine at the sight of the young man who had murdered the king’s firstborn. Absalom seemed to have grown bigger in the five years he’d been away from the palace, wider somehow, and more robust. He strode majestically forward until he reached his father’s throne. He bowed, pressing his forehead to the floor, until David rose, walked forward, and touched his shoulder. Absalom stood, his eyes glowing with anticipation. I saw his hands move as if he would embrace his father, but David did not open his arms to his son. Instead, the unsmiling king caught Absalom’s left hand, kissed it, and turned, offering his back to the son who had returned.
The empty air between David and Absalom vibrated, the silence filling with disappointment so bitter I could almost taste it. Absalom swallowed hard as his father again took his throne. The prince stepped to the side and introduced his family. “My wife,” he said, smiling at the crowd, “and my children.”
I stared at David, baffled. For three years he had pined for Absalom, and then the young man had returned. But even though Absalom lived in Jerusalem, David had not once confronted or counseled his son, yet Absalom still managed to find a way back into the palace. Clearly, however, David was not eager to welcome him. Resigned? Perhaps. Happy? Not at all.
If this had been staged as an act of public reconciliation, only those who had not witnessed it would believe that any sort of reconciliation had taken place.
Absalom turned toward us, the king’s family. He caught my eye and dipped his head in acknowledgment, though his gaze lingered on Solomon. I wanted to throw myself in front of my son and shout that Absalom should never look at, never even think about Shlomo, but that sort of behavior would not please my lord the king. So what could I do? David had allowed his scheming older son to return to court, and I could do nothing but accept Absalom’s presence. I would be expected to smile at him, honor him, and perhaps even obey him.
In that instant, I realized I did not have the power to protect any of my sons.
I closed my eyes and wished I could shout out a message for the world to hear. My Solomon will be the next king! But David had not mentioned making the news public, and I understood why. At sixteen, Solomon was still a youth, and anything could happen to him—a hunting accident, a slip of a sword, a poisoned dish. Even in the guarded halls of the palace, plots and schemes developed, any one of which might prove dangerous for my son.
By remaining silent, however, David allowed his other children to dream of power. With Amnon gone, Absalom would be the presumptive crown prince, and over the next
few years he could forge alliances that might prove fatal even to his father. Absalom was old enough to be king, and Adonijah, Shephatiah, and Ithream also waited in the shadows.
Blood pounded in my ears as Grandfather stepped forward and invited Absalom and his family to a banquet. I closed my eyes, fervently hoping that Solomon and I would not be expected to attend. Or, if we were, that we would be seated far across the room, away from the attractive man I could neither admire nor trust.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Nathan
STANDING WITH OTHER OBSERVERS in the king’s throne room, my mouth twisted with the acceptance of a terrible knowledge: history was repeating itself before my eyes. A son who yearned for acceptance and approval from his father had found none.
I lowered my head out of respect as Absalom and his family walked away from David. Absalom would probably smile falsely for the rest of the day, making much of his return to the king’s court and the bosom of his family. But in truth, the king had greeted enemies with far more cordiality, and other members of the royal family—especially Bathsheba—had looked at Absalom with fear in their eyes.
I slipped away from the crowd and left the throne room, wandering toward a quiet seat in a stone alcove. Soldiers and visitors occasionally walked through the hallway, but for the most part silence reigned here, allowing me to be alone with my thoughts. If Adonai wished to speak to me in this place, I would be ready and quick to hear His voice.
Sitting in the alcove, I was filled with remembering. When David fled from Saul, he came to see Samuel, my teacher. While staying with us, he wrote one of his tehillim and read it to the prophet:
For your sake I suffer insults,
shame covers my face.
I am estranged from my brothers,
an alien to my mother’s children,
because zeal for your house is eating me up,
