by Angela Hunt
No. I did not love him that way.
I reached across the empty space between us and took Abigail’s hand. “I will always care for him,” I promised her. “He is the father of my sons, my lord and my king. You can be sure I will never harm him.”
She drew a deep breath and smiled, though I saw the gleam of disappointment in her eyes. She had hoped for more, and I could not give it.
But at least Abigail and I now understood each other.
Absalom did not often come to court, but when he did I frequently felt the pressure of his gaze on me. He would sit with other tribal leaders in the throne room, usually across from the area members of the royal family occupied. Frequently I looked up and caught him staring at me; once or twice he even smiled. When he was not looking at me, I noticed he watched his father, and his expression grew more alert whenever David looked at me to share a smile or some other unspoken communication.
Once I leaned over and whispered in Michal’s ear, “Is it my imagination or does Absalom seem unusually interested in the king’s wives?”
She watched in silence for a moment, then confirmed what I’d been too discreet to verbalize. “It’s not the king’s wives that interests him. It’s you. He watches you, then looks at the king, then returns his gaze to you. It is almost as if he would test the bond between you and David.”
When Absalom stopped coming to court, I dismissed the matter from my mind. But one day my servant came in from outside, closed the door behind her, and dropped to her knees.
“My lady, forgive me if I am being intrusive.”
I put down the garment I had been sewing for Solomon, now quite the man at twenty. “What is it?”
The woman kept her eyes downcast. “I am acquainted with a man who stands guard at the king’s bedchamber. We were speaking in the garden, and he remarked that one of Absalom’s servants had been asking him questions. I’m sorry to bother you with this, my lady, but I thought you ought to know.”
My nerves tightened. “Go on.”
Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Apparently the servant from Absalom’s house inquired as to which woman the king sends for each night, who is summoned most often, and who is the king’s favorite. My friend said he tried to avoid giving a direct answer, but the man became quite persistent.”
I waited, but my servant appeared uncertain about proceeding. “Persistent in what way? Please, speak freely.”
She lifted her gaze to meet mine. “The man from Absalom’s house finally asked if you were the favorite wife. The guard was put off by the question, but when the man invoked his master’s name and insisted on an answer, he admitted that you spent more time with the king than any other woman. Then Absalom’s servant departed.”
I thanked my servant for her honesty and dismissed her, then sat in silence and sorted through a maze of troubling thoughts. Absalom wanted to know if I was the favorite wife. I could think of only one reason that might cause a prince to care about which wife the king favored. He wanted to know if David had promised that wife that her son would ascend to the throne. If he truly believed I was first in the king’s heart, Absalom would be certain to draw a target on my eldest son. On Solomon.
A few days later, my handmaid was arranging my hair when a messenger pounded on my door. I gave my servant leave to answer, and a moment later she returned with news that the king’s chief counselor wanted to see me at once. “Is it so urgent?” I tugged at a wayward curl. “I will be leaving my chamber before long—”
“The counselor said he’d be waiting in the garden,” my maid answered, clearly flustered. “Please, my lady, he seemed most anxious. Do not keep him waiting.”
What could Grandfather be worried about now? I thanked my handmaid for her efforts, then pulled a mantle over my sleeveless tunic. I did not like to go outside in the brutal afternoon sun, but Grandfather would not be put off.
I found him seated by a fountain, his forehead dotted with perspiration and his bony foot tapping with impatience. “Bathsheba!” Despite his obvious irritation at my delay, he stood, took my hands, and kissed my forehead. “Come, let us walk. I want to extend an invitation to you—and to your sons.”
I lifted a brow. “An invitation?”
“Please.” Grandfather gestured to the path that led to the balcony. “Let us walk.”
I took his arm and noticed that my grandfather seemed intent on getting us away from the shaded areas where we might be overheard by servants or gardeners. His lined face offered no clues, so I walked slowly, keeping pace with his unsteady stride. By my calculations, Grandfather was seventy-seven years old, yet still as quick and stubborn as he had ever been.
“I have made plans,” Grandfather said, “to spend the summer at my farm in Giloh.”
“Good. You always enjoy your time there, don’t you?”
“Why shouldn’t I? It is a restful place. This year I would like you and your boys to join me there. I am not long for this world, Bathsheba, and before I join my fathers I would like to spend some time with my granddaughter away from the palace. Please say you’ll join me in Giloh.”
I halted, caught off guard by his suggestion. “I appreciate the invitation, but I can’t leave the king for such a long time.”
“Can’t you?” He turned to face me. “The king is an old man, Bathsheba, and he doesn’t need a woman every night. Even if he did, he has a harem.”
My mouth fell open as indignation poured through my veins. “He’s younger than you! And as it happens, sometimes the king enjoys talking to me. I am his wife; I belong by his side.”
“I am your flesh and blood. I have only two granddaughters, and by my count David has seventeen wives and even more concubines. He doesn’t need you.”
I drew a breath, about to argue, but Grandfather had a point. David didn’t need me, but still . . . the thought of leaving him felt disloyal. He was my husband, and I his wife. I belonged with him.
I placed my hand on my grandfather’s arm. “I will ask the king if the boys and I can visit for a few days.”
“Not a few days.” Sweat beaded on Grandfather’s forehead. “Three months. I want you with me. If you won’t come, you must send the boys. If you can’t send all of them, send Solomon. He should spend the summer in Giloh.”
“Our place is with the king. But he is not unreasonable, so if you want us to visit for three or four days—”
“When are you going to see that he is not worthy of you?” Grandfather caught my wrist as his mood veered sharply to anger. “Look outside the palace and see what is happening in the city! You live in a protected suite, but tremors are shaking the foundation of David’s house, dangerous quakes that will destroy his kingdom, and you along with it. Come to Giloh, with or without the king’s permission. Bring Solomon, meet me in the palace courtyard, and I’ll take you out of here. I can hire a wagon—”
“No!” I pulled out of Grandfather’s grasp and backed away, horrified by the words pouring out of him. “We will not leave the king.”
“Then I cannot be responsible for you.” Grandfather radiated disapproval like a heat wave. “Samuel’s prophecy about your life—we can all see what being a tob woman has done for you. But your sons, your precious boys, are not going to survive David’s bloody history. If you care about them, if you care about your own life, you will come to Giloh with me.”
A scream of frustration clawed at the back of my throat. Grandfather always felt his opinions were more correct than anyone else’s, and I knew he would not soften his position. Still, I could not obey him because he could not be right. David had been promised an eternal dynasty, and Solomon had been promised the throne. Adonai could not lie. If David were to encounter any kind of trouble, I should be with him, not hiding on Grandfather’s farm.
I lifted my chin and met my kinsman’s gaze head on. “I am not yours to command. I will remain with my husband because this is where Adonai has placed me. So go if you must, but do not worry about me or my children. I will protect my sons wi
th my life, and Adonai will protect us and His anointed king.”
Grandfather’s eyes rested on me, then narrowed as he lifted his hands and backed away. “Ignore my counsel if you will,” he said. “But know that you are ignoring a man considered to be an oracle of God. When God speaks, you should listen.”
“When Adonai speaks, I will,” I snapped. “Though I love you, Grandfather, you are not a prophet, and you are not Adonai.”
He turned and moved away, rocking from side to side on his stiff hips, and I flushed with momentary victory. I had stood up to my strong-willed grandfather, and that was no small feat.
Yet a niggling doubt hovered at the edge of my thoughts. Grandfather never sounded an alarm without cause, so why did he feel so strongly that my sons and I were in danger? Did he have knowledge he hadn’t shared, and did this knowledge have anything to do with Absalom?
I walked to the edge of the balcony and scanned the valley beyond, half expecting to spot the fires of an enemy camp on the horizon. I saw nothing, but anxiety squeezed my heart and then slithered lower to twist in my gut.
Trouble stirred somewhere nearby, of that I was certain.
“Nathan the prophet wishes to see me?” I stared at the servant who huddled on the ground. “Are you certain?”
The young girl nodded, then sat up and jerked her thumb toward the harem gate. “He waits out there. He said I should find you at once.”
Perplexed and feeling a little guilty—had I done something to displease Adonai?—I left my bench in the harem garden and walked toward the gate. I could not recall Nathan ever coming to see me, or any of the king’s other women, for that matter.
His eyes lit when he saw me, then he bowed. “Rise, please,” I told him, smiling. “I am not of royal blood.”
“But you are the mother of our future king,” he said, keeping his voice low as he rose. “And I have come here to discuss Solomon.”
Tension nipped a nerve at the back of my neck. “Have you heard something? Has Adonai spoken of him?”
The prophet shook his head and gestured toward a path that led toward the Tabernacle. “Shall we walk? I will remain a discreet distance away, since I am not willing to entrust my words to a chaperone’s ears.”
I pulled my mantle over my hair and set out for the Tabernacle, walking slowly so we could speak without becoming winded.
“I have not come in the service of Adonai”—he kept his eyes on the cobblestones at our feet—“but in your service, my lady. For some time I have believed that Adonai would have me be your protector.”
I laughed softly. “I live in a royal harem, prophet. I am surrounded by guards.”
He chuckled too, and for an instant his gaze crossed mine. “I understand. If you needed a protector, surely the Lord would not send an unarmed prophet, eh? But still, for years I have felt a strong urge to protect you, and recently I have sensed danger from a nearby quarter. I do not believe you are in immediate danger, but I fear for your son.”
His verbalization of my own anxieties sent a drop of perspiration streaming down my spine. I turned to face him, my face burning. “Who would dare harm Shlomo?”
Nathan lowered his head, folded his hands behind his back, and seemed intent on the pathway. Realizing I had broken out of our small charade, with difficulty I turned to walk forward again, keeping my head and my voice low.
After a moment, Nathan spoke. “I daresay you know the answer to your question. I have been watching Absalom long enough to know that he plans to sit on his father’s throne. He has already killed Amnon. Before he wantonly kills any other brothers, he would certainly want to determine which son the king considers his heir.”
I forced a smile. “Perhaps we do not need to worry. Only you and I, Abigail and the king know that both David and Adonai have promised the throne to Solomon. The boy himself does not know because I’ve never told him.”
Again, the prophet’s gaze crossed mine. “What about Ahithophel?”
I tilted my head, admitting the truth. “Grandfather bases his conviction that Solomon will reign on Samuel’s prophecy. But he could easily be persuaded that Samuel’s prophecy meant something else. After all, it only promised great influence for one of my sons. It didn’t specify which son or what that influence would be. Grandfather is, however—” I hesitated, remembering his last visit—“he is very concerned about me and my sons. The other day he tried to get me to take the boys and go with him to Giloh.”
Nathan stopped. “Perhaps that is not a bad idea.”
I stopped as well and glanced back at him. “Do you really think the threat so serious?”
Nathan nodded. “Absalom has been nursing his wounds for four years. Most young men are not so patient, but even Absalom’s patience will eventually run out.”
We had stopped near a fork in the path. To the right lay the Tabernacle; to the left lay the king’s stables and the road that would take us out of the palace and into the city.
I gestured to the left. “Let us find a guard and a horse. Let’s go to Solomon’s house and speak to him. Perhaps I can convince him to go to Giloh for a while.”
Nathan shook his head. “You should not leave the palace without the king’s permission, so I will go. I will speak to your son and bring him to you. Perhaps it is time we had an honest talk with him about his future.”
With my hand at my throat, I nodded, hoping Nathan was right.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Nathan
THE LORD GAVE ME STRENGTH, opening a path for me amid hordes in the streets, throngs near the palace gate, at the marketplace, and at the crowded well. In time I found myself in the street where Solomon’s house stood, and the sight of a donkey tethered to a pole eased my frantic heart.
I knocked on the door and bowed to the servant who opened it. “Nathan the prophet,” I said, snatching a breath. “To see Solomon, the young prince.”
The servant stepped forward and peered left and right. “I don’t see him.”
“But . . .” I gestured to the donkey. “Isn’t that his mount?”
“Oh.” The servant laughed. “His brother Absalom came by and offered one of his animals for Solomon to ride. They have gone hunting.”
My pulse, which had begun to slow, increased its speed as my thoughts scampered like wild rabbits. “Do you know . . . do you know where they are hunting?”
The servant shrugged. “The wilderness?”
I wiped perspiration from my forehead and resisted the urge to box the young man’s ears. Of course they were hunting in the wilderness! Clearly, the lad had no idea where to find his master.
I waved him away and stood at the courtyard gate for a moment. I had no idea where Absalom hunted, but one thing was certain—he would not choose a place frequented by other hunters. If he meant Solomon ill, he would leave the city and go to some desolate spot.
I gripped my walking stick and plunged into the street, dodging people and donkeys and carts, threading my way through the crowd, intent on getting out of the city. I could only trust Adonai to reveal the princes’ whereabouts.
Chapter Forty
Bathsheba
I RETURNED TO MY APARTMENT and sat at my dressing table, my eyes fixed on a small carved pendant Shlomo had given me when he was five years old. He had been so proud of himself, so confident, but even then he had been wise enough to answer my thanks with a careful answer: “It gave me great pleasure to make this for you, Mama.”
My son. My pleasure and purpose, but never my pride.
I loved all my sons, but Solomon was not mine alone; he belonged to Adonai and to Israel. Hadn’t Samuel foreseen the moment when Solomon would step onto the dais that held his father’s throne? Hadn’t the prophet foreseen the glory and peace Nathan mentioned at Solomon’s circumcision?
If the Word of God was true, I told myself, then Solomon was not in danger. If God wanted him to sit on the throne of David, then Absalom could do nothing to thwart that plan. Nothing.
Yet God had ne
ver promised that Solomon would not be a wounded king or a crippled king, crawling from table to bed like my sister, Amaris. God had never said that Solomon would never be sick, or disfigured, or gravely injured—
“Help!”
The worst burst from my lips without conscious thought, startling the maid who was sorting linens in the next room. She rushed forward and stared at me from the doorway. “Do you need something, my lady?”
I need my son. I need assurance that he is safe.
I couldn’t speak those words, so I gave her a tight smile and inquired about the other boys. “Where are they?”
“Still with their tutor,” she said. “Shall I send for them?”
“No, leave them. They are fine.”
I waited until she went back to her work, and then I picked up the carved pendant, wrapped my fist around it, and pressed it to my heart as I begged Adonai to keep Solomon safe.
Chapter Forty-One
Nathan
MY CHEST ROSE AND FELL like a human bellows as I jogged over the road that led out of the city. I had asked several hunters, farmers, and travelers if they had seen Absalom or young Solomon that day, but no one had.
I had run quite a distance past my own house when I collapsed on the side of the road and rested my weary back against a huge stone. My attention drifted away in a mist of fatigue as my lungs redoubled their efforts at breathing. I drank in great gulps of air and asked myself if I was behaving like a fool.
Adonai had not commanded me to visit Bathsheba, but the Lord knew I had not gone to the palace to fulfill a selfish desire. I had gone out of conviction, certain that danger loomed before the young prince. I couldn’t say if that conviction rose from my own common sense, logical conclusions, from HaShem—or perhaps a combination of all three. I only knew I had to see Bathsheba, and now I had to find young Solomon.
I pressed both hands over my eyes as they burned with weariness. If I went home with my mission unfulfilled, Ornah would wonder if I’d lost my senses. What if I’d alarmed Bathsheba and run myself past the point of exhaustion for no reason?
