by Angela Hunt
With my eyes closed and my eyelids shaded, I stood in darkness, and then I heard a sound I’d missed. A groan. Frantic breathing, so close it might have been on the other side of the rock I leaned upon.
I opened my eyes and turned. The scrubby land behind me was empty, populated with small shrubs, a few scattered trees, and boulders. I ventured into it, straining to listen, and when I heard nothing I covered my eyes again.
“Le me hear, Lord,” I whispered, blind in the shimmering desert.
I heard the sounds again. A groan, accompanied by frantic breaths. And farther away, the clumsy clip-clop of a wandering donkey.
I kept my eyes closed and trudged forward, pulling back when I ran into a bush, pressing through the shrubs and occasionally stumbling over a rock. When the sound had become so loud I knew I could not miss the source, I opened my eyes and found myself in the shade of a terebinth tree. I lowered my gaze and there, to the right, I saw a pale hand on the sand.
“Solomon!”
With a certainty borne of conviction, I rounded the tree and found the young prince lying on the ground, an ugly bruise and cut at his temple. The wound would certainly not be fatal, but I could not understand who or what had inflicted it. Holding the unconscious prince’s wrist, I glanced around, and spotted a brightly feathered arrow in a shrub some distance away.
I glanced back at the young man’s wound. The arrow had grazed him, no doubt. A hunting accident, one that might have proved fatal had I not arrived to stop a second arrow.
“Solomon.” I patted his cool cheek. “Solomon, wake. I have promised to take you to your mother.”
His eyelids fluttered, then opened. For a moment he stared at me, confused, then a slow smile quirked his mouth. “You’re the prophet.”
“I am. And I believe Adonai sent me to fetch you today.”
“What about Absalom? He sent me after a buck—”
“Did you see the buck?”
Solomon’s smile went sheepish. “No. I was following a rabbit.”
“Perhaps the buck was behind you, then. Your brother’s arrow struck your head—forcefully, I’d wager, since you’re lying on the ground. But not forcefully enough to do any permanent damage.”
Solomon snorted, then attempted to sit up. I extended my arm, offering assistance, and he gratefully accepted it. “What’s this about my mother?”
“She would like to talk about your future. When we find your donkey, we’ll ride back to Jerusalem.”
We separated to look for the beast, but I did not allow Solomon to leave my sight. I was circling the terebinth, looking for hoofprints in the soft sand, when a shadow fell across my path. I looked up in time to see Absalom standing on a ridge, his bow upheld, an arrow on the string. Solomon, oblivious to his brother’s appearance, stood downhill, his attention focused on the ground.
“Well met, Absalom,” I called in my loudest voice. “You are a most blessed man today.”
The older prince startled and hastily lowered his bow. With wide eyes he looked from Solomon to me, then back to Solomon again. “I thought . . . I thought I saw a deer.”
I smiled and came out from behind the tree. “Apparently there are many deer in this area. I have not been fortunate enough to see one today, but then I am not a masterful hunter, only a prophet of Adonai.”
Absalom came down the ridge, his attention shifting to his brother. “Solomon! Is that blood on your ear?”
“And my head,” Solomon said, grinning. “Your aim is off today, brother.”
Indeed it was.
I motioned to Solomon. “Come, my boy. Let us walk to the palace and leave Absalom to find his donkey. We should not keep your mother waiting.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Bathsheba
MY NERVES GREW TIGHTER with every passing moment. As the shadows lengthened and the day sped away, I worried that Nathan would not find Solomon; that my son had already ventured into the grave.
Should I go to David? What could I tell him? That Nathan had experienced forebodings and I suspected Absalom of murderous mischief? I might have gone. I might have run to him but for one realization: David loved Absalom, too.
I fell to my knees and pressed my forehead to the floor. “Adonai,” I whispered, “there was a time when I counted your word a curse, but now I cling to it. Being a tob woman, hard as it was, brought me Solomon, and I love him desperately. I confess that my heart is fickle and my spirit more eager to embrace comfort than struggle, but please, Adonai, be faithful to your word. Bring Solomon home safely.”
I had just finished uttering my prayer when I heard footsteps in my courtyard. My servant stood at the door, pointing toward the hallway outside the harem. “The prophet has returned, my lady, with Solomon. They are most eager to speak to you.”
Without even pausing to check my appearance, I hurried out to join them. I cried out when I spotted the cut and bruise on Solomon’s temple, but both men assured me that the wound was not serious. “He might have a headache, though,” Nathan added, looking pleased to have completed his task. “But Adonai has kept him from real danger.”
If Solomon had any idea of the heavy meaning behind the prophet’s words, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he looked at me, a question in his eyes. “You wanted to speak to me, Mother?”
“Nathan and I,” I replied, gripping his upper arm. “But not here. Let’s go to the garden where we can speak freely.”
In the garden, I listened while Nathan shared the words he had uttered at Solomon’s first public appearance in the throne room. “You will be king one day,” he finished, his voice calm and neutral, “not because of anything you have done, but because it is Adonai’s will to place you in that position. Adonai has great love for your father, and also has great love for you. David’s house is an eternal one, and of his kingdom there shall be no end.”
Solomon, still much a boy even at twenty, looked from the prophet to me. “You knew of this, Mother?”
I nodded.
“Why did you never say anything?”
“Why did you need to know?” I allowed myself to smile. “I would not have burdened your youth or inflated your ego. Even now, I would charge you to say nothing of this to anyone else, especially your brothers. Loving them as you do, I’m sure you would not want to say anything that might incite them to jealousy.”
He lifted a brow as if surprised that any of his brothers could fall prey to that dangerous emotion, then he nodded. “My father the king will live a long time still,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I will try to put this information out of my mind.”
“No,” Nathan said. “You cannot forget where your destiny lies. For the rest of your father’s life, you must observe life as it happens around you. Take note of what people do and what they say. Learn all you can about the royal court, for it is a treacherous and often dangerous sea of ambition and pretense. If you would be a good king, a wise king, you must know how to detect undercurrents and conspiracies. You must learn to see the motivations behind a man’s eyes; you must learn to see the truth behind their words. So watch, young prince, and learn all you can before Adonai elevates you to your father’s place.”
Solomon’s expression stilled and grew serious. “All right.”
“One more thing,” Nathan said as he leaned forward on his staff. “No more hunting with Absalom, or anxiety will be the death of your mother.”
Solomon glanced at me for confirmation, and I nodded.
“All right, then,” he said.
I gave Solomon a reassuring smile, and when he stood to leave for his own house, a part of my heart went with him.
Chapter Forty-Three
Nathan
THE JOY OF TRAGEDY AVERTED endowed me with the strength to walk home. I passed the city gate and neared my house, walking slowly and carefully with nothing but moonlight to guide my path. I had just sung one of David’s songs of praise to encourage my exhausted limbs when the moon grew so large as to fill the horizon
, brightening the earth like the sun. The unexpected brilliance forced me to lift my arms and shield my blinded eyes.
“So be it,” I told the Lord. “I am listening.”
I sank to the side of the road, leaned upon my staff, and waited. The brightened road before me faded, and a moment later the backs of my eyelids filled with a view of the interior of a well-furnished home. A man sat at a table. Even though I could see only the back of his head, I knew I was watching Absalom.
“What do you mean, you grazed him?” A woman’s sharp voice cut into the silence. “And a prophet saw you?”
“Not till later,” Absalom muttered, both hands in his dinner bowl. “He didn’t see anything.”
“I don’t know why you’re messing with that one anyway,” the woman said. “Why spend your energy ridding yourself of a future rival when you could take the throne now? Four years, husband! Four years you’ve been cultivating the hearts of the people. They love you. They are ready for you to be their leader.”
“But what about Solomon? There are rumors about an old prophecy—”
“Forget the son who bedevils you. You can rid yourself of him and his mother once you are king.”
The woman entered my field of vision. She moved closer to Absalom and draped her arms across his shoulders. She bent to whisper in his ear. “Promise me, husband. Promise me that you’ll forget the commoner’s son. Time enough to clear the field when you sit on the throne of Israel.”
She kissed the top of her husband’s head, and the scene faded from my view.
I exhaled a heavy sigh and gripped my staff. So . . . Solomon and Bathsheba would be safe, at least for a while. But David faced oncoming danger.
Chapter Forty-Four
Nathan
ONE MORNING ABSALOM REAPPEARED in his father’s court. I was sitting in the assembly when he, a mature man of thirty, stepped forward and bowed to his father.
“Absalom.” Though David’s face remained composed, I thought I detected a wistful note in his voice. “What can I do for you?”
The prince straightened himself. “If it pleases my lord and king”—he smiled his most charming smile—“allow me go to Hebron and fulfill the vow I made to Adonai.”
“A vow?” David tilted his head. “What sort of vow was this?”
“Your servant made a vow while I was staying at Geshur,” Absalom explained. “I vowed that if Adonai would bring me home to Jerusalem, I would sacrifice to the Lord in Hebron.”
I had felt uneasy about Absalom ever since his return to Jerusalem, but at the mention of Hebron my unease gelled to a lump in my stomach. Hebron was the capital city of Judah, David’s tribe. David had first reigned as king in Hebron, so he had friends and family in that city. Despite all he had done in Jerusalem, the people of Hebron considered their town the real City of David.
I could think of no innocent reason for Absalom to make a sacrifice in Hebron.
The king seemed to weigh the matter. He studied his son for a long moment, then said, “Go in peace, my son.”
I sat motionless as a wave of déjà vu swept over me. Absalom had appeared in court once before, asking for permission to take a different journey. That one had ended in disaster and death.
Had the king forgotten so soon?
Absalom spun on the ball of his foot and addressed the assembly in the throne room. “Who will go with me?” He lifted his hand in a welcoming gesture. “Come help me observe my vow to thank Adonai for His graciousness in returning me to Jerusalem.”
I watched as leaders and counselors shot sharp looks at one another. I knew some of them had succumbed to Absalom’s charm, but others were staunchly loyal to the king. Yet hadn’t the king just given his blessing to Absalom’s sacrifice? Surely it would please the king if they journeyed with his son to Hebron, if only to keep an eye on the ambitious prince.
By the end of the day, two hundred of the king’s men had agreed to accompany Absalom. I later learned that Absalom even sent a special envoy to invite Ahithophel, the king’s counselor, who was resting at his home in Giloh.
Should I go? I briefly considered making the journey, but in the end, the Ruach HaKodesh prevented me.
Chapter Forty-Five
Bathsheba
I DID NOT SOON FORGET my grandfather’s hurtful words, nor could I forget Nathan’s warning. I frequently went up to the palace rooftop to look for signs of trouble in the city, but saw nothing. I talked to Michal, but she was still so grief-stricken she wouldn’t have noticed if our water turned to blood. I finally told myself that Grandfather had become old and unstable, and Nathan had handled the problem with Absalom.
My boys had just returned from a hunt one afternoon when my servant rushed in and said a messenger waited to see me. Judging from the woman’s breathless state, I surmised that Grandfather had returned to needle me again.
“Who waits outside?” I asked.
The servant bowed. “Nathan the prophet.”
Twice . . . in so short a time? The thought of another warning for Solomon dropped into the pool of my heart and sent ripples of fear in every direction.
I asked the servant to have the prophet join me in the palace garden.
“Nathan wants to see you again?” Solomon, who was visiting his brothers, released a baritone chuckle as he propped his feet on a small table. “Perhaps he has a prophecy for you.”
“I’ve heard enough prophecies for one lifetime.” I glanced at my other sons. Shammua and Shobab were intent on devouring the lunch Elisheba had prepared for them, and young Nathan had picked up a scroll to read.
I smiled at Solomon. “Please, will you come? I’d feel better about meeting him if you were with me.”
Solomon escorted me to the garden, then sat on a bench at my side as the prophet crossed a graveled path and bowed before us.
“Nathan.” I greeted him with a sincere smile. “What brings you to us again?”
The prophet did not smile in return. “I have heard a report that should concern you,” he said, his features hardening in an expression of disapproval. “You may have heard that more than two hundred men from Jerusalem—many of whom are devoted to the king—are with Absalom in Hebron. In addition to removing those loyal men from the city, the king’s son has circulated a message throughout the tribes of Israel. As soon as his followers hear the ram’s horn, they are to shout, ‘Absalom has been crowned king in Hebron’ until the entire land has heard the news.”
I stared at him in dazed exasperation. “What are you talking about?”
“My lady.” Nathan leaned toward me, desperation in his eyes. “Absalom has stolen the hearts of the people, so you must warn the king before it’s too late. If David remains in the city, its walls will become a deathtrap. You can be sure Absalom will return here with a military force. He will kill the king and anyone who is loyal to him. He will kill your sons . . . all of them.”
My heart seemed to stop beating in my chest. I stared at the prophet, struggling to make sense of his words, and then I remembered the urgency in my grandfather’s voice. He had wanted me away from the city, not to protect Solomon but to flee danger from within. He had warned that my sons’ lives might be in danger. When he uttered the warning I could not imagine anyone wanting to harm my children, but he had not mentioned Absalom.
After seeing the wound on Solomon’s temple, I knew Absalom would not hesitate to kill Solomon if he knew David had promised him the throne.
“Mother,” Solomon said, straightening his spine, “I can handle Absalom.”
I nearly laughed aloud. Like many young men, Solomon had buckets of bravado, but he did not have an army. Apparently Absalom had both.
I reached for Shlomo’s arm and held it tight. “Why are you telling me this?” I asked the prophet. “The king does not come to me for military advice. He will not listen to warnings from a woman.”
“And he is not the sort to listen to me when my words concern Absalom.” Nathan pressed his lips together, then gripped his wal
king stick. “We shall go together. Bring Solomon with you, and perhaps the sight of the young man will convince David that he cannot surrender to Absalom. But we must go at once. The prince and his army will soon be on their way.”
Responding to the urgency in the prophet’s voice, I stood, gripped Solomon’s hand, and begged Adonai to honor His word.
Chapter Forty-Six
Nathan
I THINK IT WOULD HAVE BEEN EASIER to erase a leopard’s spots than to convince the king to set aside his lethargy and escape the oncoming threat.
“We are not in danger,” David insisted. “Ask Joab. Ask Ahithophel.”
Bathsheba, Solomon, and I stood in the king’s dining hall, nearly deserted except for a few servants, a handful of military men, and three of the king’s quiet sons—Adonijah, Shephatiah, and Ithream.
“My lord and king.” Bathsheba stepped forward and bowed, but she didn’t wait for the king’s permission to speak. She rose almost immediately and boldly took a step closer to his chair. “If you try to summon your chief counselor, you’ll find he is gone. A few days ago he tried to convince me to leave the palace with him. He was most insistent that I leave you for my safety’s sake, and the safety of our sons.” A deep worry line appeared between her delicate brows. “My lord, I believe he knew what Absalom was planning. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was in Hebron now, celebrating with your absent son.”
Lines of concentration deepened under the king’s eyes, though he was not yet ready to believe. He lifted his hand and gestured to the guard at the door. “Summon Joab.”
The guard had no sooner disappeared than we heard the shrill sound of a shofar—a sound out of place and time. In Israel, the shofar was blown as a call to war, a warning of war, or at the anointing of a king.
When I heard it in David’s dining hall, the shofar seemed to signify all three.
