King David personally designed his huge bedchamber. It was elevated a full story above the rest of the house. The rooftop over the space was accessible only through a staircase inside the king’s bedchamber, and was enclosed by a low, notched wall.
The huge public hall took up half of the front section of the palace. The décor was lavish, intended to impress both citizens and visiting dignitaries with the wealth of the kingdom. The household servants who lived in the palace had rooms close to where their duties were performed, near the kitchen, or the stable area. Alcoves in the walls near the palace’s elaborate main entrance could provide shelter to the few foreigners who did not have homes in the city.
The move progressed slowly, with each wife responsible for getting her possessions and servants relocated to the new living space. Abigail patiently listened to both sides of numerous disputes among the women over who should get their choice of bedchambers or children’s rooms. Finally, Abigail advised the women to remove everything they wanted from the tents before the coming Sabbath.
Abigail gave Michal first choice among the women’s rooms, and she selected a corner chamber on the second story at the rear of the palace. She loved the view of the mountains from her window. As a bonus, she had easy access both to the lower tier of the rooftop and to a downstairs back exit from the courtyard. The ante chamber provided ample space for Tirzah, and Rizpah too, if she insisted on tagging along. Abigail and Bird selected chambers not far from Michal’s. Maachah was nearer the front of the palace, having expressed her preference for the city view. Abital and Haggith followed Maachah’s example by choosing places near the front of the palace. Kerah’s rooms were well away from Michal’s, further away even than Maachah’s. Beyond Kerah’s chamber, more rooms awaited future rivals for the king’s attention.
“Your bedchamber looks lovely, Michal.” Abigail looked around. “You have such an eye for color.”
“Thank you,” Michal said. “Speaking of color, I want to experiment with some new berries next week. There’s a particularly bright shade of blue I’ve never been able to make.”
“You know you don’t have to dye or even knit any more if you don’t care to.” Abigail walked to the window and gazed out. “We have more than enough wealth to buy everything we need in this household.”
“Making colors fascinates me. And I like to keep busy. The need for me to work is like a disease.”
Abigail laughed. “I understand. It appears that illness has not spread beyond you and me.”
“I’ve noticed our sister wives do appear to enjoy their leisure.” Michal took out her prized blue berries from Damascus, and began to separate them into bowls according to lighter or darker hues.
“And I suppose I shall do the same soon,” Abigail said, her eyes still fixed on a far-away mountaintop.
It was clear to Michal that Abigail wanted to talk about something. She knew Abigail’s way was to wait for questions rather than blurt out information. “What do you mean by that?” Michal continued to sort dried berries.
“I had a long talk with Eliab today,” Abigail said. “Or, more accurately, he had a long talk with me.”
Michal waited a moment. “And what did our dear brother-in-law have to say?”
“That he is taking over the management of our household, which has become too complex for a woman to handle.” Abigail sighed deeply. “That I should stop forgetting to go to meetings and keep the wives from arguing with each other. That I should be more careful not to say ‘David’ but ‘our lord the king,’ when mentioning our husband.”
Michal heard the pain in Abigail’s voice and did not wish to see it reflected in her gentle face. She was happy her hands were occupied during the ensuing awkward silence. Eliab became more pompous and arrogant every day, but it would not be prudent to say so aloud.
“I’ve been thinking of asking permission to go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Mountain one day next week.” Michal kept her eyes on the berries. “Would you like to go with me?”
“Thank you, but no. I have a special assignment I must attend to.” Abigail turned away from the window and sank onto a cushion near Michal. “I have been told to get a bedchamber prepared for a new wife.”
Michal’s hands paused only a moment from the rhythmic tossing of berries into this bowl or that. Another rival? She took a deep breath. “Don’t tell me he’s tired of Kerah already. What’s the story on this new wife?”
“I think she’s from somewhere north of here.” Abigail sounded tired. “Other than that, I don’t know.”
“I have to remind myself all the time that a king can take as many wives as he wishes,” Michal said. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but our opinions count for nothing.”
Abigail picked up a berry Michal dropped and studied it intently. “And also as many concubines as he wishes?”
Michal stopped sorting and looked at Abigail. “David hasn’t—” She could not complete her thought.
“Kerah’s handmaiden, Leah.”
“I know the girl you mean. Young, dark, very pretty,” Michal said. “What makes you think she has become a concubine?”
“She’s pregnant with his child.” Abigail slumped against a cushion. “I knew Kerah was concerned when she did not conceive immediately. So apparently she invoked the old tribal custom and offered to send her handmaid in her place to the bed of our husband. I meant to say, our lord the king. It is obvious he accepted.”
Michal set the berries aside. Making a new color no longer held her interest. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nor do I.” Abigail brushed her hair back with a hand. “I thought David was different from other men. More noble. I’ve always known that I cared more for him than he does for me. And I understood you were his favorite. Still, I never thought he would hurt me this way. I even dared to think...” A single tear escaped and rolled slowly down Abigail’s cheek. She smiled weakly. “He has never said so directly, but I thought perhaps he loved me.”
Michal patted Abigail’s arm. She, too, felt like crying. Her trip to the Holy Mountain seemed even more urgent. She would cleanse herself, offer an animal for the priest to sacrifice, and ask God for a son. What could she say to comfort her friend, when her own heart was heavy with sadness?
“I saw Daniel running in the courtyard this morning,” Michal said. “He must be completely healed.”
Abigail dabbed her face with the end of her scarf. “Yes, it took a long time, but he walks and runs as if nothing ever happened to that leg.” She paused. “His arm will never be straight, but he’s alive and healthy. I am thankful for that.”
“Perhaps he will learn to use a sword with his left hand,” Michal said.
“Maybe.” Abigail slowly drew herself to her feet. “Thank you for listening to me, Michal. It seems I cannot speak frankly to anyone else these days.”
“You can always trust me,” Michal assured her friend.
Abigail clapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh, dear. I forgot. I’m supposed to be at a meeting with Eliab and the cleaning staff!” She hurried away.
Michal resumed sorting berries. She knew Eliab disliked Abigail for maintaining he was responsible for Daniel’s accident. Lately, there were whispers of a growing rift between Abigail and Bird as well. Did her old friend confide in her this evening to unburden herself about David’s misbehavior? Or did she come to complain about Eliab? Or both? The atmosphere of animosity in the new palace was little better than Gallim.
Later that evening, Michal planned to discuss this conversation with Tirzah. They would have to avoid Rizpah, who followed Tirzah around and pretended to be Michal’s second handmaid. Rizpah often annoyed Michal, though not quite enough to banish her. The aging Rizpah might starve if she became unemployed. With an abundance of food in the palace, Michal was content to let the poor woman sustain her life at the king’s expense.
“Forgive me for my lateness, my lady,” Tirzah said breathlessly.
“It’s of no matter,” Michal
said as she began to crush the darkest of the dried berries.
“Rizpah asks your indulgence, also. She has gone to arrange lodging for”—Tirzah said the next two words with obvious pride—“my visitor.”
“Visitor?” Michal looked up from the hollowed-out stone she used for making powder for use in dyes. Her curiosity was piqued. Who could this be?
“A woman from Shiloh named Mahlah.”
“From Shiloh? How do you know this woman?” Michal felt an uneasiness brought on by her handmaid’s bright smile.
“I don’t know her, or didn’t until today,” Tirzah said. “She’s a matchmaker. She has asked to speak with you.”
“With me? But why?”
“I know it’s not the way these things are normally done,” Tirzah said. “But I have no family remaining. No one. The king is always busy. Mahlah might wait weeks to get to see him. So I thought perhaps...” Tirzah twisted the edge of her scarf in her hands.
“This woman, this Mahlah, is here to arrange a marriage for you?” Michal could hardly believe her ears. David had so many women he rarely invited her to his bedchamber. Adriel had taken her nephews away. Was she now to lose her trusted handmaid also?
Tirzah beamed. “You may remember Joash, the slave who tended the vineyards of Lord Phaltiel in Gallim? The man you helped to escape from that wretched place? His brother has a farm near Shiloh, and Joash works for him as a hireling.”
“What do you know of this man?” Michal’s thoughts were muddled. Her handmaid’s announcement took her by surprise.
“Only that he was never mean-spirited like the other men of Gallim.” Tirzah came to sit by Michal. “That he knows everything that occurred between Lord Phaltiel and me. Yet he wishes me to be his wife.”
Michal took Tirzah’s hand. “If Joash works for wages, he is poor and is likely to have no inheritance. You will be the only wife, and you will work like a slave all of your days.”
“Yes,” Tirzah replied. “I know what you say is true. If Joash and I can have children and raise them together, that will be worth more than all the treasures of the earth to me. Please, my lady, I beg you on the bones of my mother, Sarah, to allow this marriage to take place.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
“MY KINSFOLK HAVE FAILED, AND MY FAMILIAR FRIENDS HAVE FORGOTTEN ME.” JOB 19:14
Eliab finally replied to Michal’s request for a short pilgrimage, reluctantly assigning his youngest son, Obediah, to accompany Michal and Rizpah to the place of worship. Michal avoided any discussion of her intention to make a sacrificial offering. She planned to make her own arrangements for the animals she would present to the priest. She thought her brother-in-law acted out of spite when he set the date for her pilgrimage on the very day Tirzah was to leave the palace forever. However, she did not dare to ask for a different date for fear Eliab would seize on that as an excuse not to let her go to the Holy Mountain.
Michal entered the courtyard and saw Tirzah dressed in a traveling cloak, standing quietly with Mahlah. The matchmaker held the reins of two donkeys—Michal’s wedding gift to her handmaid.
Tirzah and Michal held each other for a long time, each wiping tears when the embrace was broken. “How can I ever thank you for your generosity?” Tirzah asked.
Michal attempted to speak but could not. She could almost hear her own heart breaking. She removed two gold bangles from her left arm and slipped them onto Tirzah’s wrist.
Tirzah stared at the expensive bracelets. “No, my lady, you cannot.”
Michal stopped Tirzah’s words with two fingers pressed against her lips. “You may need to sell these someday.” She clasped Tirzah to her one last time. “God be with you, my sister. May He bless you with many children.”
“Thank you.” Tirzah brushed away more tears and blinked several times. “Perhaps we can afford to bring our family to Passover in Jerusalem someday, and you and I will talk and laugh with each other again.”
“Yes.” Michal nodded. “At Passover.” The deepening pain in her heart told her she might never again see the woman with whom she had shared the best and worst times of her life.
Michal watched her best friend and the matchmaker walk away, down the road that led to the city gate, each leading a donkey. There were too many unspoken words, Michal thought. I should have told Tirzah to thank God for the gift of poverty. She may not understand what a great blessing it is that Joash would never be able to support an additional wife. Will she know to cherish the knowledge her husband belongs to her alone?
“Must you carry that bag with you even today, my lady?” Rizpah’s voice broke into Michal’s thoughts.
“Yes. I never go out without it.” Michal clutched her emergency bag to her breast.
Rizpah shrugged. “The boy awaits us at the gate.”
As they went to join Eliab’s son, Obediah, Michal thought how she would miss Tirzah, now that her handmaid had walked down the same road of departure that took Merab’s sons away. Everyone seemed to assume that Rizpah would now take Tirzah’s place serving Michal. She considered searching for someone else, but eventually concluded Rizpah was the most convenient choice. No one could replace Tirzah as a friend, but Michal could depend on Rizpah’s loyalty. She resigned herself to alternating between too much pointless conversation and hurt silence whenever she demanded that the talkative Rizpah give her peace.
Michal adjusted her bag over her shoulder, checked her head covering, and focused her thoughts on the place of worship. She chose to make the short trip on foot. It would be an enjoyable walk for her. “I’m ready,” she said.
“You are weeping, my lady,” Rizpah stated the obvious. When Michal made no reply, Rizpah went on. “Ah, but you had some fine times with Miss Tirzah, no? Do you remember when your brother Ishbosheth lost his pet snake in your mother’s bedchamber? She screamed so loud we thought there was a Philistine in there. And then Jonathan, he went over to the woods and got that big rabbit. And he—”
Michal increased her pace. She had her own losses to mourn today without listening to Rizpah’s memories. The tears seemed as if they would never stop. Tirzah was on her way to Shiloh. Adriel did not bring his sons to see her at Passover. He’d sent no word since the day he took the boys from Jerusalem. Michal’s mother, father, brothers, and sister were all gone. All evidence they ever existed seemed to have been systematically wiped from the face of the earth. David made a concubine pregnant, while she herself had no son. Nothing in Michal’s life was turning out the way she thought it should.
The morning was spent by the time they arrived at the Holy Mountain. Michal took comfort from the familiarity of the place. Although everything else in her life changed over the years, this spot remained unaltered from the first time she saw it as a girl.
Here and there, pilgrims pitched tents for temporary lodging. Among the tents, merchants had pens filled with animals suitable for sacrifice—bulls, oxen, red heifers, rams, and lambs. Crates of birds were displayed as well, for purchase by the poorer worshipers. Michal walked through the noisy, dusty market, searching for just the right vendor.
The area was not crowded. A few people wandered around, some striking deals, others passing the time of day in conversation. A group of small boys used sticks to bat rocks into a nearby meadow. After she looked over the entire area and concluded all of the merchandise was essentially identical, Michal and Obediah made their way to a vendor. The man stood by a pen of choice cattle. A woman sat nearby on a stump, engulfed by an oversized cloak. Michal assumed she must be nursing a baby.
“Greetings,” Michal said.
“Good morning,” the merchant answered.
An old woman started to pass by, but stopped and came to stand very near. “I would like a lamb for a sin offering and a bullock for a peace offering.” Michal took out her favorite pair of earrings. “I have these to trade.”
The merchant took the earrings and examined them. The old woman who stood near suddenly pushed ahead of Obediah. “Nice jewelry
,” she muttered. She looked up at Michal. “Surely your husband could purchase animals for you?”
Out of deference for the woman’s age, Michal attempted to be polite. “I did not ask my husband to make provision for me.” She turned back to the merchant. “These earrings are made from pure gold. The stones are garnets.”
The man turned an earring over in his hand. He motioned for Michal to wait, and walked over to the woman and baby. He squatted and spoke in hushed tones with the young mother.
“Why not keep your jewels and ask your husband to get the animals?”
Michal was tempted to tell the old woman to go away and mind her own business. However, she did not want to risk having Obediah report to Eliab that she was rude to a citizen, an elderly one at that. “My husband is away, fighting the Philistines,” she replied. “Besides, where is the sacrifice if someone else pays the price?”
The old woman narrowed her eyes and stared at Michal. “Ah, could it be you are a true worshiper? Not just another rich woman trying to buy a blessing from God?”
The merchant returned from his conference at the stump. “All right,” he said.
“No!” The old woman seemed to think she could speak for Michal. “You’re cheating her. For those earrings you should give her the bullock, the lamb, and eight birds.”
The merchant and the old woman glared at each other for a long moment. “She didn’t ask for birds. She offered me her earrings for a bullock and a lamb. And I agreed. What business is this of yours?” Then he said, “One pigeon. No more.”
The old woman and the merchant ignored Michal and engaged each other in a loud, fast-paced negotiation they both appeared to enjoy. Obediah wandered away. Rizpah shrugged when Michal caught her eye. At last the bargain was settled. The nursing mother put on the earrings, never knowing King Saul had brought them home from some far-away battle. Michal discovered she now owned a bullock, a lamb, and four pigeons.
Daughter of the King Page 21
