The Secret Book of Kings: A Novel

by Yochi Brandes

  Abner son of Ner asked to join our family dinners and even raised the issue with Ishvi, but my family knew I wouldn’t sit at the table with him and turned down his request. Merab also had no desire for friendly conversation with the army commander who had failed to stand at Father’s side in the battle at Mount Gilboa. The great esteem in which she had once held Abner became further diminished following his firm objection to war with the rebellious Judah.

  “What did you want to tell us?” Paltiel asked Merab after the children left the table.

  Instead of speaking normally, her voice came out sounding strangled. I knew it had to be something especially bad, for Merab was always able to express her opinions fluently even in the most stressful situations.

  “The sons of Jesse are manufacturing a powerful weapon.”

  Ishvi’s lips trembled. “Are they preparing to go to war against us?”

  Ishvi’s frightened question raised Merab’s ire and brought back her ability to speak. “What reason could they possibly have to fight us?” she mocked. “The Judeans would have to be complete fools to make sacrifices for something that’s been given to them on a silver platter.”

  “Then what kind of weapon are you talking about?” Paltiel interrupted her. He wouldn’t stand for anyone belittling Ishvi, demanding that we treat him with the same respect we’d given Father.

  “The weapon I’m talking about is stories. The son of Jesse has recruited many scribes to his cause. Their leader is Seraiah, the most talented scribe in Judah. This group is disseminating awful stories about Father. Today I heard one from a palace maid who is engaged to a Judean man, and I felt as if Father was being murdered a second time.”

  Silence prevailed at the table. None of us urged her to go on. We just looked at one another in horror, waiting.

  “The story is so terrible that I can’t bear to repeat it. The Judeans are trying to convince the nation of Israel that Father did not die a hero defending our nation, but rather that he was punished by God for his sins.”

  “What sins?” whispered Ishvi.

  “All kinds. It seems to me that they themselves haven’t yet decided exactly which sins to ascribe to him. But what’s so terrible about this story is the way they use the ghost of the prophet Samuel.”

  “The what?” Ishvi’s eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets.

  “The story describes how an old witch from Endor conjured up the ghost of the prophet Samuel the night before the battle on Mount Gilboa, and heard from him that Saul and his sons would die the next day as punishment for their sins, and that the man chosen by the God of Israel as the next king was none other than his former son-in-law, David son of Jesse of Bethlehem.”

  I could barely restrain the urge to scream. The shock I felt at what she had told us was like nothing I’d ever felt before when hearing stories of David. I tried to imagine Samuel’s ghost rising up from the underworld, but I couldn’t.

  “No Israelite would believe such a story,” I finally whispered.

  “Why are you trying to diminish the seriousness of this?” She looked at me with suspicion, or at least that’s how it seemed to me.

  “Michal is right,” Paltiel said. He always came to my aid when he felt I was being attacked. “The word of God is not given to the nation of Israel by mediums and spiritists, but by priests and prophets.”

  “No story can ever distort Father’s image,” I added. “The people of Israel will always be grateful to him and will never forget what he did for them.”

  “The Israelites have always been ungrateful toward their leaders,” Merab replied bitterly. “Remember what they did to Moses. The nation has a short memory, especially with regard to a king such as Father, who didn’t bother to record his deeds and spread tales of his greatness.”

  “The nation of Israel will condemn false stories about Father,” I said confidently.

  “It’s Father, Jonathan, Abinadab, and Malkishua who have been condemned!” Merab shouted. “Their bodies are condemned to hang on the walls of Beth Shan, and the people of Israel, who owe so much to their first king, are listening to the monstrous stories of Judah instead of risking their lives for him and bringing him and his sons back for a proper burial in Israel.”

  “That is the king’s duty,” Adriel intervened, giving Ishvi an angry stare. “People will only risk their lives if their leaders lead the way.”

  Ishvi paled. “I ordered Abner to plan a military operation to recover their bodies, but he claimed that if our soldiers entered the occupied territory, the war with the Philistines might be reignited, and our army, which has not yet recuperated, might suffer an even worse defeat than it did in the last war.”

  “So what do you want from the people?” Adriel asked, turning to Merab. “Instead of taking action, their king sits idly and takes the bad advice of his cowardly army commander. Do you then expect the common people to risk their lives and try to recover the bodies on their own?”

  Paltiel tried to catch Ishvi’s eye to see if he needed help responding to the combined onslaught of his sister and brother-in-law, but Ishvi was looking at Rizpah, who generally tended to assume a low profile at our family meals and almost never got involved in our conversations.

  “Tell them,” he said.

  “But you’ve ordered me not to…,” she stammered.

  “It’s all right,” said Ishvi. “It’s time.”

  Rizpah fidgeted uncomfortably and turned to face me, trying to draw encouragement from my loving eyes.

  “The people of Jabesh Gilead will take the bodies down from the wall of Beth Shan and bring them back for burial in Israel.”

  We all stared at her wide-eyed.

  “How do you know?” asked Merab.

  “My late mother’s friends heard it from…” Her delicate face turned red.

  “Their clients,” Ishvi completed her sentence.

  I admired his matter-of-fact tone. No embarrassment, no contempt. Strangely, he seemed almost to take pride in the ancient profession of the good friends of his father’s wife.

  “Are you sure they’ll actually do it?”

  “My townspeople are prepared to give their lives for King Saul. They feel they’ve finally been granted the opportunity to repay him for the benevolence he showed them twenty-five years ago when he saved them from the hands of Nahash the Ammonite.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?” Merab asked, tears flowing from her eyes.

  “The Philistines mustn’t find out. The king ordered me to tell no one, not even the commander of the army.”

  “Especially not the commander of the army,” said Merab. She turned to face our little brother and cast down her eyes. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she whispered.

  * * *

  Ishvi’s self-confidence continued to grow. He needed the respect of his older sisters to believe that he was worthy of taking the place of his great father as ruler, and when we gave it to him wholeheartedly, he revealed his hidden talents and became a true king. When he gave his first speech, his voice was still too soft, and the heralds standing beside him on the stage were forced to repeat what he said word for word. But his next speeches were made in a voice almost as loud as Father’s, and his eloquent words easily reached the ears of the most distant heralds, who passed them on further.

  But my little brother wasn’t only talented with words. His inclusion as part of our father’s leadership team had taught him to rely on the efforts of others. Adriel took over the finances and managed to improve the tax collection process, Paltiel was in charge of relations with neighboring nations, and Abner son of Ner remained the commander of the army. Ishvi also gave roles to Merab and me, but we carried them out in secret so that it wouldn’t be publicly known that the king was including women in his leadership team. And what was left for the king to do? To sit on the throne of judgment, to make speeches, to meet with envoys of other nations, and to make important decisions. And the people of Israel, what did they do? Well, the people of Israel—who h
ad once looked dubiously at the young man who’d assumed the throne, asking one another with contempt, “How can this fellow save us?” just as their parents had asked about the king’s father in the early days of his reign—now asked God to guard their king from all evil and grant him a long life, so that he might continue to nurture the Kingdom of Israel.

  But their prayers weren’t answered.

  * * *

  Rizpah arrived at the hour of the morning watch with ashes in her hair and wearing a torn nightgown. She was scratching at her forehead, pacing and wailing.

  I didn’t need to ask her what had happened, nor who did it to her.

  I held her trembling body and laid her head in the crook of my neck. “Hush, Sister,” I whispered. “Don’t take this thing to heart.”

  I tried to take the advice I’d given her and attempted to get the terrible picture out of my head, but the image of the gigantic man abusing my soul sister wouldn’t let go of me. I wiped the ashes from her hair with gentle strokes, hearing a distant voice, almost like an echo, repeating the words Father had said to me when the rumor of David’s marriage to Ahinoam had reached his ears: “If you’ve conquered the king’s wife, the throne is yours!”

  Paltiel decided to wait until morning. We assumed that Ishvi would take the news much harder than Merab and Adriel, as their trust in Abner had already been shaken, while Ishvi still believed in him without qualification.

  “The king will execute that traitor,” Paltiel promised Rizpah.

  “Abner will tell him that I seduced him!” she cried. “And who will the king believe? The commander of his army or the daughter of a whore?”

  “He will believe his father’s wife,” Paltiel told her.

  I looked at him in wonder and thought that a woman as flawed as I was, who dragged a bundle of mistakes and sins behind her, was undeserving of this pure man’s seed. Perhaps that was the real reason I kept my body away from him, not my fading fidelity to my first husband.

  But Paltiel’s assessment was mistaken. Ishvi actually did believe Rizpah, and her claims were also supported by the testimonies of servants who had heard her screams, but the king decided not to execute Abner for treason, and instead banished him from his palace like a dog. “Father also forgave the rebels who tried to undermine his rule in the early days,” said our good brother.

  Merab reminded him that the people Father had forgiven were not rebels, but mere slanderers and naysayers, while a man who sleeps with the former king’s wife is declaring that he sees himself as the next king. But Ishvi wasn’t capable of killing any member of his nation, and certainly not his father’s cousin.

  “Your intuition about Abner was correct,” Merab said to me.

  It was the first time in many years that I’d heard a kind word from her. I felt a flutter of pride, but it disappeared in an instant. I knew that there’d been another time, long ago, when it had actually been her intuition that turned out to be correct. I couldn’t speak about it out loud. The pain was still too great.

  “I’m afraid of him,” I whispered, uncertain as to whom I was referring.

  “So am I,” said Merab. “Abner is a dangerous man. How can our brother not see it?”

  Ishvi was convinced that the situation with Abner had ended with his banishment from the palace. He appointed Adriel commander of the army and gave the responsibility for collecting taxes to two brothers, Baanah and Rekab, the sons of Rimmon the Beerothite, who had been the wheat assessors of Benjamin. His brief life experience had taught him that it was possible to recover from any kind of disaster, and that if we had managed to restore the kingdom after the great calamity, we would certainly be able to deal with Abner. No one, not even Merab or I, could conceive of the disaster that could be wrought by a vengeful man who had lost all his inhibitions.

  The rumor spread quickly, and it terrified the nation more than any rumor that had come before.

  “Abner son of Ner has defected and joined the son of Jesse.”

  “It can’t be!” I cried. “There is no greater hatred in the world than that of David and Abner. Father first became suspicious of David only because of Abner. Had it not been for Abner, this all might have been avoided. I refuse to believe that they are now collaborating.”

  “Abner is helping David plan the war,” Paltiel said, his voice breaking.

  “What war?” Merab asked, appalled. “Judah received its independence from us on a silver platter. What more do they want?”

  “They want it all,” said Adriel. “Abner promised the son of Jesse that he had the power to turn all of Israel to him.”

  Ishvi collapsed onto his throne, looking around glassy-eyed. “I’m all alone,” he mumbled to himself. “Everyone is defecting to the son of Jesse.”

  I hurried over to him, hugged his broad shoulders, and rested my cheek against his chest. “Ishvi, my brother,” I whispered. “You are not alone. You have Adriel, Paltiel, Merab, and me, as well as Rizpah. Together we can defeat Abner son of Ner.”

  I was quiet for a moment, then I steeled myself and added, “And the son of Jesse.”

  * * *

  But Ishvi died alone. In his sleep. His head was cut off by his two tax collectors while he took his afternoon nap. He was twenty years old when he died. All of Israel lamented the death of their young king, taken from them after only two years on the throne. David son of Jesse lamented for him as well, or so said his messengers when they came to Gibeah.

  “David son of Jesse, King of Judah, sends his condolences to the Kingdom of Israel,” they said. “The two contemptible murderers, Baanah and Rekab, the sons of Rimmon the Beerothite, brought him the king’s severed head, but they performed the wicked deed on their own accord, without his instruction or prior knowledge. The king commanded that their hands and feet be cut off and that they be hung over the pool in Hebron. He despises traitors.”

  I didn’t move a muscle. I felt nothing.

  “We demand that our brother’s severed head be returned to us,” said Merab.

  “That isn’t possible,” the messengers explained. “King David has already buried the head in Hebron. He made sure to perform a proper burial, as befits a righteous man.”

  “A king,” I corrected them. “Ishvi son of Saul was a king.”

  Merab added, “Tell the son of Jesse that the people of Israel want to bury their king themselves.”

  * * *

  The House of Saul had two grown daughters, two young sons, and two sons-in-law left. Five grandchildren. One wife.

  We all swore to carry on for the sake of the nation of Israel. For the God of Israel. For Father.

  “Saul, King of Israel, lives and breathes.”

  Word of our vow spread far and wide and imbued the people with the hope that, in spite of it all, there was still a king in Israel, or rather, two kings, Adriel the Meholathite and Paltiel son of Laish, and that in six years, when Armoni turned sixteen, they would give him the throne and crown him the next King of Israel, the third of the line of Saul.

  We held on for three years against Abner son of Ner, our father’s cousin, Israel’s former army commander, who waged a bloody war against us at the head of the army of the sons of Zeruiah, which had become the army of Judah.

  Everything collapsed around us. People were murdered, families were slaughtered, cities were destroyed, tribes surrendered. But we didn’t break. We continued to rule in Gibeah and to defend what was left.

  Every day a little less was left. Each day, more soldiers were killed, another city was lost, another tribe surrendered.

  We had almost no soldiers left, nor cities, nor people.

  We were left all alone.

  The war between the house of Saul and the house of David lasted a long time

  David grew stronger and stronger

  While the house of Saul grew weaker and weaker.

  And after three years, when the army of Judah conquered Gibeah, it was met with almost no resistance. We didn’t have to wait for the messengers to br
ing us news to know what was going on. The sounds of horses galloping into the city and the cries of Benjaminites surrendering had reached us. We knew that the emissaries of David son of Jesse would soon arrive at the palace, demanding that we announce the surrender of the House of Saul. Deep in my heart, I had been waiting for it all to be over. I didn’t know what would happen next, but at least we would be spared the uncertainty.

  We decided that each family would remain in its own house. We were afraid that the enemy might still decide to use military force to break into the palace, and we thought it best for the invading soldiers to see three normal families with small children, not royalty that needed to be subjugated. Paltiel decided to take Micah, Jonathan’s five-year-old son, into our home, so that we would also look like a normal family with a small child. His nursemaid came with him. He was unwilling to be separated from her.

  Then we heard the screaming. For a moment I thought it was the maids surrendering, but it sounded much worse. Paltiel decided to step outside and look to see what was going on. I wanted to join him, but he wouldn’t let me.

  “Lock the door,” he ordered. “Don’t let anyone in.”

  The screams grew louder. Micah cried in terror. The nursemaid took him in her arms and tried to calm him, but he fought her and threw his little body in all directions.

  After a short time, there was a loud knocking at the door. I hissed at the nursemaid to get under the bed with Micah, but the door was broken down before we had a chance to move.

  It was Paltiel. “Quickly,” he shouted, “we have to flee!”

  His appearance petrified me. I couldn’t move. He grabbed my arm and dragged me behind him. I felt no pain. The nursemaid ran after us with Micah. He continued to kick and scream, and she had to hold him tightly so he didn’t slip out of her hands. We ran across the garden. The servants were running in every direction like madmen. Their voices sounded strangely hoarse to me. One wing of the palace was on fire. The servants trapped inside were screaming. Some of them jumped out the windows. They looked unreal, like ghosts. One maid threw herself off the roof and lay motionless on the ground below.