by Mary Burns
“I am sorry,” he said, pulling back from me and sitting upright. “I shouldn’t presume, with you—”
I cut him off. “Nathan, we have always been friends, and I hope we always will be. You and I, we share a rare gift, and we can use this together, in the service of our King, yes?”
Nathan bowed his head, and taking my hand, kissed it gently.
“And with this shared gift, can we not also share all the secrets of the heart and the mind with each other? Things so hard to say aloud, yet which keep us awake at night with tears and grieving?”
He nodded slowly, and after a few deep, calming breaths, he spoke.
“I blame myself for his death,” he said. “I saw it all, and did nothing.”
I was puzzled, but decided silence would help him more than questions.
He glanced at me, then looked away. “I don’t mean then, at the time it was happening,” he said. Abruptly, he rose and walked to the window.
“I saw a vision, in a dream, the night before the Battle of the Twelve,” he continued. His voice was stronger now, but toneless. “Twelve eagles fought twelve lions, and all were killed by tooth and claw. Then, clear as day, I saw a young buck, its antlers still partly sheathed in their infant fur, run forward from the forest. On the hillside, an old lion, strong and proud, made its way up to the mountains. The buck pursued the lion up the hill; time and again the lion would turn and roar, but nothing frightened the buck.”
Nathan paused, the horror still before his eyes, then spoke again, his voice now deep with self-loathing.
“The lion, at last enraged and desperate, turned and leapt upon the buck, bringing it down. Both fell upon the rocks, injured, but the young deer was dead, and the old lion tore at its own breast, so great was its distress.”
He looked at me then, tears gleaming on his cheek.
“Why did I not know what the dream meant? How was I so blinded? I could have stopped it all—the slaughter of the Twelve, the pursuit, Asahel’s death!” He covered his face with his hands, and sank down on the window seat. “I did not understand the meaning of the vision, and those men all died because of me.” He paused once more, then said, “And you warned me of what was to come, even before we left Hebron that day. Yet I did not listen.”
I sat in silence for a few moments, but my mind was busy searching for wisdom.
“Could you have stopped it?” I asked the question calmly. “Do you think Joab would have followed your advice, or Asahel either, for that matter, if you told them to stop?”
“I should have at least tried,” Nathan said in a low voice.
“You did try,” I countered. He looked up. “Don’t you remember, you told me that when Joab and Abner changed the terms of the fight, that you tried to persuade Joab to wait until you consulted the Lord?”
Nathan nodded slowly. “But it wasn’t because I understood my dream; it was only that I felt it was wrong.”
I could see the slight surge of hope that had entered his eyes.
“Then what more could you do?” I tried to enforce the practicality of my words by speaking in a matter-of-fact way. “It is not always given to us—we who see the visions of things before they occur—to comprehend them clearly.” I spoke as much for my own understanding as for his. “Even more, simply because we see events doesn’t mean we can—or should even try—to change them. The Lord orders all things in His way; we are His servants. We do our best with what is given to us.”
After a few moments of struggle, Nathan spoke again.
“Yes, Janaia,” he said. “You are right. I have been so lost these several months, I . . . thank you; it does me good to know I can speak of this to you.”
“Can we not promise to always tell each other what we experience, what we feel or fear?” I put my hand on his cheek. “This is who we are, Nathan, and no one else could understand us better than we can understand each other, don’t you think?”
We clasped hands then, and swore that we would always seek each other out, telling nothing but the truth and giving nothing but the truth back.
* * *
The next morning, I learned that Abner had left the house at daybreak with his twenty men, heading back to Mahanaim. My father kept his own counsel about their discussions, but he seemed content, though restless and more lively than I’d seen him in awhile.
I also learned that he had sent for Michal soon after Abner’s departure, which caused quite a stir in the women’s quarters. I felt pained on my mother’s account, and decided to spend some time with her; I felt I’d been neglecting her of late. I found her in her room with Ahinoam as her only companion; they sat together by a window, and it looked as if they had been in earnest conversation when I tapped at the door, which was open, and looked in.
“Come in, my dear,” said my mother, and both women looked at me kindly as I walked toward them. I kissed my mother first, then Ahinoam, and pulled a cushion over near them to sit at their feet. My mother poured me a cup of wine, which I drank gratefully, and we sat in companionable silence for a few moments.
“We were just talking of you,” Abigail said, flicking her eyes briefly at Ahinoam, as if, I thought, giving her permission to speak as well.
I tensed, anticipating what was coming next, but I was mistaken.
“Michal,” said Ahinoam, and paused as I looked up at her in surprise. “She has begun boasting in the women’s quarters about how she has become the King’s new favorite and even more, his prophet, and that she will replace you.”
I was too astonished to speak, and just sat with my mouth open, incredulous.
“Yes,” my mother said, “it is true, I heard her say it myself, though I cannot imagine what on earth or in the heavens she can have to do with anything more prophetic that what she’s likely to wear the next day.”
I laughed aloud at this, and Ahinoam smiled broadly at my mother’s jibe, so unlike her.
“But you must be careful,” my mother continued, all seriousness now. “She’s a crafty one, and right now she seems to have your father wrapped around her little finger.” A look of true sorrow crossed her face, then a flash of exasperation. “She could make trouble for you.”
“What do you suppose makes her think she’s a prophet?” I asked, feeling more puzzled than amused.
“Oh, apparently she said something about Ishbosheth, her brother, being to die soon,” said Ahinoam lightly. “And that David would be King in his place before very long.”
I snorted slightly. “Everyone knows the King of Israel is hiding out, sick in his bed from fear of David’s armies. And Ishbosheth is old, isn’t he? Of course he’ll die soon, anyone could foresee that!”
“Don’t worry, mother,” I said, taking her hand in mine and holding it to my cheek. “I can deal with her kind, never fear.”
* * *
Late that same afternoon, Joab and his troops returned from Ziklag. My father had just ended a council meeting, where he had been treating with the petitioners from the town who always stood in a line at the door. He was in high spirits, sporting with me about whether he and I would definitely be playing our harps together for the Story of the People, when the door burst open and Joab exploded into the room.
“I have heard that Abner, Captain of Israel, was here, in this very house, while I was absent! And that you let him go! What do you mean by this?” His voice was loud, and he walked with swift steps directly up to David, who was standing near his chair by me.
Appalled by such audacity before the king, the servants clearing up the room beat a hasty retreat. I remained.
“What do I mean by this?” David repeated slowly. His eyes changed from blue to pale, glittering green in an instant. I almost gasped. I had never actually seen it happen before.
Joab, in his fury, didn’t seem to notice.
“How could you let him go? You know him; he came meaning to deceive you, to learn all about your army and your movements, to find out what we’re planning! And you let him go?”
“He came here with a delivery for me from Ishbosheth the King,” David said. I suppressed a smile at his word for Michal— if she could hear!
“He came here to spy, he and his men,” Joab retorted. “I know; I’ve been told they were asking questions of the housemaids and the servants, trying to find out anything they could! He has made a fool of you!” Joab’s face was red with anger, a great vein pulsing in his forehead.
David was cold as ice now.
“You forget you’re speaking to your King.”
Joab’s lips were tightly pressed together, his breathing harsh through his nose.
“I forget nothing.” He turned abruptly and walked to the door.
“Joab.” David spoke, and the very walls echoed the sound. The younger man stopped and looked back.
“Be very careful about what you do or say next,” David said, showing, I thought, tremendous restraint. “Your life will depend on it.”
There was a very long moment as the two of them simply looked at each other, and then Joab nodded curtly and left the room.
My father turned to me. “These ruthless sons of Zeruiah,” he said. “They are too much for me. I will have to leave them to the Lord to deal with.” Then, as if a sudden thought occurred to him, he put his hand on my shoulder. “He will never become a son of mine.”
And I knew finally that I was safe from Joab.
Chapter 18
“So all the elders of Israel came to the king at Hebron, and
King David made a pact with them at Hebron in the
presence of Yahweh, and they anointed David king of
Israel.” 2 Samuel 5:3
The Lord took matters into His own hands at that point, indeed, and with a vengeance. I think He was weary of waiting for His contentious people to settle their differences and make David king after all these years. But I learned then, as I have seen many times since, that if you leave things for God to settle, you may not like the way He gets the job done.
The first thing that happened, not twenty-four hours after Abner had left our house, was that Joab and his brother Abishai killed him.
And I watched it all as it happened, in the fire late that night. I fell into a trance, the blue and green tips of flames drawing my gaze into the white heat of the coals, but I was helpless to stay their hands.
* * *
Joab and Abishai wait, crouched before a sputtering fire near the Pool of Sirah, a small, brackish wellspring halfway between Hebron and Jerusalem. They are speaking to each other in hushed tones, and I cannot hear their words. Their heads lift at some distant sound, and they cease speaking, rise from the ground and stand, facing the dark outside the ring of campfire light.
Abner walks into the circle of light, alone. I wonder at it—why would he come alone? It can only be that given David’s assurances so recently, he must consider himself safe with David’s chief captain—and kin of his, in a way. Yet I can see he is wary; his hand hovers near the knife in its sheath that hangs from his belt. Joab must have sent a messenger to recall him before he made it to Mahanaim.
The three men do not sit; apparently this will not be a lengthy meeting. They exchange a few words. Abner turns his head, perhaps to look at his horse, which I can see in the flickering light is tied to a tree branch nearby. Perhaps he’s thinking, I’m not staying for this, whatever is being said by the two brothers.
In that instant, Joab springs forward, knife in hand, and stabs Abner in the stomach. Abishai, circling around behind, plunges his knife into Abner’s back, and together, like jackals, they bring the lion to his knees, stabbing him again and again. I see Joab’s face clearly and can read his lips as he says the final words Abner will hear.
For Asahel, for our brother, your son! And for Zeruiah, whom you dishonored!
The life breath flows out of Abner’s great bulk of a body with his blood, and it is over.
* * *
In my room, cold now with the fire almost gone, I shivered, tears running down my cheeks. I came back to myself with a start, my head pounding, but I knew what I must do. Gathering my cloak around me, I stumbled to the door and down the hallways of the house, through the crisp autumn air, to my father’s room.
The guard at the door was awake and alert, but he did not challenge me. With my hand on the latch, it occurred to me my father might not be alone in his bed. The guard saw my hesitation, and whispered in even tones, “The king is alone, and still awake.” I nodded my thanks and opened the door.
David was indeed still awake, sitting at the window, a cup of wine near to hand. Ithream lay on his cot partly behind a little curtain, fast asleep, his curls tumbled over his face, a young angel at rest. My father’s eyes lightened when he saw me, and he motioned to me to come near. When he saw my face, he knew something terrible has happened.
“Janaia, my child, tell me what you have seen.” How well he knew me!
He made me sit and handed me the cup of wine. I drank a little and it felt soothing, then I handed the cup back to him. He waited for me to speak.
“In the fire, just now, I saw . . . ” There was no help for it, it must just be said outright. “I saw Joab and Abishai, at the Pool of Sirah. There, Abner met them, as if called back for a special meeting with them in the dead of night. And there they fell upon him with their long knives, and they killed him, like jackals or hyenas taking down an old lion.” I wept again as I spoke. “They did it for Asahel and for their mother.”
For a very long time, David said nothing, and I was afraid to look at his face. From deep inside him came a low sound of grief and anger, and his hand around the cup tightened until the clay broke in his fingers, cutting his hand and mingling wine with blood.
He leapt to his feet and strode to the door, opened it, and spoke to the guard. The sudden noise in the room had awakened Ithream, who rose, sleepy-eyed but ready. He had heard the King’s words to the guard: Twenty men, now, and my horse, at the gate!
Ithream had already placed David’s boots, cloak, and sword on the dressing table, and as if from thin air, he began packing a wineskin and some dried meat, a loaf of bread and a skin of water. A servant had come running, alerted by the guard, and took the provisions from Ithream. David barked another order at this man, to have a wagon with two mules also at the gate, now, and the man disappeared swiftly.
He turned back to me, his cloak around him, his knife buckled at his side.
“You warned me, didn’t you, little seeress? You told me, on the day before that disastrous battle last spring, that day’s work would bring sorrow and grief a hundredfold upon my head. Would that I had listened to you then!” He bent over the table toward me, his fierce eyes, black and shining like crow’s wings, huge in my face. “You are the king’s prophet, and I shall listen when the Lord shows you the future!”
After he was gone, as Ithream straightened the room from the whirlwind of his leaving, I sat at his table for a long time, shaken by his words, and by the power and sight that had been given to me.
* * *
David brought Abner’s body back to Hebron and ordered all the people to put on sackcloth and beat their breasts for Abner, including Joab and Abishai, whom he made walk with him behind the bier. Before the tomb in the Cave of Machpelah, where our first ancestors are buried, David wept and sang his grief for Abner, the great captain of Israel and his friend.
Then David called all the people to attention, there before the Cave of Machpelah, and pronounced for all to hear:
“I and my people are for ever innocent in the sight of the Lord of the blood of Abner son of Ner. May it fall upon the head of Joab and upon all his family! May the house of Joab never be free from running sore or foul disease, nor lack a son fit only to sit by the fireside and weave, or doomed to die by the sword, or beg for his bread throughout a wretched life!”
He started weeping again, and all the people wept with him, pleased at his words; they approved his actions and pronouncements. When he had finished weeping, he spoke once more, p
ointing at Joab and Abishai.
“King that I am, I feel weak and powerless in the face of these ruthless sons of Zeruiah, but I shall not presume to take their lives as they took Abner’s. The Lord Himself will visit His justice upon them as they deserve.”
Joab and Abishai were banished from Hebron for ten years; the next day, they and their mother were gone.
* * *
The second thing that the Lord did for David threw our house into chaos once again. Apparently, the death of Abner had so unsettled King Ishbosheth that he withdrew from the public eye and hid himself in his house. We heard through my father’s spies in Mahanaim that “all Israel was dismayed,” and that there was beginning to be a universal cry for David to be made king over all. But we didn’t expect it to happen the way it did.
Two men rode into Hebron, about three weeks after the death of Abner. They were Rechab and Baanah, two officers of Ishbosheth’s army, sons of Beerooth, who was reckoned as part of the tribe of Benjamin, David’s own tribe. They obtained permission to enter the council room, where David had gathered his brothers and advisors, and they carried a large sack with them. Putting this on the table before the king, they stepped back and proudly announced the reason for their coming.
“The Lord has worked His justice for your majesty today on Saul and on his family. We surprised the king in his cowardly retreat and found him sleeping. Here is the head of Ishbosheth son of Saul, your enemy, he who sought your life. ”
Rechab stepped forward and flipped back the edge of the sack, displaying the grisly sight of poor Ishbosheth’s severed head, its dark hair matted with blood, the tongue black and swollen and lolling out of the misshapen mouth. The smell alone was rank enough, but the sight nearly took my breath from me, and I looked away, retching. And they actually stood there, grinning, great fools that they were, expecting a reward for their wondrous deed!
David jumped up and swiftly covered the horrible object again with the fouled cloth. Jaws dropped in amazement as everyone looked fearfully at their King. Silence reigned in the room; then David spoke a great oath.
