The messenger bowed and took leave. Hushai waited behind. “My king. Do you require me?”
“Yes, a moment.” David kissed his wife. “I must give my condolences to Uriah’s widow.”
Michal squeezed his hand. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
A guard ran ahead to announce his arrival. Bathsheba stood at the door, her head bent down.
“Behold, the king and his counselor.” They stepped into her house. She kept her face trained on their sandals. Her belly was fuller and rounder than before.
“Lady Bathsheba,” Hushai said. “We have come to bring you our condolences.”
Bathsheba caught her breath and glanced at David. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed into the arms of her maids.
David waited for her to revive, sitting on the chair next to her couch. “Lady Bathsheba, your husband was a brave and valiant man.”
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. She recoiled at his touch. David tried to catch her eye, but she kept them studiously trained on the ground. Fat teardrops rolled down her cheeks. Her maid bent over her and handed her a linen kerchief.
Hushai cleared his throat. “Ask us anything you need. We will see to it that Uriah gets a funeral befitting his valor. The king will take care of you. He will make you a settlement as a reward for your husband’s loyalty and years of service.”
Bathsheba nodded. They backed out of her house and departed.
* * *
By the time David returned to his chamber, Michal lay in the bed in her nightgown.
“I’m so sorry about Uriah,” she said.
“He was a brave man. We will honor him with a grand funeral.”
“Did he come to you while you were in the caves?”
“Yes.” David’s lips quivered, recalling Uriah’s youthful face, so full of life and enthusiasm.
“How did his wife take it? I never did meet her.”
“She is so young, and now she’s bereft. I feel I should do something for her.”
“Of course, did you offer her a settlement?”
“Not only that, but she’s pregnant,” he said.
“Oh, the poor thing. And a newlywed too.”
“I don’t know how she’ll handle all this by herself.”
Michal gripped his forearm. “Then we must help her.”
He shut his eyes and lowered his voice. “I should marry her and give her a home here.”
“Marry her?” Michal’s voice raised an octave. “You can’t marry all the widows of your men. You were not responsible for Uriah’s death.”
David raked his hair. “Uriah was like a brother. He saved my life once. Your father’s men had me trapped in a rock pile. They shot arrows at me, and I fell. Uriah fought off the men and carried me back to the cave. I would have been dead.”
“But that still doesn’t mean you have to marry his widow. Unless I’m guessing she’s extremely beautiful!” She shouted the last words.
He covered his ears. “I have to. I can’t leave his widow bereft, especially since she is with child.”
“So, will you adopt her child?”
“Uriah would have wanted it. He was like a brother.”
Michal threw her hands into the air. “David, you horrible man. You adopt her child and not my sons. I can’t believe I almost started to trust you again. I. Am. So. Stupid.”
“Eglah, you’re still my favorite wife.”
“I don’t want to be your favorite wife. I want to be your only wife. And don’t call me Eglah!”
She removed both earrings and threw them at him. Her face twisting in pain, she ripped her clothes and rocked on the bed hugging her knees.
David rubbed her shoulders. “I will adopt your sons and acknowledge Joshua and Beraiah.”
“My sons don’t need you.” Her voice choked through her tears. “Phalti has already adopted them, and he loves them.”
“But you need me. You do.” He pressed her, but she didn’t answer. “Say you need me.”
She pulled the coverlet over her head.
* * *
The air hung heavy in the room. David ran down the stairs and out the gate to clear his head. The horror of it all. Had Uriah delivered the note to Joab? He dared not ask. Where was the note? Maybe Uriah never delivered it. Others died, it wasn’t just Uriah. Bathsheba must not find it. He had to meet Uriah’s body and supervise the burial.
David wandered, unmindful of where his steps took him. He might have bumped into half a dozen people, but they stepped out of his way.
Uriah was a convert, but he could not have him buried. Not if the note remained in his clothes. The embalmers would find the evidence. But the Hittites, did they bury or cremate? These thoughts flitted through his head. His feet took him down the lane of the foreigners. Campfires lit the dark as families gathered around storytellers and relaxed after the evening meal.
David stopped in front of the tent of two Hittites who called to him, “Dear sir, what is it you’re looking for?”
David addressed the older man. “My friend, a Hittite, has been killed. Pray tell me what the burial customs are. I wish him to have the most elaborate funeral.”
“You’ve come to the right place. You will want a large golden urn and lots of wine. And wood, tinder, and kindling for a giant funeral pyre. We can build one. We also sell dogs.”
“Dogs? What are they used for?”
“Companionship—we sacrifice the dog and put it on the pyre—honey, oil, and servants, too, if your friend had any. Did he have wives?”
“Yes, he did.” David replied. “I’m sure she’ll want to pick the golden urn.”
“No, that wouldn’t be necessary.” The older man said.
“She’ll be going into the fire. He’ll want to have his wife.” The younger one added.
“Yes, definitely,” the older man said. “How many wives did he have? We’ll have to consider the size of the pyre and the amount of additional wood and oil.”
“Wait, wait,” David exclaimed. “His wife is not dead. He, only, has died and he had no children.”
“Yes, yes, she is not dead. But she would wish to honor him by joining him on his pyre and serve him in the afterlife.” Both men waved their hands, pantomiming the tying of the wife.
“Some women are so eager they don’t have to be tied.” The younger man put his hand over his heart. “Ah, such great love.”
“Stop, stop,” David said. “I will be marrying his widow.”
The men looked at each other, raised their eyebrows and stared at David. “We shall do as you say. Pray tell us where the body is, and we will prepare him.”
“Do you dress him in anything special? Or does he go in the bloody clothes he wore in battle?”
“If he’s a warrior,” the younger man said, “he goes in the bloody clothes, as an honor to him.”
“He is a warrior,” David said. “See to it no one disturbs his clothing. No one is to remove anything from his body, not a sword, not a dagger, not a sash, not a belt, not a purse or pouch. Understood?”
David showed them his ring. “I am King David. And you are in charge of the funeral of Uriah the Hittite. I will personally supervise the preparation of the body.”
The men fell to the ground. “O King, we are honored. We will provide dogs and an effigy for the wife.”
With that piece of business taken care of, David visited Bathsheba and told her he had found the men who would perform Uriah’s funeral in the custom of the Hittites.
He then asked her to be his wife. She bowed at his feet and said, “My lord, the king, I will.”
David made his way back to his bedchamber. Scraps of thoughts, of forgetfulness drifted in his mind. But he could not catch a single one. What had he done? Where could that note be? Oh, bloody, bloody hands. Blood gushed from his fingertips as from a burst wineskin. He slapped himself and threw up in the bathroom.
Chapter 41
Psalm 13:3 Consider and hear me, O LORD my God: lighten mine eyes, lest
I sleep the sleep of death
>>><<<
A constricting pressure in my chest kept me confined in David’s bedchamber. He would disappear for days and then appear in the middle of the night, sometimes agitated, other times stone-faced. I wandered from one end of the room to the other with a continued ache in the center of my belly. Tears lurked in my eyes, and the gloom of the world weighed over me like a soggy blanket.
I met Bathsheba shortly after Uriah’s funeral. They didn’t have a wedding. David just brought her into the harem. She was exceedingly beautiful. The bluest eyes, as placid as a desert pool, peered from her delicate face. Her black hair, curled in ringlets, framed white skin of pure alabaster. She was shorter than me, and plumper, a figure full of curves, delightful to a man’s hands.
I propped on the bed and greeted her. Her hand felt clammy and cold, soft, no spine. I squeezed it hard. She winced, but did not meet my eyes. Her other hand rested on her pregnant belly.
David gestured toward me as if I were a curious antique. “Bathsheba, this is Michal, my first wife. I will return to her at night, after I’ve come to you. She keeps me from having nightmares.”
Bathsheba accepted this without question. She bowed her head slightly, appearing lukewarm and aloof. Surveying the room, she stepped over the rug and ran her hand over my mahogany table. She picked up my jade box and arched an eyebrow.
David took her hand, his face full of indulgence. He whispered in her ear. She pointed to the broken corner and shook her head. After glancing at the closed door of the wardrobe, she looked over her shoulder at David and headed for the door. She had been here before, and David had lied to me. How many other lies had he told me? My heart closed as clammy and cold as Bathsheba’s hand.
* * *
As time went by, I grew accustomed to David’s routine. After a few weeks of infatuation with the voluminous Bathsheba, he went back to his usual rotation, although the petite Maacah seemed to claim more attention than before.
The ache eased in my chest, and Naomi helped me down the stairs to the garden for exercise. I shivered, unaccustomed to the outdoor air. Tiny flurries of snow swirled in the air, melting on contact with the earth. After a brisk walk, I stopped at the women’s quarters, in front of the house where I used to stay. It was time to break my isolation.
Abigail and Abital came around the corner, followed by Ahinoam, Haggith and Maacah. They rushed to my side and welcomed me with many hugs. Everyone looked older. I supposed that I did, too.
“So, has David brought you back?” Ahinoam said.
“He has allowed me to come back to the palace,” I said. “So much has changed since I’ve been gone.”
“We’ve missed you. Come sit with us.” Abigail extended her hand. Ahinoam smiled and Abital bounced up and down on her feet. Haggith gave me a begrudged hand and an amused grin peeked from behind Maacah’s shawl.
Abital tapped my shoulder. “David gave me another bird. Do you want to see him?”
“We’re having a party for Amnon,” Ahinoam said. “It’s his seventeenth birthday.”
Abigail took my arm. “Yes, Michal, you must attend.”
Talk turned to David’s new wife, Bathsheba.
“You know she’s staying in your sons’ old quarters?”
“She’ll bring great trouble. Mark my words.”
“She seems so young. Why would our husband marry the widow of one of his men?”
“She stays to herself. Thinks she’s better than us.”
“He seems to like her a little too much to be just the widow of his best friend.”
“You know her pregnancy is quite advanced, considering he just married her.”
“We shouldn’t gossip,” Abigail said. “He’s done a noble deed for a good friend. Our husband has a kind heart for strays.”
I knew better, but I kept my mouth shut. I had never hated any of David’s wives, not even Haggith. I had been taught about kings and royal courts. But taking Bathsheba after promising me his undying love was unforgiveable. The pit in my stomach grew, and I closed my eyes to shut in the threatened tears.
* * *
Iron clashed on iron, shields broke, grunts and groans, the cry of the dying. The man in front fell, pierced by a spear. David turned toward the wall. Spears flew at him. His shield up, he stepped over the man. The man next to him was cut down. David charged forward. Arrows rained down on him. All around him, men died, screaming for their mothers.
Why wasn’t he hit?
A slimy hand grabbed is ankle. Jonathan, with blood gushing from his chest, cried, “David, my brother.” Uriah lay across from him. “Friend, friend, save me, friend.” His eyes dimmed, then opened wide. “Betrayer, murderer, fiend.” David dropped his sword and ran. Jonathan’s voice trailed him. “Coward, usurper, traitor.”
* * *
“David, David.” I shook him. “You’re having a nightmare.”
A flash of lightning illuminated him. He flailed with sweat across his brow.
“No, no. Jonathan, don’t say that. Uriah, my friend, my friend.” His voice gurgled in his sobs. “Jonathan, don’t hate me.” Thunder accompanied the word ‘hate.’
“David.” I covered him with my body. “I’m here.”
He shook like a bruised reed. I pressed my weight on him, rooting him to the bed. I kissed the sour smell of panic from his upper lip. “Jonathan loves you. See? You have his ring.”
“Why did they die? Why am I still here?” He bucked and heaved underneath me, the shakes threatening to toss me off. I squeezed him in my arms, as if I could squeeze the distress from the core of his being.
“They deserved to live,” he said. “They were nobler than I, a worm.”
“Oh, David. I, too, am a worm left to grovel in the dirt. A withered, worthless worm.”
“But you’re not guilty like I am.” The spasms contracted and tore David’s sobs. “I’m so guilty.”
“Guilty? What are you guilty of? It’s Bathsheba, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer, but shuddered and gripped me tighter.
“You had her, didn’t you, while she was another man’s wife. You took her, didn’t you?” No longer eager to calm his distress, I tried to push out of his arms, but he held me like a chain of iron. “The baby is yours, isn’t it?”
“You hate me,” he said.
A slow boil of anger pulsated through my body. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“I defy you. Usurper.” I twisted my knuckles into his ribcage, forcing him to release me.
“Saul’s daughter.” He clamped me from behind and slammed me down on the bed. The air expelled out of my lungs and pinpoints of light swirled around my head. He tore my gown off. “My enemy’s daughter, do you hate me, too?”
“You lied to me.”
“You left me. You went with Ittai.” He pressed his thumb and fingers into the hollows of my cheeks.
“I wanted to see my daughter married. Don’t you dare blame me for this.” I dug my fingernails into the back of his hands.
“You betrayed me.”
“No, I did nothing with Ittai.”
His face glistened in a flash of lightning. “I don’t believe you.”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe.” Thunder rumbled behind my ribs.
For the space of a minute, neither of us spoke. Rain pelted the roof.
David broke first. “What has happened to us?” His hands trembled as he wrapped my hair around his fingers.
I closed my eyes. David kissed me, and I clung to him. And I wondered how I could still love him, despite the betrayal and lies.
“Michal,” he whispered, “I need you to love me.”
And I need to love you. It’s the only reason I live.
I clave to this need, and it resonated as hope in my bruised heart, and I lied to myself, and I succumbed amidst the blistering ache and numbing agony, hovering on the tightrope between love and pain.
* * *
Bathsheba’s baby
fell ill shortly after being born. David spent seven days praying and entreating the LORD, as he had done for Ithream. However, the baby weakened and died and joined the other departed young ones in the grotto behind the women’s courtyard. I was numb. I had wished ill on Bathsheba, but not this way—never this way—her first child, David’s son.
David stumbled into my arms. “The babe is dead. Wash me, anoint me with oil, and change my clothes.”
“You did all you could.” I peeled off the sackcloth and shook the ashes.
He lay in the water and moaned. “O LORD, I repent of my iniquities. My soul is sore vexed. Return, O LORD, deliver my soul. Save me for thy mercies’ sake.”
He fell silent and wept. I hummed and worked the bath cloth over his forehead, around his sunken eyes, smoothed his nose, and scrubbed his beard.
His body, stiff and hard, shuddered with grief. I kneaded his shoulders and pressed the back of his neck. My fingers massaged his scalp. My palms rubbed off the ashes. They clumped into the water, swirled like powdered tea in a bowl of divination.
I picked up a sandalwood comb, honed smooth, darkened with oil and plowed his hair like a spring field, breaking the tangled clods of mourning.
I sheared his beard leaving stubble, dusted it with myrrh, as rough and prickly as the pins in his heart. I filed his nails, smoothed his elbows and feet. I spread oil of cassia over his body, as sweet smelling as the day we wed.
I led him to bed, wrapped in a heavy woolen blanket. “David, sleep well.”
Humming a Philistine lullaby, I waited for his breathing to steady, and when he could no longer comprehend, I told him, “David, I love you. I love you so much, more than you know.” And I kissed him in his delirium and held onto him.
He woke and kicked off his blankets, his naked body covered in sweat. “The baby, the baby. He’s dead because of me.”
He threw himself on his back, his hands grappling his face. “I am so feeble and broken. I’ll never be happy again. There is no more strength in me. Just let me die.”
“David, you’re flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, blood of my blood. Take from me, take all of me, take and live.” I rubbed his head and pulled his face into my neck.
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