Jada intoned, “Oh, great Goddess Asherah, bless Ittai and Michal. They have come to be joined as husband and wife. Bless these hands that hold each other in passion and love. May these hands strengthen one another in sorrow, share with one another in gladness, and be companions to each other in times of silence. Bless Ittai and Michal with both love and happiness in their life together.”
The love in Ittai’s clean-shaven face shone as he lifted one eyebrow and flashed me a confident grin before joining his lips with mine. Jada removed the snakes, and Ittai whispered, “Just be glad she didn’t take out her bronze knife.”
I recoiled, and he showed me his wrist. Two thin, pale scars cut across it. Jealousy surged. Ittai backed me into the mouth of the cave. “It’s not what you think, my love. I’ve two brothers bond by an oath of blood, but you’re my only wife.” Sweeping me into his arms, he carried me through the cave entrance and laid me on a pallet covered with wool.
* * *
Three years had passed since Absalom’s rebellion, but the kingdom had no peace. A fierce, unrelenting drought gripped the land, and the people murmured.
David thumped his scepter, silencing the court. “Hushai, bring in the stewards.”
Hushai motioned the men forward.
“The storehouses are almost empty. We have not had a decent harvest in three years.”
“The entire barley crop is lost. The fields are dry and barren, and there will be no harvest this year.”
“The people clamor for grain. Many villages have been abandoned. Dogs terrorize the countryside.”
David held his scepter to the priests. “Make inquiry of the LORD for the cause of this famine. Ask him to send me a sign, a raindrop on the tip of my nose. Then shall I know his anger has ceased.”
To Hushai, he said, “Cut the rations of my household. We must not eat more than the people on the streets. And bring Ittai to me. I want a complete tour of the Jezreel Valley, the state of each farm, each olive grove, and each vineyard.”
He adjourned court and retired to his chamber to pray. He dared not go to the Ark of the LORD, afraid the famine was caused by his sin. Oh, LORD, I will pay. Whatever you ask of me. Only do not let the people suffer and starve. Show me what I must do.
David unrolled the rug, the one Michal had given him, and his thoughts returned to her. For three years, she had lived with Tora, alone and without Ittai. They observed the Sabbath and every ordained feast, going often to the high place in Gibeon to pray. David’s spies assured him they never saw Ittai go near her. She deserved to suffer the way she made him suffer. Beautiful daughter of Saul. The day he laid eyes on her was the day of his ruin. Yet his heart ached for her. What hold did she have on him? Bewitching daughter of Saul.
A sharp rap on his door brought him to his feet. Nathan, the priest entered, his eyes weary. “I have inquired with the LORD. The famine is for Saul and his bloody house, for he slew the Gibeonites. He broke the vow our fathers made promising the Gibeonites safety within our borders.”
Relief swept David’s brow. It was not for his sin, nor the sin of his house. But then a chilling knife skidded down his spine. The bloody house of Saul brought this disaster? Would he ever be free of Saul?
He rubbed sweaty palms on his robe. “What is the remedy?”
Nathan raised his hands. “The LORD did not say. Since the Gibeonites are the injured party, they should decide.”
David dismissed the priest. He paced his room and rolled up Michal’s rug. He’d have to make the inquiry personally, so he’d hear the exact letter of the penalty. He opened his door. “Arik, when Ittai returns, send him to me directly.”
David squeezed his eyes and rubbed his face. His shoulders stiffened and his neck ached. ‘God is hard on kings.’ That’s what Michal had said. Being the king destroyed her father. It devastated his sons and daughters. And yet, Saul’s sins were forever before them, even affecting his kingdom. What could he give to atone for this sin? Would he part with half his kingdom? Or half of the gold he collected for God’s Temple? Could he give them their freedom? A territory to rule? Could he give them his throne? What would they ask for?
* * *
Ittai fell on his face in front of David. “My king, I’m here as you commanded.”
“Get up,” David said. “We’re going to the Gibeonites to inquire of a suitable atonement to put away the famine.”
Together they mounted the fastest horses. Ittai carried David’s armor and shield. They approached the Gibeonites without a large contingent lest they believed they were under attack.
Heading north, they passed between Gibeah and Nob, before swinging west through a series of small villages interlocked within the rocky hills. A conical hill, about five miles northwest of Jerusalem, marked the burial place of the Prophet Samuel. David had gone to the old prophet’s funeral in disguise. King Saul’s men had posted watch for him, but no one recognized the ragged beggar as the future king.
“My lord, the horses are tiring,” Ittai said. “Let me lead them to water.”
A village with two large cisterns stood to their right. David dismounted and planted himself under an old oak tree. The sun’s rays burnt through the dried branches. A few wrinkled leaves lingered, cracked and grey. Two women gossiped under the tree, and scrawny children, their ribs clearly visible, lolled in the dirt nearby.
Ittai drew back the cover. The cistern was almost dry. He dangled over the side and filled their water-skins with the murky water.
David swallowed grit. The people were suffering. The formerly lush meadows of Gibeah were but stubble, choked in dust. Did Michal have enough to eat? Were her lips cracked? Had her hair fallen out? His heart tugged and he longed to hold her in his arms. He’d stop on the way back and check.
His head aching from the heat, David mounted his horse. They rounded the bend and ascended the smooth hill. Five Gibeonite tribal elders walked down and met them in front of a cracked, parched expanse—it had once been the pool of Gibeon where Joab had fought Abner during the protracted civil war.
Ittai dismounted and bowed. “King David has a request. The LORD has informed him of the cause of the famine. His predecessor, King Saul, had slaughtered your people against the solemn vow our fathers took. Pray tell what my lord, the king, may do to atone for this sin, so the LORD God will once again bless his kingdom.”
The eldest Gibeonite, a wizened old man with wisps of white hair over a harsh, weathered face raised his hand to speak. “We Gibeonites desire neither silver nor gold. We do not wish the king to kill any man for us.” The old man paused. He stared past Ittai and blinked at David.
David said, “What you shall say, that will I do.”
The old man strode in front of David’s horse and planted his staff. “Let seven sons of the man who harmed us, seven men of his house, be given to us and we shall hang them up to the LORD in Gibeah in place of Saul, the LORD’s chosen one.”
Ittai’s eyes widened. David pressed his lips and inhaled the arid dust. Seven men of Saul? That would include Michal’s sons.
Ittai staggered backward. “Seven? Sons? To die?”
David put his hand over his heart. Michal would never forgive him.
“I will give them over to you.” He almost choked on the answer.
God is hard on kings.
Chapter 49
Hosea 3:1 Then said the LORD unto me, Go yet, love a woman beloved of her friend, yet an adulteress, according to the love of the LORD toward the children of Israel.
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“What do you mean she’s ill? Is she hungry?” David tore past Ittai’s mother into her modest mud-brick home. “Where is my wife?”
Ittai shifted behind his mother, holding her shoulder and steadying her.
Tora wrung her hands. “My king, pray kill me now. She does not wish to see you.”
Red anger burned in his chest, and he stomped past the beaded curtain to the bedchamber. A woman’s form lay under a thin sheet. Her dull brown hair flowed over her face
. He pulled back the cover and exposed a bony shoulder.
“Eglah,” David sat at her bedside. “It’s me, your David. Are you sick?”
The woman did not move, although her shoulders tensed.
David gently wiped the hair from her face. The woman’s eyes squeezed shut. She looked like Michal, but yet—David fingered the skin around her eyes. Where had the lines gone? His gaze paused at the top of her left eyelid. The scar was missing.
His blood froze, and he yanked the woman out of the bed. “Who are you?”
The woman put her hands over her face and trembled.
David pulled her hands back. “Open your eyes. This is your king’s command.”
Golden-brown eyes. His indrawn breath sucked the blood out of his heart. He tossed the imposter back on the bed and yelled, “Ittai! My wife. Where’s my wife?”
Ittai fell to his knees with Tora joining.
“Get up, you goats, and stop groveling. I want to see my wife. There is a matter that concerns her. You heard the Gibeonites’ demand.”
Ittai stood first. “My mother had no fault in this matter. Please, my lord, execute me now.”
David shoved him against the wall. “I’ll deal with you later. What have you done with the woman called Michal? Michal David to be exact. Or if you prefer, Michal, daughter of Saul, wife of King David.”
“She’s at Jada’s house in the Valley of Sorek,” he replied. “I will fetch her right away.”
“I will go with you.” David mounted his horse. “Lead the way, traitor.”
David kicked his horse into a gallop. The horses were lathered, but he didn’t care. He had to see her, tell her, and if she would allow it, comfort her. Yet she had betrayed him, mocked him, made him a fool.
They doubled back to the village with the two dried cisterns and turned southwest down a curvy, narrow valley. The usual creek beds were dry, but Ittai located a seeping spring of muddy water. After the horses drank, they descended bleak ridges of sandstone and entered the Sorek Valley. What once had been a lush forest had now been reduced to dried shrubs and charred bushes. David’s head throbbed, and his vision blurred. After meandering several miles, Ittai pulled in front of a recently repaired house of stone and mud-brick. A broken, charred wall stood beside spindly, bone-dry trees.
Without waiting for introduction, David barged over the threshold and slammed into a vase, toppling it and spilling the precious water onto the stone floor.
Michal and Jada jumped from the grindstone where they had been pounding meal. Dried spices and herbs hung in bundles above the doorway. David’s rage dissipated with a single look from Michal’s lovely eyes. She was thin, but her face glowed when she saw him.
He pulled her into his arms. “Isha, I pictured you hungry and sick.” He kissed her and tasted her invigorating scent, like spices and wild thyme and mint. “I couldn’t bear to think of you dying of starvation.”
Her gaze faltered, and she lowered her face. A flush rose from her neck to her cheeks. “David, I’m sorry.”
He remembered his reason for coming, and his heart scraped the stone floor. Jada and Ittai had stepped out, no doubt to concoct a story he had no luxury to listen to.
He pressed a thumb to Michal’s chin. “You’re not going to like what I have to say. Do you want me to tell you now, or back at the palace?”
She stared at him. “If it’s bad, tell me now.”
And so he told her about the cause of the famine, her father’s sin, and the penalty the Gibeonites would extract. And she wept in his neck, and he wept and told her he loved her. He picked her up and set her on his horse. And he took her back to his palace and laid her on his bed. Tomorrow, the order would go out to round up the sons of Saul. Tomorrow, he’d deal with Ittai and his treachery. Tonight he’d make love.
* * *
David lined up the nine surviving sons of Saul. Meribbaal, son of Jonathan, son of Saul. Micah, son of Meribbaal. Joel, Gaddiel, Eliah, sons of Adriel, by Merab, daughter of Saul. Joshua and Beraiah, his sons, by Michal, daughter of Saul. Armoni and Mephibosheth, sons of Saul, by Rizpah.
They stood straight and tall, except Meribbaal who tried to sit erect in his wheelchair.
“Let me, my lord, pay the entire penalty.” Meribbaal’s voice quavered. “I am old and useless, but do not take these lads.”
“Did I say you could speak?” David snapped. The five who rebelled were easy choices. “Separate Joel, Gaddiel, Eliah, sons of Merab, and Armoni and Mephibosheth, sons of Rizpah.”
The guards grabbed the five men David designated and led them away. David scratched his beard. How could he decide between the sons of Jonathan and his own sons? How could he let any of these men die? But the famine raged and thousands starved. He toughened his face. Saul sinned by breaking the nation’s solemn oath, and the LORD demanded that Saul must pay with seven men of his house.
“Meribbaal,” David said. “Did not Ziba testify that you and Micah were against me during Absalom’s rebellion?”
Meribbaal lowered his face. “Ziba did testify against me, but not against Micah.”
“Did you wish to restore the kingdom of your grandfather Saul?”
“I will not say, my lord.” His jaw trembled as he gripped the arms of his wheelchair.
David turned to Beraiah. “My son, did you join Sheba’s rebellion?”
Beraiah blinked. “I intended to join. Yes, but I did not go.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“My brother needed me. But my lord, do not spare my life. Spare my brother Joshua.”
David thumped the blunt end of his spear on the ground. “Shut up. I ask the questions. You answer them.”
He stood in front of Joshua. “You did not fight for me against Absalom. I heard you made quite a commotion. You stole an Israeli woman and deserted.”
“No excuses, my lord.” Joshua’s hard black eyes stared straight at David, so different from the exuberant boy who used to say, ‘More candy, Uncle David, more candy.’
“And you, Micah. Your father had reason to stay in Jerusalem because of his feet. But you played around with Absalom’s men. You also enjoyed my concubines. Is that not true?”
Micah shook his sandy hair.
“You dare lie to the king?” David growled.
“Please, my lord,” Meribbaal said. “He is but a lad. He was only fifteen at the time.”
“Shut up!” David pounded the spear. “Take these men back to the ward. I shall make my decision tonight.”
His knees shook, and he sat back on his throne. Hushai leaned forward. “There are two more petitioners.”
“Petitioners? I thought today’s session was private.”
“They are here for this matter,” Hushai said.
“Let them step forward.”
Hushai clapped his hands, and the petitioners stepped up, dressed in sackcloth and covered in ashes. They prostrated themselves. Phaltiel and Ittai.
David held his scepter. “Each of you may speak once. Phaltiel, you first.”
Phaltiel crawled to his knee. “My lord, let me die in place of one of the young men.”
“Denied. And you, my armor bearer, what do you want?”
“Michal and I will die for your sons, Joshua and Beraiah.”
“Denied. The Gibeonites were specific. Seven men of Saul. Go back to your duty before I arrest you for dereliction. Put your regular clothes on and meet me in my chamber.”
Acid crawled in David’s stomach. If the LORD would accept it, he would sacrifice himself for these seven men. Saul, Saul, why do you persecute us? Even in death, your shadow falls on us. Wasn’t it hard to kick against the pricks? What man of your house shall I spare?
* * *
I stood as soon as Ittai’s form appeared at the window. “So, who did David choose?”
My heart jittered at an alarming rate. I had bitten my fingernails to the stub, and my hands were rubbed raw from wringing.
“He chose five already,” Ittai said. �
�He is to decide on the remaining two.”
“Who?”
“The five are your three eldest and Rizpah’s two boys. They had joined Sheba’s rebellion, so David set them aside already. He questioned the rest and will determine their fate tonight.”
Ittai rattled off David’s question and answer session, but my heart had already splattered like an overripe melon. I loved Joel, Gaddiel and Eliah as if they were sons of my body. Why, why, why? Oh, God. Oh, my sister, I have failed you.
“Michal, are you listening? He turned down Phalti and my request to die for the boys.”
“Let me beg of him. I am the daughter of Saul. I should be worth at least a few of them.”
“He’s denied it already. I’m to meet him at his chamber. Do you want to come and wait outside?”
My pulse swishing in my ear, I wrapped my hair in a mourning shawl and hurried after Ittai’s long strides.
“David made a vow with Jonathan to preserve his seed,” I said. “I can’t believe he is considering Micah. He was only a lad.”
“Meribbaal volunteered. He wants to spare his son. So David may let Micah live. The question is whether he would pick Joshua or Beraiah.”
“My guess is Joshua.”
“To be spared?” Ittai’s eyebrow arched.
“Yes, Joshua did not rebel.”
“That’s true, and Joshua is his oldest surviving son, older than Adonijah.”
I bit my lip. Ittai and David both believed Joshua and Beraiah were mine. My head throbbed with indecision. Should I tell David the truth? But if I did, he’d forsake both of them. And he’d hate me forever for lying to him.
We stopped outside David’s door. Arik glared at me. “The king did not ask for this woman.”
Ittai stared back. “Respect the king’s wife, or I’ll break your neck.”
Arik announced Ittai and stood in a way where I could not intrude even had I tried. I backed to the outer wall and rested against a window in the stairwell.
My head ached and tears swirled. The sudden events of the past week left me no time to reflect. One minute I was crushing spices and grinding meal with Jada. I was Ittai’s wife. I had pledged to love and cherish him. We were happy, very happy. And David toppled everything when he charged in and overturned Jada’s vase of divination water.
Michal's Window Page 49
