Bathsheba (10 page)

“Tea would be fine. But let me help you.” She studied her cousin’s wife. The girl was shorter than Chava, medium-boned and darker-skinned, sturdy like Tirzah. Her smile lit her mouth as she fluttered her arms in a dismissive gesture. “Nonsense. You and Mother must sit and catch up on things. I will join you shortly.”

“She’s a thoughtful girl.” Bathsheba faced Aunt Talia as Jarah left the room. Her aunt was a small, stout woman with graying hair pulled back beneath a brown head scarf. Her sturdy arms had seen many a good day’s work, and though widowed for several years now, she carried on, giving to those in need around her even out of her own meager means.

“She is good for Rei and a help to me in my old age.” Her look held no guile, and Bathsheba sensed the comment was meant to put her at ease. They both knew how much Rei had once cared for her.

“You’re hardly old, Aunt Talia. You have many good years ahead of you.”

Her aunt waved the thought away. “Only God knows how long a person has on this earth.” Her wistful expression told Bathsheba her aunt’s thoughts had turned to her husband Shem.

“Do you miss him still?”

Aunt Talia folded her arms across her wide girth. “At times, when I am alone in this room mending, I sense someone in the chair.” She pointed to the empty wooden chair across from them, the one Uncle Shem had often claimed as his. “I always look, expecting to see him, but of course he is never there.” Her chest lifted in a deep sigh. “I know he rests in Sheol, but sometimes his presence, the sense of him, is hard to forget.” She glanced up as Jarah returned with a tray of seasoned flat bread and three steaming clay cups of honeyed tea. “It is good to have Rei and Jarah here to ease my loneliness.”

Aunt Talia motioned for Jarah to take the seat beside her and twisted her bulk to face Bathsheba. “Now before Rei returns, tell me, what brought the emotion to your eyes? Of course, you are missing Uriah, but what else?”

Bathsheba took the cup her aunt handed to her and sipped slowly. “There is nothing else. I keep myself busy with the household duties, but the months drag on and there is no news of when the war will end. Sabba tells me that things are growing worse. The king will likely join the troops after the New Moon feast.”

“Good! The king should have joined his men from the start. Perhaps the war would have ended by now if David had led them rather than leaving Joab in charge. That man may have the loyalty of the army, but the king’s leadership is what they need. Besides, what good has it done for him to stay home and grieve? All he managed to do was add more wives to his household.” Aunt Talia picked up a basket of mending and threaded a needle, her hands keeping time with her words.

“Sabba didn’t tell me that.” The king had finally broken his vow to Abigail? Such a thing made sense now that Abigail was gone. “Perhaps the king was lonely.” She could understand the feeling, though the understanding did nothing to ease the guilt she felt over her interest in him.

Bathsheba took the basket from Jarah after the woman had chosen a tunic to mend, and picked up a shawl with the fringe missing in one corner. Keeping her hands busy provided a good distraction for her troubling thoughts.

“I’m sure he was lonely. No one wants to lose a spouse, child, but the king had plenty of other wives to choose from. He didn’t need to add more.”

“How many did he add?” Jarah’s smooth voice had a slight accent Bathsheba couldn’t place. Hadn’t Rei mentioned meeting her outside of Jerusalem? Or perhaps she had recently moved here.

“Some say three, some say five. Ach! One would be too many! The man should have gone to war.” Aunt Talia stabbed the bone needle into the soft wool fabric.

“Why should we care who the king marries?” Bathsheba’s hands stilled, the question begging an answer. Why did everyone in the kingdom concern themselves with the king’s private life? “Is he not entitled to happiness? Besides, Sabba says men from every tribe and even other nations are always willing to offer a daughter in marriage to the king. How can he refuse?”

“He refused just fine while Abigail lived. It is none of my business, to be sure, but it seems as though Adonai took the wrong wife.” A sigh lifted her aunt’s chest. “But who am I to question the Almighty? He gives and He takes away. Blessed be His name.”

“Blessed be His name,” Jarah and Bathsheba responded in unison.

They sat in silence stitching, while questions and uncertainty swirled in Bathsheba’s head. No wonder she had not seen the king about his roof in the months since Uriah left for war. He had married more women and was undoubtedly busy getting to know them. And if the reports of the war were true and Sabba had heard correctly, the king would leave to join his troops, and perhaps then Uriah could come home. And once Uriah was home she would no longer be lonely, and her thoughts would no longer drift to a forbidden friendship she had mostly imagined.

She glanced at Jarah, whose belly was already slightly swollen with Rei’s child. Seeds of envy sprouted, but just as quickly she doused them. Jarah migh
t carry Rei’s child, but did she have his love? At least she knew Uriah loved her.

But as they walked to the high place later that afternoon, it was the king’s smiling face she longed to see, and she wondered if she was in love with her husband or with a figment of her imagination.

8

David stood at the curtained entrance of the tabernacle at the high place in Gibeon, surrounded by his counselors and bodyguards. The late afternoon breeze blew hot against his face, a trickle of sweat drawing a thin film along his crowned brow. The weight of the gold and jewels seemed heavier than usual as he entered the courtyard where the burnt offerings to the Lord burned continually day and night on the altar’s hearth.

A bull, six lambs, and a ram rimmed the perimeter, awaiting their fate as sin offerings on the bronze altar at the center. Gibeon afforded a better place for sacrifices than Jerusalem’s narrow streets. David had left Zadok, the high priest, in charge here from the moment he had brought the ark to Jerusalem. The plan had worked well, though he could never visit this place without wishing the sacrifices and worship before Adonai’s ark could be united in one magnificent temple.

The blast of a ram’s horn drew his attention to the priests dressed in fine linen ephods, with Zadok wearing the rich robes of Aaron’s high priesthood. Zadok and his son tugged the first ram to the center. David stepped forward and placed his hands on its head, symbolically transferring his sins to the animal to act as his substitute, though he knew no animal’s blood would ever be enough to cover a man’s sins.

The priest slit the ram’s throat in one swift motion. Moans and prayers from the hundreds of men and women spread out behind him drowned out the sound of the remaining bleating sheep.

David’s heart constricted, and he knelt in the dust, bowing his face to the rocky, grass-tufted terrain. The rustling, shifting sound of the crowd met his ears. His people would have followed his example, copying his posture. As they should. But the prayers he heard whispered around him seemed distant, the words coming to his mind merely rote sayings he’d memorized long ago and repeated far too often of late. Where were the prayers that usually sprang from his own lips, the communion he’d enjoyed with Adonai since his youth? The priestly ritual, this monthly sacrifice commanded by the law of Moses, had never been a habitual task but one he embraced with delight.

What had happened to his joy?

He pushed to his feet and waited as Zadok pronounced the final blessing. The sacrifice alone did not make a man clean. He knew that. Only when the heart was engaged in confession and repentance, accepting the offering as payment for his sin, did Adonai look upon a man as clean in His eyes. David glanced at the blue expanse overhead, its wispy clouds doing little to block the heat from the relentless sun. He raised a hand to shade himself from the glare.

Am I clean before You, Lord?

The prayer went unanswered, and he turned away from the altar. He didn’t feel clean, but he could name no sin in his heart either. Had he been wrong to take five new concubines? He searched his heart as his guards paved a path to take him to the head of the crowd and return to the city. He felt nothing. No guilt. No assurance. Despite his efforts, his heart had chilled where the warmth of Abigail’s love once lived. And he seemed powerless to do anything to change it. God should not have taken her from him.

He pushed ahead, picking his way over rocky ground, at last looking up at the faithful men and women who had accompanied him. He spotted Ahithophel, a familiar face he had not seen in at least a month. Catching Benaiah’s ever-present attention, he motioned toward his counselor, and the crowd parted as he approached.

“Ahithophel, my friend, where have you been this past month? I have missed your wise counsel.” David smiled, reached for the older man, and kissed each cheek. Ahithophel quickly bowed as David released him.

“My lord, you do me great honor.” He stood as David extended his hand and helped him up. “I spent some time at my home in Giloh. I am pleased to report the grape harvest was better than expected.”

“And I am happy to hear it. Come, let us walk together to the house of our God.” The last stop after the sacrifices would be a visit to the tent that held the ark. “Then you may join me at my table this night. The New Moon feast is not the same without you, my friend.” Though Ahithophel had a way of getting on his nerves sometimes, with his men at war, David missed his company.

“Thank you, my lord. I would be pleased to walk with you.” He stepped in time with David’s pace. “I have promised my granddaughter to eat the New Moon feast at her home tonight.” He glanced behind him, motioning toward a woman in a striped red and blue veil, her dark eyes the only thing visible beneath its folds. Several other women accompanied her. “But I am sure she will not mind terribly if I miss it. Unless, of course, you would care to join us, my lord?”

David looked in the direction Ahithophel pointed, his gaze meeting the woman’s. She appeared startled by his attention and quickly lowered her head. She had a familiar look about her, but he couldn’t place where he might have seen her.

“I fear my retinue would be too large for her home, my friend. If your granddaughter would like, she may join the women’s table at the banquet. Bring your whole family. I would be pleased to meet all of them then.” The thought brightened his mood, a distraction from the normal routine.

“I’m afraid my son and my granddaughter’s husband are away fighting the Ammonites. And my granddaughter has taken great pains to prepare the meal for myself and for my daughter’s family. Begging your pardon, my lord, if I alone miss her feast, I shall be forgiven, but if we all miss, I shall be surely chastised.” He chuckled, and David laughed with him.

“It is good to have you near me again, Ahithophel. Of course, I would not wish you to suffer the stinging tongue of a woman.” He smiled at Ahithophel’s laughter, but a part of him couldn’t shake a desire to see his old friend in the company of his family. A normal family like he used to know before the trappings of kingship changed everything. “Perhaps if I were to personally extend the invitation?”

Ahithophel lifted a brow, his expression clearly doubtful. “As you wish, my lord. I’m sure my family would be most honored to be guests at your table.” Ahithophel glanced behind him and motioned the young woman forward. She hurried to obey, keeping her gaze on her grandfather.

“Yes, Sabba, what do you need?”

David warmed to the intimate word and tone she used with her grandfather.