Bathsheba (39 page)

“He loves you, Ima. Play your lyre for him and let him hold you in his arms.”

“Your father will spend the night making plans against your brother.” She darted a quick glance around them, satisfied to realize they were far from the other wives and children of David, surrounded instead by guards and her father, who walked ahead with the Thirty.

“After that,” Solomon said, his smile far less innocent than it should be for his age. How much he had seen in his tender years! How much hardship in the court of the king! “I will send him to you.” He patted her arm. “He will listen to me.”

She caught the hint of a smile on his face and wanted to cuff him for such a remark, but the sound of the weeping crowds stilled her hands. Shuffling sounds, like those of a runner, made her pause and turn to see who was coming. Solomon released his grip on her arm and moved ahead of her to get a better look. He crept forward, and she wanted to follow but held back. Only men surrounded the king, and the women and children stayed in their place behind him. David might overlook Solomon’s presence, but not hers. Dare she risk it? Surely he would not fault her in such circumstances.

She wrapped her arms about herself to steady her shaky limbs and moved silently, careful of the prickly weeds and gravel. She slipped between the guards, surprised that they did not stop her, and came to a halt near David as the messenger fell on his face at David’s feet.

“My lord king, Ahithophel is among the conspirators with Absalom!”

David stood unmoving, staring down at the messenger. Murmurs of disapproval and a string of curses filled the air around her. Bathsheba sucked in a soft breath, hoping no one heard or noticed her presence, though her heart beat fast and she suddenly felt faint.
Sabba, Sabba . . . do you hate me so much?
Her throat thickened, the tears springing once more to cloud her vision.

David lifted his gaze heavenward, and a loud moan escaped his lips. “Oh, Adonai, turn Ahithophel’s counsel into foolishness.” He lowered his gaze to the messenger. “If you hear any more, be swift to bring me word.”

The young man nodded and hurried back down the mountain. David turned and saw Bathsheba. Their gazes held, and her heart skipped a beat. Ahithophel had betrayed him because of her. Could David see the regret in her eyes? Could he sense the remorse, the sorrow, she carried for him?
Oh, Adonai, let the blame rest on me!

She was the first to lower her gaze, sinking to her knees, pressing her face to the dust. She knelt in the dirt, half expecting the men to continue on and leave her there. By the looks of some of the Thirty, it was no more than she deserved for the ill will she had brought down on David’s house. She’d grown used to the shunning.

But as she breathed in the dirt, silently pleading for Adonai’s deliverance from Absalom, echoing David’s prayer to turn her grandfather’s advice into foolishness, she felt his presence and saw his bare toes protruding from beneath his royal robes. He extended his hand and she took it, standing.

“I’m sorry for my grandfather’s choices, my lord,” she said loud enough to be heard by those standing closest to the king. “I’m sorry for all of the hurt I have caused you.” She lowered her voice on the final words, meaning them for him alone.

He squeezed her fingers and intertwined them with his, turning so both of them could continue up the mountain together. He did not speak, but he also did not release her hand, giving her the comfort of his presence even here. She sighed, feeling part of her strength return.

As they reached the summit, Hushai the Archite met them, his robe torn and dust on his head. Bathsheba moved to leave David’s side, but he tightened his grip, pulling her closer. She sensed his need of her growing with each steady breath, every labored beat of his heart.

“Hushai, my friend.” David let go of her hand as he embraced Hushai and kissed each cheek. “Why have you come?” He moved back to hold her hand once more, as though he was suddenly afraid she would slip from his grasp as her grandfather had done.

“I would go with you, my lord. I will stay at your side until the Lord brings you back to Jerusalem.” Hushai raised plump arms toward the city, and David turned to look in the direction. Fresh tears filled Bathsheba’s eyes at the beauty of the place, and when she looked once more at her husband, she caught the glint of liquid on his lashes as well.

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem . . . will I ever behold your glory again?” His whispered words cut deep. He turned back to Hushai. “If you go with me, Hushai, you will be a burden to me. But if you return to the city and say to Absalom, ‘I will be your servant, O king; I was your father’s servant in the past, but now I will be your servant,’ then you can help me by frustrating Ahithophel’s advice. Won’t the priests Zadok and Abiathar be there with you? Tell them anything you hear in the palace. Ahimaaz son of Zadok and Jonathan son of Abiathar are there with them. Send them to me with anything you hear.”

Hushai nodded his assent and bowed to David. “I will do as you say, my lord.” He moved quickly despite his bulk, his men following in his wake as they made their way back to the city.

David watched him go for only a moment, then turned to meet her gaze. “Your grandfather has the power to do us great harm. Your sons are no longer safe. You must stay close to my guards—do not stray even to walk with the women.”

“Yes, my lord.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

He bent close, his breath warm on her face, and stroked her cheek with one finger. “You are not to blame, beloved. Do not ever forget that fact.” He moved quickly then, pulling her along with him up over the summit and down the mountain. “We cannot afford to rest. With your grandfather’s counsel, Absalom could be on us by nightfall.”

Darkness fell like a heavy cloak, concealing their whereabouts in shadow, yet exposing them with the brightness of the full moon. The scratchy goat-hair blankets over the uneven ground was the life David had known before he was king—the life of exile Bathsheba had never experienced.

The day’s journey had been arduous, at times treacherous. Men had met David just over the summit of the Mount of Olives, bringing provisions. She had ridden with Shammua tucked safely in a sling on her back the rest of the way, her arms wrapped around Shobab at the front, her exhaustion lifted by the donkey’s capable back. For a time, the journey had felt safe, in some ways an adventure. Nathan had coaxed Solomon to race up ahead a short distance, as far as the king would allow the boys to go, then back to her side, winded. She would have paid in gold for their energy.

But the time of peace and safety had been short-lived as they skirted the town of Bahurim. The town belonged to King Saul’s tribe of Benjamin, and Shimei, one of Saul’s relatives, had cursed David and thrown stones at them, showering them with dirt from the opposite hillside, until they had at last passed out of his vicinity.

She flicked some of the dust from her robe now as she sat nursing Shammua, remembering the look of surprise followed by resigned acceptance on David’s face as he endured the Benjamite’s cursing. Abishai, David’s nephew, had wanted to cut off the man’s head, but David would not allow it.

Shuffling sounds rose above the mating hum of insects and the distant call of an owl. She pulled Shammua closer, comforted by his warmth, searching the darkness for the source of the noise. Solomon came into view, moonlight bathing his tired face. He glanced behind him.

“Here she is, Abba. I told you I could find her.” Solomon met Bathsheba’s gaze, his smile mischievous, telling her with a look that he had kept his word. “Shall I take Shammua to Tirzah for you, Ima?”

David sank down on the log next to her. “I haven’t sat at a campfire in a long time.” His tone held a wistful note, but when she looked up, she caught the weariness, the deep concern, lining his brow. “This is not the way I would have shown you how beautiful such nights can be.” He glanced at the stars, and she followed his gaze. Blackness stretched as far as the eye could see, sprinkled with winking dots of white fire. The effect took her breath, and she warmed to David when she felt his touch on her arm. She pulled Shammua from her breast and tucked his now-sleeping body into Solomon’s arms, watching him walk with steady feet the short distance to Tirzah.

David’s arms came around her then, and she rested her head against his chest. They sat in silence, listening to the camp settle onto makeshift beds on the hard ground. “I spent many a night sleeping under the stars,” he said at last, his voice a caress against her ear. “I learned much of Adonai, of His provision and care, during those times.”

“You are blessed of Adonai, David. You are beloved of Him . . . and of me.” She felt his grip tighten about her shoulders, and she lifted her face to his. His kiss was warm, with a hint of salt left over from the tears that had soaked into his beard.

“Shimei’s cursing today . . . you understand why I had to endure it, why I couldn’t allow Abishai to make him stop.” His whisper held a trace of deep hurt, even agony, that the man could fling such hateful words along with stones.

She cupped his cheek, drawing a path that had marked his tears. “I understand, beloved. Who better than me? Shimei’s curses were as the sting of a lash—a deserved lash.” She sighed. “The stones and dirt, on the other hand . . . I think the man owes me a new set of clothes.” She smiled, eliciting a soft chuckle from him. He kissed her again, softly, with such tenderness that she forgot for the briefest moment where they were and why they were there.

“Adonai is great in mercy. If He so wills, we will see our home again.” He lifted his gaze to the heavens once more and pulled her head against his chest. “We will rest here tonight, then cross the Jordan at daybreak.”

She nodded, content to sit with him in silence, but their respite was short-lived. Voices came closer, urgent whispers behind them.

“My lord king, Jonathan and Ahimaaz are here.” Benaiah stepped out of the way, and two young men bowed low at David’s feet.

David released his hold on her arm, and Bathsheba quickly stood, moving into the shadows. “What have you heard?” he asked.

“My lord, you must set out and cross the river at once.” Jonathan lifted one hand toward David, his gesture imploring. “Ahithophel has advised Absalom to gather twelve thousand men and set out tonight in pursuit of you. He would attack you while you are weary and weak. He would strike you with terror to cause the people to flee, then kill only you, my king, and bring all the people back to Absalom.”

Pinpricks of fear coated Bathsheba’s skin, running up her arms and chest, racing with her pumping blood. She held her breath, waiting for David’s reply.

“Hushai the Archite has advised instead that Absalom wait and gather the entire army from Dan to Beersheba to come against you, my lord,” Ahimaaz said, “and it appears that Absalom has taken Hushai’s advice, but Absalom is crafty. Hushai cautioned our fathers to send word to you to cross at once, to take no chances, as Ahithophel’s advice should be the course Absalom takes, if he were to do what is truly wise.”

“If I were Absalom, I would do as Ahithophel says. My counselor is indeed a fierce enemy.” David spoke with resignation, his words weighted with stone. “We must flee across the Jordan at once.” The command came with swift movement. As David rose to his feet, his men hurried through the camp, waking the men, women, and children.

Bathsheba rushed to find Tirzah and the children, her feet stumbling over the rough ground in the dark. Torches sprang up, lit by the numerous campfires that were soon extinguished. Rippling water—pleasant background music at the campsite—now seemed like a yawning cavern as she approached the river’s edge with her sons.

“Take my wives and children over first.” David suddenly stood beside her, addressing the guards stationed along the bank. A makeshift raft had been thrown together before the sun had set, in anticipation of the crossing the next morning.

David turned to her, touching her back, the warmth of his hand calming her frayed nerves. “You and the children will go with Benaiah first. The water is quieter and shallow here. You could walk across it and not sink too deeply, but because of the children, the men will carry you over on the raft.” He bent close to her ear. “All will be well, beloved. Do not fear.”

She lifted her eyes to his, the torch showing the love in his gaze. Her heart swelled with gratitude. When she should have been last, he was seeing to her safety above all others. “Thank you, my lord. We will be waiting for you.”

Benaiah came toward them and she turned to accept his help, but he did not move, his gaze on David’s. “My lord, you heard yourself that Ahithophel advised Absalom to come to kill only you. While I know you, my lord, would prefer to be the last to cross to see your people safely to the other side, may I please escort you with your wife and sons over now? If you are killed, my lord, where would we be?” He stepped closer, something she had never seen him do before. “Your wife and sons would also be at great risk,” he whispered.