Bathsheba (4 page)

Bathsheba looked up at the palace walls that rose above her, a stone’s throw behind their house. What made a father, a king, favor one son over the other? Did King David prefer the son because he loved the mother? Did he love Absalom’s mother? Court gossip said no. The king’s affections rested mostly with Abigail, but her son, Chileab, was not fit to be king, and her second child had been a girl. Perhaps this third one, soon due to be delivered, would bring another son. Would that change the favor of Absalom in the king’s eyes?

“I think it would be hard to be a son of a king.” Bathsheba couldn’t tear her gaze from the gleaming white stones of the king’s home.

“Or his wife,” Tirzah added as she moved to drape the cloth over a low rail to dry. “You are fortunate your grandfather did not have his way in this, mistress. You could have been married to the king and forced to share him, or to Amnon and forced to deal with his hurt and anger. It’s a sad woman who must share the love of a man, particularly a king.”

Bathsheba met Tirzah’s gaze. “If Father would not give me to Rei because of our age difference, he would never have agreed to Amnon. We are more than four years apart.”

“Your grandfather would not have cared. In royal circles, age does not matter.” Tirzah offered Bathsheba a hand and helped her to her feet.

“I imagine you are right.” Though a part of her wondered. Would a king’s wife have any less time with her husband than Bathsheba had with hers? Loneliness could be found in warriors’ homes as well as in kings’ palaces.

She released a pent-up breath and walked from the courtyard to the open door, fingering the scarf Uriah had given her. “Find me some fabric. I want to see if I can duplicate these stitches.”

3

Uriah took his place among the Thirty beside Bathsheba’s father Eliam, a step below the raised benches reserved for the king’s advisors. Joab and Abishai, the king’s nephews and chief army commanders; Hushai the Archite; and Bathsheba’s grandfather Ahithophel were among the king’s chief counselors, along with the oldest of King David’s sons. Only Amnon, heir apparent to the throne, was missing.

“Amnon’s beard should have filled in by now,” Eliam said to the man beside him. “He should be here, supporting the troops.”

“I hear tell the king tried to get him to come, but he refused,” the man responded.

“That’s not what I heard,” another said. “I heard the king told the prince to stay away as long as he likes.”

“Why would he do that? His presence here would unite us, and he might know something useful.” Eliam stiffened, his tone brittle.

“Joab has already gotten anything useful out of the man. We don’t need him here.”

The first man’s words pricked the hair on Uriah’s neck. He leaned across Eliam to confront him. “We need him here to remind us of what the Ammonites deserve. They will pay in blood for what they did to the prince’s honor, to the king, and to Israel.”

The blast of a trumpet silenced a follow-up remark, but Uriah leaned back, satisfied at the shocked look on the man’s face. Uriah stood and bowed low with the rest of the Thirty as the king followed his flag bearers and took his seat on his gilded dais, surrounded by guards. The king’s ornate throne stood in his audience chamber, but in this military planning room, a raised golden seat held him in highest honor over all—something his men were quick to remember. Joab and Abishai made sure of it.

David’s guard Benaiah stood to the side of the king, arms folded, his sword strapped to his side, the king’s approval evident in the golden insignia given to the Thirty showing brightly on his dark cloak. Uriah touched his own pendant and sat straighter, proud of the king’s approval, pleased with his own military prowess. He would be honored to guard the king as Benaiah did—a silent sentinel of protection, an imposing figure. Perhaps in time . . . He looked now to the king, who sat rigid in his seat, hands gripping the arms of his chair.

“The Ammonites have been among those whom the Lord has told us not to provoke or harass because their land has been given to Lot’s descendants as an inheritance from Yahweh.” The room fell silent at the king’s words. “Keeping this law has always been my intent, as you well know, and why I secured an alliance of peace with Nahash, king of Ammon.

“But as it happens, Ammon is the one doing the provoking. I’m sure you are all aware of the news, but in case any of you had your heads in the sand or were too busy to pay attention, Jehoshaphat son of Ahilud will read the message received from the men I sent to console Hanun, king of the Ammonites, on the death of his father, Nahash.” David nodded to Jehoshaphat, then folded his arms across his chest, the sleeves of his royal cloak hanging below the golden belt at his waist.

Jehoshaphat stood and removed a clay tablet from the folds of soft lambskin. A short, stocky man with thick hair and brows that nearly touched as he squinted, he pulled the tablet closer to read. He cleared his throat.

My lord King David, greetings. From your servant Amnon, son of David, from the city of Jericho.

Uriah leaned closer, his gaze on the king, not wishing to miss his reaction. The king’s response often told them how best to proceed, the look in his eyes their instant command.

The nine men you sent with me are also here. We did as you requested and went to give our condolences in your name to the king, Hanun of the Ammonites. Hanun allowed us into his presence, but rather than receive us with the honor due to your name, my lord, his nobles soured his mind against us. They said to Hanun, “Do you think David is honoring your father by sending men to you to express sympathy? Hasn’t David sent them to you to explore the city and spy it out and overthrow it?”

So Hanun listened to his men and seized us in front of the entire court. We would have fought back save for the sharp blade held to our throats. Against our wills, to our utter humiliation, Hanun’s men shaved off half of each man’s beard, then cut off our garments at the buttocks and made us walk out of his palace and through the streets to the city gate, exposing us most thoroughly. Now show us what we should do, for your men are greatly humiliated, and Hanun’s actions should not go unpunished.

Jehoshaphat sat down, and silence fell over the group, broken only by the men’s heated breath. All eyes were on the king. Uriah felt a fire burn in his belly, imagining again what he would do to Hanun given the chance. He watched the king’s face darken, his eyes smoldering embers.

The king straightened, hands grabbing the arms of his seat once again, his gaze hard, piercing. He spat onto the tiles at his feet, then stood. “I immediately sent messengers to keep the men at Jericho until their beards grew back. They returned several days ago and gave me a full report, confirming Amnon’s words.” He looked over the group of trusted men, his intent clear. “Hanun has become dung in my nostrils this day, and he will rue the day he ever heard the name of David, king of Israel.” He looked at Joab, whose eager eyes blazed fire. “The army is ready?”

“Ready to leave at your command, my lord.”

The king sat again and looked from Joab to his counselors. “What else should we know?”

Ahithophel raised a hand and David acknowledged him. “There is word that Hanun has hired the Syrians of Beth Rehob and the Syrians of Zoba—twenty thousand foot soldiers. And one thousand men from the king of Maacah, and twelve thousand men from Ish-Tob for reinforcements. He has heard of your anger and is preparing to engage us.”

“Let them come,” Joab said. “We have defeated every enemy up until now. The Ammonites and the Syrians will also bow to us, or they will fare worse than the men of Moab.” A cheer went up from the captains and the thirty mighty men, but quickly dissipated at a wave of the king’s hand.

He turned to Jehoshaphat, who held an ink-dipped reed in his hand above a scroll, recording David’s every word. “Send a message to Hanun, king of Ammon. Greet him in my name and say, ‘You have become a stench in my nostrils.’ ” His gaze lifted, taking in the room with a sweeping glance, coming to rest again on Joab. “We leave in three days.”

David strode the halls from the military room to his audience chamber, his blood still pumping hot and fast. Hanun would pay for his abuse, his insolence. Hanun’s father, Nahash, would have been mortified if he knew what had happened, and David still felt a hint of sorrow that the son was nothing like the father. Peace would have been far better than yet another war. Perhaps he was getting too old to fight, though many of his warriors were not much younger.

He stopped at the entrance to the chamber, waiting for his trumpeters and flag bearers to announce his coming. Hurried footsteps came from behind, and he turned to watch as Benaiah and his guards intercepted whoever it was.

“I must speak with the king at once.” David recognized the voice of Hannah, the women’s overseer. Her alarmed tone jolted him from thoughts of the Ammonites. He moved through his bevy of guards.

“What is it, Hannah?”

She bowed low at the waist, then quickly raised her head. “My lord, you must come at once. I’m afraid we are losing your wife Abigail.”

Her words rocked him, and he planted his scepter more firmly on the ground, steadying himself. He couldn’t lose Abigail. The shock of the thought brought a rush of memory. He had nearly lost her with Chileab’s birth.

“How can this be? Is her time upon her then?” Why wasn’t he told sooner?

Hannah nodded her graying head, turning slightly away from him as if motioning for him to follow. “Please, my lord. Her pains came upon her suddenly this morning. I’m afraid it is not going well with her. The babe has come, but Abigail is very weak.”

“The babe has come—that is a good thing.” Chileab had taken days to come forth. Surely Hannah exaggerated. But by the look in her eyes, David dismissed the thought. “Take me to her.”

His strides matched the rapid pounding of his heart, his mind berating him with every step. He couldn’t be losing her. She had assured him after Anna’s birth that it would be safe to allow for more children. Chileab had been the only exception, and even from his birth she had recovered, in time. He should not have listened to her. Should never have promised to keep from taking more wives. More wives would have given him sons while preserving the life of the one wife he held most dear.

Abigail.

He stopped at the threshold of her apartment, following Hannah’s lead. Benaiah halted one step behind him. The door was slightly ajar, and David placed one hand on the carved cedarwood to push it open, but the cries coming from inside the room arrested his movement.