The Secret Chord (12 page)

“I heard the men at arms muttering together outside the door, arguing whether it would be all right to defy me and force the door. Had they done so, and exposed my deceit, David would not have had time to make his escape. I have my father's instability to thank for the fact that they did not, in the end, force their way into my chamber. They knew how his moods could change upon the moment, and none wanted to risk the blame of having invaded our bedchamber against my express command.

“So they reported to Shaul that David was too ill presently to attend him. My father was insane by then, probably, but he was no fool. The troops returned, of course, and he came with them. I had no choice but to admit him, and hope that David was now beyond reach. I was trembling when my father pushed me aside and strode into the room. He pulled the coverlet back and saw what I had done. His face was red with fury. He grasped my wrist and shook me, demanding to know why I had defied him.

“‘I had to,' I lied. ‘He threatened to kill me if I didn't help him escape.' He stared at me until I couldn't hold his gaze. ‘Which direction did he take?' ‘South. He means to make for Beit Lehem.' He lifted my chin roughly, so that I had to meet his eyes. He could read the lie in my face. In that moment, he knew he had lost me, too. He flung me upon the bed and threw back his head and gave a demented cry. It was awful. I can never forget the sound he made. Wounded.

“It took two days for his spies to bring word that David was in Ramah. He sent a party to seize him and bring him back. But David had made the right choice in going to Shmuel. There was a strange power in that man. The detachment returned without David, all of them raving ecstatically and calling upon Yah. So my father set out himself for Ramah. Even after their long estrangement, Shmuel still wielded the old sway over him. No one would ever tell me what really happened there. All I know is that Shmuel humbled my father completely and kept him naked and praying for a day and a night while David slipped away and came back here.

“It was Yonatan he wanted to see, of course, not me. But they met in our house and I was with them as they tried to decide what was the safest course to follow. The roles were reversed now. I think Shmuel had worked his influence on David, poured all his ugly thoughts about my father into his ears. In any case, it was David, at last, who was persuaded that Shaul meant to kill him, and Yonatan who could not bring himself to believe that our father was so lost. ‘My father does nothing, great or small, without disclosing it to me. If he intended to kill you I would know of it.' I broke in there. ‘Brother, don't be a fool. Do you think he's blind as well as mad? This affair of yours is part of the reason he wants David dead. Don't delude yourself. He
will
kill him, the moment he gets the chance.' Yonatan shook his head, but David grasped his arm and looked into his eyes.

“‘Your sister'—that's what he said, ‘your sister,' not ‘my wife'; strange, that never struck me until now—‘Your sister sees the truth. There is only a step between me and death.'

“‘Tell me what to do,' Yonatan said, looking from one to the other of us. Then his eyes, full of love, rested on David. ‘Whatever you want, I will do it for you.' David drew him into a deep embrace. I might not have even been there, so intimate it was between them. But I
was
there, and I feared, for a moment, what David might ask of my brother.

“‘The day after tomorrow is the new moon. If the king returns from Ramah, there will be the customary festive meal. He invited me, before all this, to sit with him at the feast.'

“‘You can't mean to go?' I interrupted, alarmed.

“‘Of course not. But if he misses me, if he asks where I am, tell him I went to my family at Beit Lehem because my clan is gathering for its annual sacrifice. If he is content with that excuse, it will show that his feelings have softened, the fit has passed, and maybe he no longer means me any harm. In that case, I can come back here and we can try to go on as before. But if he rages, we'll know the opposite, and I will have to flee. Yonatan, you know I've only ever wanted to serve him. If you think I'm guilty of anything, kill me yourself, but don't make me go back to your father to be slain.'

“‘Don't talk like that. If I think my father intends to kill you, of course I will warn you.'

“‘But how will I know? Who will bring me the message? Who can we trust?' ‘Trust me,' I said. They both looked at me then. I saw Yonatan searching my face. ‘You need not involve yourself in this. Father is already enraged with you over the escape.' He turned to David. ‘Let's go outside. We don't need to bring more wrath down upon Mikhal.'

“‘I don't care!' I said. ‘David is my husband.' I reached out and clasped his arm. ‘I belong to you now. If you go into exile I want to come with you.'

“David looked down at me, his expression kind, yet already remote. ‘I hope it will not come to that. But if it does, if I do have to flee your father, I will go quicker and safer alone. Taking you will only
feed his rage and his resolve to hunt me down. But let's not talk of that now. Yonatan and I need to make a plan, and then, the day after tomorrow, we will see.'

“The two of them went out into the darkness. An hour later, Yonatan returned alone, his face haggard. His voice broke as he told me that they had made their plans and taken vows to protect each other's lives. To me, his wife, David had given no pledge. From me, he had taken no tender leave.

“The new moon came, and the king sat down to partake of the festive meal. He took his usual seat, back to the wall. Ever since his madness took hold, he had insisted on always sitting with his face to the door, so that he would be prepared for any enemy that might come upon him. Yonatan rose then, and gave up his seat so that Avner could sit by the king's right side. He came and sat by me, at one of the lower tables. But the seat to his left, David's place, remained empty. Father did not at first remark on it. Then he leaned over to Avner. He pointed to me. From my father's lewd gestures and Avner's awkward, forced laughter, I could tell the king was making some ribald joke about David's lack of continence. Because it was a ritual meal, impurity prevented participation. My father assumed that David was absent for the commonplace cause: an untimely emission of his seed.

“But by sundown, when the law states that purity is restored, David still had not come. My father looked with annoyance at David's vacant seat. ‘Why hasn't the son of Yishai come to the meal?' he asked loudly. A hush fell over the room, the scraping of platters, the chatter all falling silent. Everyone sensed the change of mood. I caught my breath. That he would not speak David's name was a sign of ill temper. I opened my mouth to speak up, but Yonatan drew a brow to hush me. Instead, he raised his voice and addressed our father. ‘David begged leave to go to Beit Lehem. He asked it as a particular favor: “Please let me go,” he said, “for we are going to have a family feast and my eldest brother has summoned me to it. Let me slip away and see
my kinsmen.” So he said, and so I agreed. That is why he has not come to the king's table.'

“My father rose suddenly to his full, intimidating height, knocking his goblet to the floor. He strode across the room to where Yonatan sat by me. Yonatan was scrambling to his feet but he wasn't quick enough. The king pulled him up by his tunic. ‘You son of a faithless whore! I know you side with the son of Yishai—to your shame, and the shame of the cunt that bore you. For as long as the son of Yishai lives on earth, neither you nor your kingship will be secure. Now, then, remember who you are. Have him brought to me, for he is marked for death.'

“I was cowering, in fear for my brother. ‘Don't answer him!' I hissed. ‘He's not in his right mind.' But Yonatan was too enraged to hear me. His face was twisted and dark. Instead of pulling away from my father he took a step toward him. ‘Why should he be put to death? What has he done?' The king grasped a spear then, and brought the point upward, right beneath Yonatan's chin. ‘Don't!' I cried, reaching out to grab his spear arm. He did not even turn in my direction, but he brought his arm back and slapped my face with such force I went sprawling. I felt a sharp pain where my body hit the edge of the table. I gulped for breath. The broken edge of a rib ground against flesh. I slid to the floor. Yonatan stood there, eye to eye with our father, as the fallen goblet rocked back and forth on its rim. You could feel their rage like a solid form between them. No one else moved. Then, without taking his eyes off my father's face, Yonatan reached down and pulled me to my feet. Grasping me firmly by the wrist, he strode from the room, dragging me after him. He saw me safely to my house, set two of his loyal men to guard me, and went off to the agreed meeting place, where he delivered to David the news that the rift with our father was lethal. Later, when he told me about it, he said that they kissed each other and wept together, and that David wept the longer.

“My father took his revenge before Yonatan returned. The bruises
on my face were still purple and yellow when my father had me married off to Palti. It was a brilliant act of vengeance, designed to punish me and humiliate David. I wept and keened all through the wedding, and screamed all through the bedding that followed it, and not only because Palti's hard body pounded on my broken rib. I didn't need to be put in physical agony to know I was being raped. Palti was drunk from the wedding feast and he apologized, after. He said he had consummated the marriage because the king ordered it done; he said he would not come to me again without my consent. I said I could never consent to be an adulteress, for so I thought myself.

“But in time, as you know, I changed toward him. We went off to live in his house in the hills, and he was kind and patient toward me, and saw to my comfort and kept his word. It was a peaceful house, such as I had never known. And when Yonatan finally came to see me, he was full of terrible news. You know what David did; I don't need to recite it to you. The lies, the betrayals . . .”

I knew that she was no longer talking only of personal matters. David's behavior when he left Shaul's court had been desperate and reprehensible. He committed theft, sacrilege and, maybe, even treachery. His actions and his lies brought death and terror upon innocent people.

“I didn't know what had happened till Yonatan finally saw fit to tell me,” she said. “All I knew was that David had left me in the hands of my father when I was injured and defenseless. I knew he fled with no food and no weapon. To provision himself, Yonatan told me, David stopped at the shrine of Nov, which stood about halfway between our home and his family
beit av
in Beit Lehem. His great trophy, the sword of the giant of Gath, was kept at the shrine, wrapped in an oilcloth, concealed behind the ephod. He knew that, of course. That's probably why he risked stopping there. The priest greeted him, somewhat surprised to see Shaul's top captain traveling alone and unarmed. David lied, and told the priest that he was on a secret mission for the king, and that his troops were encamped nearby. He said they
lacked supplies, and asked for the shrine's consecrated bread with which to feed his men. He took the sword of course. And you know what came of it . . .”

It was a heinous business. Shaul, in his madness, believed the priests of the shrine had betrayed him by feeding and arming David. He would not accept the true account—that they had no knowledge that David was an outlaw; that they had no reason to doubt that he was serving the king as his son-in-law and most trusted servant. Shaul sentenced them all to die. But no soldier of the Land would carry out these sacrilegious murders. It fell to an Edomite, who followed other gods, to kill all of them. The refusal of his men to do his bidding further fueled Shaul's rage, and he ordered the whole town of Nov sacked. He put his soldiers in such fear for their own lives that this time, alas, the men obeyed him. They killed everyone in that town—women, babes, the frail elderly.

She had fallen silent, gazing blankly.

“Do you need wine?” I asked her. “You are very pale.”

“Am I? So was Yonatan, that day, when he finally girded himself to come and face me in my misery. I was half mad with not knowing, full of hurt and anger that my brother—my protector—hadn't been with me, hadn't saved me. And then, when he came, at last, he was civil to Palti, but he could barely look at me. I could read the disgust in his eyes. I could see he was fighting himself to be just to me, not to blame me for the fact that I'd been whored, that I was dishonored.”

“Surely not,” I blurted. I thought of Yonatan as I had briefly known him; a man so loyal that he risked his life to bring David the intelligence that would ensure his safety. Such a man could not at the same time be disloyal to a beloved sister who had been wronged and was innocent.

She gave a grim laugh. “Even you, Natan, must know what men are, when it comes to matters of sex and honor. I was his sister, and what fouled my honor fouled his. So my father's sick revenge worked its poison, even between Yonatan and me.

“As distraught as I was at his coldness, I could tell from his face that dreadful things had happened. Finally, I demanded that he tell me what he knew. He unfolded the whole of it—the massacre at Nov, the flight to Gath, everything. And even as he spoke, I could see him struggling to cast it all in his own mind as necessary and forgivable, one more tragedy of our father's madness. Oh, yes. He laid it all there, on our father's wretched malady. I suppose he had to fashion it thus, so as to be able to forgive David, whose rash and selfish acts caused such mayhem. I suppose it was just one more offering to the great love they bore each other: that even such grave sins and acts of treachery could be forgiven. Of course, he told me that David greatly lamented the deaths, and took full blame. As if that were enough to absolve the butchery of holy men and their families, the ruined homes and the burned fields. Forgiveness aplenty, yet none for me. None for his sister, who was nothing but a victim.