Unspoken (11 page)

Bathsheba blocked another blow. “I carry David’s child!”

Her mother uttered a broken sob and sank to her knees. “Ohhhh . . .” She wailed, her hands clenched over her ears. “Ohhhh . . .”

Bathsheba sobbed. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, Mother! You have to believe me!”

“What does it matter what I believe? Fool! How many have died because of you? It will all be on your head. Do you think others won’t learn of what the king has done for your sake? There are widows all over the city now who will curse you, and the king, too. And do you think the sons left fatherless today will rise up to praise David’s name? Do you think they will take up arms for him? They will hate him with every breath they take! They will seek his destruction. And what of the thirty mighty men who fought with Uriah on David’s behalf? What of your own father and all the others who’ve stood by David during his years in the wilderness? What will they think of their king now? Is he worthy of their loyalty and their life’s blood? What will your father and grandfather do when they learn David murdered Uriah to have you? You are their flesh and blood, and you’ve betrayed them. They will never look at you again. People will spit on the ground when you pass by. They will never speak your name aloud! They will curse the day of your birth! And they will seek revenge upon the man who has ruined the reputation of their household!” Her mother tore the neckline of her dress as in mourning. “You are dead to me, dead to us all!”

Horrified, Bathsheba stretched out her hands, weeping and pleading. Her mother slapped her hands away and stood. Bathsheba rose to her knees and grasped her mother’s dress. “Mother, please! Speak reason to them!”

Her mother shoved her away. “Reason?
You
dare speak of reason?” She kicked her.

Afraid for the child, Bathsheba cowered and curled into a ball, but her mother didn’t strike her again. “You are cursed among women! Your name will be a byword for
adulteress!
Your name will be unspoken as long as I live!” She spit on her and went to the doorway. She stood there, her back to Bathsheba. “May the Lord God of Israel strike me down if your name ever crosses my lips again! May God do to you what you have done to others!” She fled into the street, leaving the door ajar behind her.

Scrambling over to it, Bathsheba closed and locked it.

Over the days that passed, she grieved the loss of her husband, the loss of the others who fought beside him, the loss of her family, the loss of her reputation as well as that of the king she still loved so desperately. She grieved over the chaos she knew would come because of her sin with the king and the murder of her husband. She fasted and wept for Uriah, collecting her tears in a small bottle she wore around her neck. She covered her head with ashes.

The formal mourning period of seven days ended, but the sorrow and shame would not lift. Her fears deepened, withering her soul. During the dark hours of night, Bathsheba understood why purity was so highly praised. She was paying the cost of disobedience now, and the price was higher than she ever could have imagined. One night of passion would cost her a lifetime of despair.

And the cost to others . . .

Soldiers entered her house eight days after Bathsheba had received the news of her husband’s death. “We are under orders to bring the wife of Uriah the Hittite to the palace.”

The wife of Uriah.

Bathsheba clutched against her heart the bottle filled with her tears.

The captain of the guard stepped forward. “You must come.” Bathsheba left her house with nothing. She walked down the middle of the street with six soldiers as her escort. She wondered if David was showing her honor or merely protecting her. Women came to their doorways to watch the procession. One spit in the dust as she passed by. It seemed the eyes of Jerusalem were upon her—eyes of suspicion, eyes of hatred. She heard people whispering.

The guards didn’t take her through a side entrance this time. They escorted her through the main entrance of the palace. The king was taking to wife the widow of one of his fallen mighty men. Perhaps it was meant as a show of great magnitude, for she was, after all, only a common woman, the daughter of a warrior, the granddaughter of a military adviser.

No one was fooled.

Except, perhaps, the king.

DAVID eagerly awaited the arrival of his newest wife. When the knock came upon his door, he opened it himself. Joram stood before him. He stepped aside and David saw a figure in black, head bowed. His pulse was racing. “The wife of Uriah the Hittite, my lord the king,” Joram said smoothly.

David’s head came up sharply. “Do not refer to her in that way again.” He jerked his head in dismissal. He wanted no reminder that she’d belonged to another man before him. She belonged to
him
now. Nothing else mattered. As Joram’s footsteps receded, David calmed himself.

“Bathsheba.” His voice came out rough. She stood with eyes downcast like a shy virgin. “Ah, my love,” he whispered. He took her hand. “I’ve missed you.” She shivered slightly as she stepped hesitantly over the threshold. Her fingers were cold. Was she trembling with the same need he felt? He drew her into his bedchamber. “You’ve no need to be afraid anymore.” He closed the door behind her. “You’re with me now and always will be. Our child will be born with no cloud over him.”

She said nothing.

Disturbed by her silence, David turned her to face him and tipped her chin. Her face was thinner, and she was as pale as alabaster. He removed the veil, and jealousy gripped him as he saw the small bottle on a string. He lifted it mockingly. “Did you love him so much?”

“I loved Uriah,” she said softly. She raised her head. Her eyes were dark with pain. “But not as I’ve loved you. You were always the man of my dreams.” She held out her free hand, palm up. “The man who held my heart in the palm of his hand.” She clenched her fist, her eyes filling with tears.

David touched her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin. She was the most beautiful woman in his kingdom, and she belonged to him now. “You’ll never know how much I love you, Bathsheba.” He saw her shudder and cupped her face. “You are
my
wife now.” Ignoring the distressed look in her eyes, he removed the bottle of tears and tossed it aside. “Forget him. I will treat you like a queen.” He leaned down and kissed her, gently at first, until he felt her respond. “All other women pale when compared to you.” He dug his fingers into her hair.

David stood just outside his door and read the note Joram had brought from one of his advisers. Matters of state beckoned. He crumpled the message impatiently. He didn’t need to be reminded that he was responsible for the lives of his people, and it was time to return to matters of state. Joram waited, silent, eyes straight ahead.

“Summon the eunuch in charge of my harem,” David said quietly so that Bathsheba wouldn’t be disturbed from her sleep.

“Yes, my lord the king.”

David went back into his bedchamber and closed the door quietly behind him.

He crossed the room and stood beside the bed, looking down at his wife. She was exquisite. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman, and he knew she would always be so. Like Abraham’s Sarah. He smiled, taking a tress of black hair and rubbing it between his fingers. It was like thick silk. He would no longer be tormented by her absence. She belonged to him now. He could summon her any time he pleased.

Smiling, he sat on the edge of the bed. Leaning down, he kissed her and watched her awaken. She stretched and sighed softly. When she looked up at him, he realized she no longer had the look of starry-eyed adoration that she’d had as a young girl. Her love was mixed with troubled awareness. He didn’t ask why. She reached up and touched his brow. He took her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. “I don’t want to leave you, but I must.”

“You are the king.”

“A chamber has been prepared for you.” He stroked a tendril of curling black hair back from her brow. “If there is anything you need or want, you’ve only to tell the master of the harem. He will see to it.”

A blush spread across her cheeks. He saw the moisture building in her eyes.

Stricken with emotions he couldn’t identify, he grew impatient. “Up, my love.” He had no time for teary brides! “We can’t spend the rest of our lives in bed.” He rose and moved away. The covers rustled behind him and he glanced back, intending to enjoy the pleasure of watching her dress. She reached for her widow’s garb.
“No!”
He wrenched the garments from her, rolled them into a ball, and flung them into the corner. Shaken by the power of his emotions, he glared at her.

“Am I to enter your harem naked, my lord the king?”

He strode across the room and grabbed one of his own tunics. “Wear this!” He thrust it into her hands. She trembled violently as she put it on. The purple hem pooled around her feet. She looked so young and vulnerable; he was reminded of the little girl who’d followed him to the stream of En-gedi. “Bathsheba, I’m sorry.”

A knocked sounded on the door, startling them both. He knew the eunuch had arrived to take her to her quarters. “Come!” he called out and the door opened. Bathsheba looked at the servant, but didn’t take a step toward him. “I will call for you again soon,” David said pointedly. Why should he feel guilty? Didn’t she understand he was a king?

Her eyes flickered. Her cheeks filled with color as she bowed low. “I am yours to command, my lord the king.” When she straightened, he saw a tear slip down her cheek before she turned quickly away. She followed the eunuch from the room.

David rubbed his chest, wondering why his heart should ache so much when everything had turned out exactly as he’d planned.

Bathsheba’s quarters were sumptuous, her new life one of leisure and luxury. She had beautiful clothing, plenty to eat, and the protection of the king. She was never alone, for more than two hundred people lived in David’s palace—six of his other wives, their numerous handmaidens, his children, servants, secretaries, craftsmen, laborers, nannies, caretakers, cooks, guards, porters, stewards, and artisans. There were also many faithful elderly retainers and old soldiers who could no longer carry arms. A stream of visitors came and went into the palace as David’s wives visited with their family members and entertained.

No one came to visit Bathsheba.

When David’s wives gathered for the evening meal, they did not include her in their conversation, nor even acknowledge her presence. His older sons did look at her—pointedly: Amnon, the eldest, with lasciviousness; Absalom, with contempt. These women and their children were her family now, and Ahinoam had spoken for most of them the day Bathsheba had been shown into the women’s quarter: “So this is the king’s whore!”

She remembered overhearing her grandfather say to her father years ago, “Never trust anyone outside your own family.” But Bathsheba knew she could never trust any of these women or their sons, and her child would always be in danger.

The days wore on her like a windstorm over stone. Whispered words blew harsh, rubbing painfully, reshaping her. Bathsheba sat alone, consoling herself with love for the child she carried. When her son came, she wouldn’t give him up to a wet nurse or a nanny. She would keep him with her and love him. And if the child was a girl, she would watch over her and train her into womanhood herself, rather than entrust her to the care of others. And she hoped.
Let the child be a son to make David proud!

She waited a month before letting the news be known that she was carrying the king’s child. There were some in the palace whose loyalty toward David ran so deep they refused to think ill of him, no matter what others whispered. They rejoiced that the king’s household was about to grow by another child. However, there were many who cast sidelong glances at her, lips sneering. Some would not look at her at all.

The wives spent every day entertaining themselves with games, music, conversation. Some did handwork to while away the hours. Whenever word came that the king would spend the evening with them, they focused all their energies on preparing for his visitation. Each tried to outdo the others in beauty preparation. They primped and fussed, sending handmaidens hither and yon for whatever they thought might attract David’s attention. Ahinoam put on Egyptian kohl and Persian mascara. Maacah painted her toenails with henna and wore anklets. They all braided their hair and anointed themselves with perfume. Bathsheba bathed, brushed her hair until it shone and rippled over her shoulders and down her back, and wore the simple dress of a commoner. Let David remember her as she had been, not as she had become.

When David entered the room, her heart leaped. She watched as he looked around. His gaze settled briefly upon her and his eyes glowed warmly. But he looked away, speaking to Ahinoam, who caressed his arm and smiled up at him as though he were the moon and the stars. Though he did not linger long, David wandered the room, pausing here and there, giving each a measure of attention.

Bathsheba observed his every movement with increasing anguish. He greeted each woman with a smile, talked amicably, charmed them with a touch. He was so handsome, who would not love him? She felt a shaft of pain each time he brushed his knuckles against an upturned face, took a hand and kissed it, spoke a soft word, or laughed. The women flirted boldly, some so boldly Bathsheba wanted to scream and tear their hair out. But she remained in her seat, pretending a calm she didn’t feel. When David sat upon a cushion, he was surrounded and caressed. He looked at her only one more time, but she took little comfort in the darkening of his eyes, for his attention was drawn away almost immediately.

So this was the pain her mother had warned her against! Hadn’t her mother tried to tell her what it would be like to be David’s wife?
“One among many.”
Could there be any agony worse than seeing the man she loved pampered and petted by six other women? She shifted her body so that she wouldn’t have to endure it.

David came to her then. “Are you well, Bathsheba?” She was too distressed to answer, afraid if she spoke she would give the women fuel for further torment when David was gone. “Bathsheba?” He spoke in a hoarse whisper and hunkered down as he turned her face so that she had to look at him. He searched her eyes, his own hungry and troubled. “Try to understand. I can’t give in to what I want and forsake all these others.”

The irony of his words made her look away. Hadn’t she forsaken all others for him? Wasn’t her husband now dead because she had given in to what she wanted without thought of the consequences?

“Bathsheba,” he said again, her name a soft groan. The others watched like a pride of lionesses.

“Of course I understand,” she whispered, looking into his eyes and hoping he didn’t sense her despair. Understanding increased her suffering. He was a king, above all. And a king must have many wives so he could build up his house with sons. Now that it was known that she was already with child, what need had he to call her to his bed? She remembered her mother’s words.
“When you grow up, you will understand the wisdom of worshiping God and not a man.”