Unspoken (14 page)

“I should’ve been like Abigail, warning you . . .”

“I was a different man when Abigail confronted me, Bathsheba. Young and on fire for the Lord. I was running for my life in those days. Look around you. You see the way I live now. When I saw you from the roof, I was a king blinded by pride.” Pain filled him as he saw himself clearly now. He had shirked his duty as commander of the army. He’d grown bored and restless while living his life of leisure in the palace. When he saw a woman of unusual beauty bathing, he sent soldiers to bring her to him. Why shouldn’t he take whatever he wanted? He was
king!

What a fool he’d been.

“I was so conceited! I thought I held all power in my hand. I thought I could have whatever I wanted. So I stole you from another, sired a child, then tried to use my friend to hide the evidence of my sin. Uriah proved himself more righteous than I.” He felt her shudder in his arms.

“He knew,” she said softly.

“Yes, he knew.” He shut his eyes, stricken again. “The judgment is on my head, Bathsheba, because I shed innocent blood.” He was filled with self-loathing and grief. “After all the Lord has done for me, I allowed lust to control me and turned away from the One who had given me victory on every side.”

“I share the blame. I used love as an excuse to sin.”

“You didn’t kill Uriah.”

“A man’s heart can die before a spear ever pierces him.” Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. Uriah had been a good husband, an honest man, and she’d crushed his heart and been the motive behind his murder.

David pressed her head against his heart, unable to speak. How was it possible for two people to know and love the Law and yet sin so abominably? How and when had sin first crept into their lives and spread like a plague until it killed their consciences? Had the seeds of sin been planted years ago, when he’d realized she was no longer a child and wished he had asked for her before Eliam gave her to another man? Had the seeds planted then been watered with his own fantasies?

Yet, what he felt for Bathsheba wasn’t lust. Not entirely. He
loved
her.

Tipping her chin, David kissed her. Her lips trembled, and he sensed her hesitance. He kissed her again and felt her respond. When he lifted his head, she leaned against him again with a soft sigh. “God has forgiven us,” he said, closing his eyes and giving silent thanks. “The Lord has shown His great mercy in giving us our lives. And He did
not
say I had to give you up.”

“But how shall we live, knowing what we’ve done and the harm it’s brought to others?”

“We will live one day at a time and face whatever comes.”

“It’ll never be over. Oh, David, I see so clearly now, and it hurts so much. We won’t be the only ones to suffer.” She drew back, looking up at him. “If only we were the only ones . . .”

He cupped her cheek. “Nathan proclaimed the word of the Lord. I know what is to come.”

She went into his arms and clung fiercely. “I love you, David. I’ve always loved you. No matter what happens, I always will.”

“I know,” he said with a sad smile.

Love was never the issue between the two of them. He loved her too, more fiercely than he had ever loved a woman. But he was deeply grieved when he remembered the loyal friends he’d betrayed because he thought his love for Bathsheba provided adequate excuse: Uriah, who had fought beside him in more battles than he could remember; Eliam, who’d shared his fire and food; Ahithophel, his brilliant military adviser. Would they still stand with him? Love betrayed turned to hate. Now, Ahithophel never spoke Bathsheba’s name; her mother hadn’t attended her during the birth of her child. Bathsheba had been abandoned by her family, though she hadn’t once complained.

David vowed silently to do all he could to mend the broken relationships, to renew trust, and to glorify God’s name.

“I’m sorry,” he said, heartbroken at the pain he had caused her. He prayed that the honor he showed her as the woman he loved would eventually soften the hearts of those he’d hurt and humiliated.

“Our son.” Her body shook violently as she began weeping again. “Our son . . .”

David gathered his young wife into his arms and comforted her the only way he knew how. And as he did, he prayed that God would show them even more mercy by granting them another child to replace the one who had paid the price for their sin.

WHEN Bathsheba realized she was with child again, she was afraid to rejoice. Would God take this child also? Would she have another baby, only to have it die in her arms like her firstborn son?

Cloistered in luxury, favored wife of an absent king, she lived a life of sorrow and loneliness, shunned by family and friends. David was in Rabbah with the army, leaving her vulnerable and unprotected from the enemies that surrounded her. People outside the walls judged her a harlot and condemned her, just as her mother had. How could she hope for God’s mercy when her own mother hated her? How could she believe God had forgiven her sins when no one else had? The prophet Nathan told David that God had forgiven him, but did that forgiveness extend to her as well? David had claimed so, but Bathsheba would make no assumptions. She lived in constant fear, for she had no possessions of her own, no money to buy sacrifices. All she had to offer God was a contrite heart and the desire to do right for the rest of her life.

How she longed to go back in time, to be a child again, safe in her mother’s arms. How she longed to be on her grandfather’s knee, listening to him dispense wisdom to those who came to visit at their fire. Once she had been an innocent girl full of unrequited love for a handsome warrior, a singer of psalms, the charismatic leader of a growing army. Now she was David’s eighth wife, known far and wide as the adulteress who had enticed a beloved king into murdering her husband so she could live in the palace. The people forgave David, but used her as their scapegoat.

She did not resent the people’s lenience with David. Someone had to bear the blame, and it was better laid upon her head than having the people turn on him. She was just a woman, but he was their king.

But, oh, how can I ever hold my head up again? When I sing praises to You, Lord, people glare at me as though I’m blaspheming. They come to worship You and see me among the women, and their hearts are turned away from You as they nurture thoughts of vengeance.

Bathsheba begged God to blot out her transgressions, to cleanse her from all sin. “Give me a heart that will be pleasing to You, Lord. Don’t cast me out into the darkness.” But even as she prayed, she felt overwhelming shame at being so presumptuous. What right had she to ask for mercy?

Fear attacked most often at night when she was alone in her chamber. What right had she to hold a baby in her arms? None! How many mothers wept over the loss of sons who had died with Uriah? How many wives grieved the death of husbands or brothers or cousins? She had no right to happiness.

But the child, oh, the child.

“Oh, God of mercy, only You can deliver me from my guilt. Oh, Lord, comfort those who mourn. Give them joy in the morning. Do with me whatever You will, but please spare my baby, who is innocent of the sins I committed.”

With so many pointing fingers and shaking their heads, Bathsheba didn’t hope for mercy.

The baby came easily, and her son was strong and healthy and beautiful. Bathsheba held her second son and wept. Overwhelmed with tenderness, yet still afraid, she gazed at her baby as he nursed. The fingers of his right hand clasped tightly around her thumb. “I promise to raise up my son to be a man after Your own heart. I will teach him to love Your Law.” Tears streaked her face as she raised her son’s tiny hand and kissed it. “And I give him the name Solomon, for it is through his birth that I have come to experience
God’s peace.
”

Please, please, let it be so between us, Lord. Forgive me
.

A message came within a few hours, written by the hand of Nathan the prophet. “
Your son shall have the name Jedidiah—‘beloved of the Lord.’
”

Bathsheba laughed.
Oh, Lord, You have washed me clean and warmed me in Your lovingkindness.
Even when all those around her scorned her and failed to celebrate the birth of her son, God looked with favor upon him and gave His blessing.

She was filled with amazement and gratitude. “My son . . . my son . . .” She wept with joy. She kissed his small face. “I took my troubles to the Lord. I, so unworthy, cried out to Him for deliverance, and He has answered from His throne.” She laughed joyfully, tears of exultation dripping like a baptism upon Solomon’s brow. She smoothed them over his soft skin. “Jedidiah.” She kissed each cheek and nestled him against her shoulder. “Jedidiah.” She savored the feel of his body tucked close. “My cup is overflowing with God’s blessings,” she whispered, rubbing his back.

Jedidiah. The Lord had named
her
son “
beloved of the Lord.”

Rabbah fell, and the defeated Ammonites were set to work with saw, iron threshing boards, and iron axes, tearing down the temple and altars of the Ammonite god Molech and the walls of the city. Before leading his army away, David left orders for the Ammonites. When the demolition was done, they were to turn their work to the brick kilns and rebuild the conquered cities according to his specifications.

David led his army into Jerusalem, wearing the crown of Molech upon his head to show that false gods could not stand against the Lord. The people cheered as he rode through the gate, leading the way for wagons loaded with booty. His commanders and advisers followed, and the troops came marching home.

Bathsheba saw her grandfather among David’s advisers and hoped there would be peace between them. Perhaps Ahithophel would forgive her when he learned he had a great-grandson. Still, she was chilled by what she’d heard from Joram. David had not gone to Rabbah on his own. Joab had sent for him to come, for he’d won the battle and the crown was waiting for David. Joab might as well have said:
You are king and will wear the crown, but never forget I am the one who conquered Rabbah!

She was afraid for David.

Joab and his brother Abishai were both fierce warriors given to quick insult and long-lasting thirst for vengeance. Bathsheba remembered hearing in Uriah’s home about Joab’s vengeful murder of Abner, one of the most powerful men in King Saul’s army. Abner had killed Joab’s brother Asahel just after the contest held at the pool of Gibeon. Joab had then taken the life of Abner in revenge. Bathsheba recalled hearing how furious David had been and how he mourned Abner’s death. She had been among the people when David condemned Joab’s actions as evil. At the time, she had been afraid for David. And now Joab was even more powerful, more evil.

Was it not Joab’s idea to send other men with Uriah to their deaths? Although attempting to cover David’s orders to murder Uriah, he’d added tenfold to the consequences of David’s sin. Even the message he’d sent to David after Uriah’s death was a challenge: He had reminded David that Gideon’s son Abimelech was killed by a piece of millstone thrown down upon him by a woman on the wall. She knew Joab had been pointing an accusing finger at her, predicting that she would cause David’s downfall.

Joab was a threat to David, even if David was unable—or unwilling—to see it.

And how many other enemies were rising within David’s own ranks and within his own family? How many would whisper lies and make secret plots to destroy him? How many would set snares and lie in wait, devising schemes to bring him down? Nathan had warned him.

The palace was fraught with tension and hostility, rampant with jealousy and ambition. She saw how David’s other wives were bringing their sons up to be contenders for the throne. They were hungry to grasp power for their offspring. They saw David’s love for her as a threat. David’s sons ran wild with pride and arrogance, and he did nothing to dissuade them.

Bathsheba feared her grandfather most. She had grown up among fighting men. She had listened to the conversations around her grandfather Ahithophel’s campfire. She had listened to her father talk about enemies and allies. Was her grandfather now pretending forgiveness while plotting revenge? Could she believe that Ahithophel would forgive and forget the humiliation she and David had brought upon his house? Her grandfather was brilliant in the tactics of warfare. He would know how to destroy a king.

When she spoke with David of her concerns, he dismissed her fears. “I’ve spoken with Ahithophel at length. He swore his allegiance to me. Besides, my love, I’ve given him gifts, more than twice the bride-price of Ahinoam. So don’t worry yourself about things a woman can’t possibly understand.”

She understood that David had tried to show her grandfather that he valued her more than any other and would show her the honor of a first wife. But the gift could easily be seen as a bribe, and her grandfather had always been uncompromising. A man’s hatred could run deeper than any gift could reach. But nothing she could say would convince David to be cautious when heeding the military advice of her grandfather. He refused to look upon Ahithophel as a possible enemy.

It was the first time she and David had argued, and the first time David left her bed before sunrise. Nor did he speak to her during the next visitation.

When Bathsheba learned that David had taken another wife, a girl several years younger than she and the daughter of a powerful merchant of the tribe of Benjamin, Bathsheba felt betrayed. Weeping, she went before the Lord and prayed. She spent hours thinking about her situation and finally realized she was being childish again. David was
king
and would never belong entirely to her. If she didn’t accept her station in life as one of his many wives, she would make herself and him miserable.

David would take more wives and concubines in the years ahead. She would have to learn to live with the pain that would come each time his eyes drifted to another. When David’s young bride was ushered into the women’s quarters, Bathsheba mastered her jealousy and greeted her as she would have wished to be greeted.

In the midst of her suffering, Bathsheba grew up. She’d loved David since she was a little girl. She had placed him on a pedestal like an idol. But she knew now that David wasn’t a god. He was an ordinary man who’d been made extraordinary through the tender mercies of God. David was a man capable of great victories, but also of horrendous defeat. Hadn’t his lust for her almost destroyed him? Her weakness might yet destroy her. If David were to die, she and her son would be at the mercy of men like her grandfather and Joab, or whichever of David’s sons could wrestle power from the hands of the others.

When fear threatened to overwhelm her, she set her mind upon the Lord, comforting herself with thoughts of what God had already done for her. She sang her husband’s psalms to her son—and clung to the promises in them. And every time she did these things, she felt an inner peace. The Lord was her shield, her deliverer, the lifter of her soul. Not David. David was only the man she loved, not the God she now worshiped.

Knowing her husband’s faults and weaknesses didn’t diminish him in her sight. Strangely, she loved him all the more because of his vulnerability. Two years of suffering had awakened her. Power was in the hand of the Lord! And so, she went down on her knees daily, bending her head to the floor each morning when she first awakened so that she could thank God for His blessings and ask for His guidance. She prayed constantly that God would protect David and give him wisdom. And whenever she was in David’s company, she did all she could to give comfort, pleasure, and joy. She knew a contentious wife was worse than a constant dripping and submitted herself to his needs, even those he didn’t realize he had—especially for someone to listen to him.

She was no longer a child filled with dreams, but a woman tempered by hardship and sorrow. She spoke often with the prophet Nathan, seeking his wisdom because she knew it would come from God. When she lay down at night, whether in David’s arms or alone in her private chamber while he was in bed with another woman, she praised God for all the day had held, both good and bad.