Unspoken (8 page)

David could have anyone he wanted! Even before he was king, women were falling in love with him.

She was stricken with regret and fear as the days passed. If only she had fled to the privacy of her house that day. If only she hadn’t brazenly continued her bath, exposing herself to this endless heartache. She had no one to blame but herself for what she suffered now. She’d gone willingly to David’s bed. She’d told herself love was reason enough to give herself to him. David, her god.

Why hadn’t she thought about the Law before she gave herself to him? He had assured her that no stone would touch her. But what could he do if the priests cried out against her? For if their affair became known, she had no illusions about who would bear the blame. David was a beloved king. She was a powerless woman.

Adultery! She’d committed adultery! How could she have done such a thing after being brought up by her mother, father, and grandfather, who all held to the Law of Moses with such fierce devotion?

If they ever find out, they’ll kill me!

A week passed and then another and another, and she received no summons from the palace, no message, no hint of David’s concern. How easily he had abandoned her!

The time for her monthly show of blood came and went, and terror filled her. After all the years of trying and failing to conceive with Uriah, she was pregnant after one night in David’s arms! Why now? Why under these circumstances? What could she do now?

Had she only imagined the tenderness in David’s touch? Had her hope deceived her into believing she saw love in his eyes? If he loved her, wouldn’t he have summoned her by now? or at the least have sent a message of some kind?

Nothing! He cares nothing about me!

She pressed her hands against her temples. Seven wives and ten concubines! What need had he of her? Would he even care that she was with child as a result of her night with him? In a few months, everyone was going to know she’d committed adultery. Her handmaiden had already guessed she was pregnant—and by whom. Soon her mother would notice the changes in her. Soon every man, woman, and child who laid eyes upon her would guess her secret.

Trembling, she placed her hands on her abdomen. She was torn between terror and exultation. Within her womb was the child of a king—not just any king, but King David, hero of her childhood dreams. David, singer of songs, conqueror of nations! He had been like a god to her.

Anger filled her. She looked up at the wall of his palace where David had stood on that fateful day of her undoing. She’d always thought she would rejoice when she was with child, eagerly anticipating the happy event of bearing a son to her patient, loving husband.

Never in her life had she felt such despair and fear!

Was it the love she’d felt for David all these years that had made the soil fertile enough to accept the seed?

Only the king could protect her from suffering the consequences of their sin.

But would he?

She grieved over David’s silence and was terrified at what Uriah would do to her when he found out how she’d betrayed him. What defense had she? David hadn’t dragged her into the palace kicking and screaming!

She’d never wanted to hurt Uriah. He was a good man, a kind and generous husband. But Uriah’s touch didn’t make her burn. David’s embrace made her soar and melt. Was it so wrong to crave the caresses of a man she’d loved for as long as she could remember? Wasn’t she entitled to one night of happiness without having her entire life destroyed by it?

Life was unfair!

She’d never been meant for Uriah. She’d been meant for David. Surely that made it all right for them to steal a few hours together. She’d thought she would have wonderful memories of their night together, enough to last a lifetime, but she was tormented instead. The fire David had built in her was turning her life to ashes. She felt abandoned and terrified of the future. She’d been filled up with love for him. She’d poured herself out like a drink offering for David, her king. David, her idol. And now, she was consumed by fear, her loneliness worse than ever. It was too late to go back and undo anything. What price would she pay for that one night? What cost to others whom she loved and who loved her? Uriah, her mother, her father, her grandfather. She couldn’t bear to think of it. She would rather die than have them know. But did she have the courage to take her own life?

Shaking, she put her hands over her belly again. If she died, so would David’s child. Part of her rejoiced over the life growing within her. Part of her wished the evidence of her sin would be swept from her body with a stream of blood before anyone else knew of it. Everyone was going to know this child was conceived in adultery. How could she defend herself when her husband had been away at war for months? She imagined the angry shouts of a mob closing around her, taking up stones. She imagined the condemnation in her mother’s eyes, the hurt, the disappointment. A mother knew a daughter’s heart better than anyone. Her mother had known for years that she was in love with David. Hadn’t she counseled Bathsheba to give up her childish fantasies, her unrequited love? Hadn’t her mother told her to guard her heart? The blame wouldn’t be put at the feet of the king, but laid firmly upon her head.

No one could help her now. No one but David. But would he?

Lowering her hands, she clenched them in her lap. Silence did not always mean indifference. Hadn’t he promised that no harm would come to her? Hadn’t he sworn it? Hadn’t David always been a man of his word?

She cut a piece of papyrus from Uriah’s accounts. David would help her. He had to help her! She wrote him a brief message. Rolling it tightly, she tied a string around it. Then she summoned her handmaiden. “Take this to the king.”

“What if the guards won’t let me through the gate?”

“Ask for Joram. Give him the message. Tell him it’s from me and meant for the king’s eyes only.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Bathsheba closed the door and pressed her forehead against it. All types of fearsome possibilities swirled in her mind. Surely David would be honor bound to help her. Surely he wouldn’t forsake the daughter of Eliam, the granddaughter of Ahithophel. Surely he would try to do something for her so that Uriah would never find out she’d betrayed him. But what could he do? What? He could secret her away so that she could have his child in another city. Where would he send her? Where? Where!

Oh, David, help me! Please help me!

She refused to believe he was indifferent. How could he be after the risks he’d taken to bring her into the palace? But what would David do to solve this problem?

Exhausted by worry, she sat. She had no choice but to wait, for her life was in the king’s hands.

David felt an ominous premonition when his guard whispered, “The handmaid of Bathsheba, wife of Uriah, has come with a message.” The mere mention of Bathsheba’s name was a jolt to his senses, arousing feelings he knew were better forgotten. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. How many times over the past weeks had he denied himself the pleasure of summoning her again because he knew it would increase the risk of exposure? He’d had to remind himself repeatedly that she was the wife of a friend, the daughter of one of his most valued captains, the granddaughter of Ahithophel, a man he’d respected for years! He had enough trouble in the kingdom without turning friends into enemies!

“Bring the maidservant to me.”

He felt curious eyes upon him as he untied the string around the small papyrus. He read Bathsheba’s brief message, and his stomach dropped. Heat climbed up his neck and spread across his face. Three words, enough to shock him from his complacency and trumpet disaster:

I am pregnant.

He felt the accusation in those three words and heard Bathsheba’s desperate cry for help. He brushed his fingers lightly over the words and frowned. Guilt gripped him.

Oh, Bathsheba
. He remembered his promise and wondered how he could fulfill it. Her handmaiden stood in the doorway, waiting for his reply. He saw heads leaning toward one another, whispering. Speculation already! He could hear the soft buzz. Would it grow into screams for blood? His
and
hers? Disaster stretched ahead for both of them if word of their affair spread. He needed time to think, time to find a solution to this problem!

Crumpling Bathsheba’s message in his hand, he leaned back indolently and smiled, beckoning forward the next person who had come to present a case before the king. He listened impatiently and made a decision he saw was ill received. What did he care about their petty differences when Bathsheba faced certain death? He had to find a way to rescue her from the dire situation she was in. If he didn’t find a way to cover their sin, there would be trouble in the ranks of his fighting men. They would lose faith in him, possibly rebel.

“Enough!” He stood. He waved his servants away. “I need to be alone.”

When he entered his chamber, he closed the door and put Bathsheba’s crumpled message in among the embers of burning incense, watching as it burned.

He sat for an hour with his head in his hands before a plan came to him. He knew it would save them both from exposure and would even give cause for celebration among his closest friends. He smiled at his own cleverness as he summoned Joram.

“Send a messenger to Rabbah and tell Joab to send me Uriah the Hittite.”

Joram bowed and left.

Strangely agitated, David removed his crown and tossed it on his bed. He raked his fingers back through his hair. Temptation gripped him to summon Bathsheba and explain his plan, but he squelched the impulse. Why take any more risks when, in less than a week’s time, there would be no cause for fear of reprisals? Uriah would return to Jerusalem, where his king would treat him with the respect of an emissary. David intended to find out what was happening at Rabbah.

And then he would send the Hittite home to his wife.

Bathsheba was the granddaughter of Ahithophel. Surely she would be quick to see the means of her salvation and fulfill her part in the plan. He would even send food and wine as reward for Uriah’s service. Any man who’d been gone as long as Uriah would be eager for his wife.

David clenched a fist as jealousy gripped him. The plan was repugnant, but he could see no flaw in it. Whatever he felt now about Bathsheba’s lying with another man, the act would save her life as well as that of his child. The plan would also save him embarrassment. If all went accordingly, Uriah would never know he’d been betrayed by his wife and cuckolded by a friend. David found grudging satisfaction in knowing that this child of his loins would be brought up by an honorable man who had adopted the ways of Israel.

He relaxed his fist and sighed heavily. He would allow the Hittite
one
night to get the deed done, and then he’d order him back to his duties at Rabbah. In a few weeks, Bathsheba could send word to her husband that she was with child, and Uriah could celebrate with his friends in the army while finishing the job of taking Rabbah.

The matter thus resolved in his mind, David stretched out on his bed and slept for the rest of the afternoon.

When her maid opened the door at last, Bathsheba jumped to her feet. “What news?”

The girl’s eyes flickered in discomfort. “The guard took me to the king’s court.”

“The king’s court?” Bathsheba felt weak and light-headed. How many courtiers had been in attendance when her message was delivered? How many tongues were now wagging with speculations? She didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know.