Michal Read online

  David glanced at Jonathan. “Things have not improved while I was away.”

  Near the edge of the palace grounds, Jonathan turned west toward a plateau where a large terebinth tree shaded the ground. They sat in the dirt among the gnarled roots, the wind playing with the leaves above them.

  “Things will never improve until my father repents of his sin,” Jonathan said, setting the quiver and bow between them. “You have heard the rumors, have you not?”

  David looked up, meeting Jonathan’s gaze. “Rumors, my lord?”

  “About my father and the Amalekites and Samuel’s prediction. You are aware of this?”

  He knew, of course. But the prophet Samuel had warned him not to reveal his knowledge. Only a handful of people had heard Samuel’s prediction to King Saul, and as long as Saul was in power, the less David should tell. So how much should he reveal to the future king of Israel—his rival?

  “I know Samuel was unhappy when your father refused to kill all of the Amalekites.” He picked a twig from the dirt and stole a glance at Jonathan.

  The prince removed his leather helmet and ran a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. “Not even my brothers know this. But I was there that day. I heard Samuel’s prediction.” He faced David then. “Tell me, David. Have you met the prophet?”

  David’s heart skipped a beat. He forced his gaze to hold steady, to keep from revealing the turmoil coursing through him. “Yes.”

  “When?”

  David’s stomach knotted. “A couple of months ago . . . before I was summoned to play for your father.” He paused. The chirping and echoing response of two birds broke the silence. “Why?”

  Jonathan stroked his beard. “Samuel told my father that the Lord had torn the kingdom from him and would give it to another, his neighbor—someone better than him.” He looked beyond David as though deep in thought. “I do not wish to pry into your affairs, David. But there is one thing I must know.”

  The hairs rose on David’s arms. “What is that, my prince?”

  Jonathan’s hands stilled, resting on his knees. He looked into David’s eyes, unwavering. “Did Samuel anoint you?”

  Michal raced down the stone corridors of the dank fortress—a sorry excuse for a palace. Where could he have gone? It was not like she cared overmuch for the carved wooden doll he’d stolen from her room, but Ishbosheth had a way of irritating her, and she was tired of his games. Besides, the doll was the first toy Jonathan had carved for her, and she intended to keep it.

  She spotted her older brother hunched in a corner of the hall outside his sleeping quarters. With a shake of her head, Michal smoothed her robe and walked toward him. The action made the young man jump to his feet.

  “Give it back, Ishby.”

  He held the doll above his head and laughed.

  Michal moved closer. He tried to turn away but hit the wall. There was no place else to go.

  “This is an idol.” Ishbosheth pointed to the doll, then ran his free hand through his scraggly brown hair, the way Jonathan always did.

  Michal stumbled back a pace as though he’d slapped her. “No, it’s not. Jonathan wouldn’t make an idol.”

  “Yes, it is. I’ve seen bigger ones like it in Mama’s room. She has them guarding the door.”

  The teraphim. Michal tried to peer through Ishbosheth’s closed fingers at the carved, faceless doll, Jonathan’s youthful attempt at carving. There was little resemblance to her mother’s teraphim.

  “Mama prays to the idols,” Ishbosheth said.

  She did?

  “How do you know that?” Adonai would not be pleased about that. If there was one commandment Jonathan had taught her, it was “You shall have no other gods before me.” “I’ve seen her.” He clutched Michal’s doll. “Now I can pray to one too.”

  “No, Ishby, you mustn’t ever pray to an idol.” She patted his arm. If only he could understand. “Adonai doesn’t like us to pray to anyone but Him.”

  Indecision flitted over his chunky face, and tears threatened, making the pale brown hues of his eyes glisten. “If I disobey Adonai, I could end up like Abba, couldn’t I?” He thrust his hand forward, palm open. “Take it, Michal. Hurry, before the demons come for me.”

  Michal stared at the piece of wood, then at her brother. Maybe he was more aware than they gave him credit for. She took the doll from him and stuffed it into a pocket of her robe. “A wise choice, Ishby.”

  Ishbosheth grabbed Michal and gave her a fierce hug, startling her with his sudden affection. “Throw it away, Michal. Hurry.”

  “Good idea.” She ran off, feet flying back the way she’d come. She would hide the doll in a better place this time, to protect Ishby.

  “Did you hear me, David? Or would you prefer not to answer?” Jonathan’s clear eyes never wavered, his shoulders straight as an arrow. “Did Samuel anoint you?”

  The truth. There was no getting around it now. David’s gut clenched, his emotions spiraling downward. He dropped his gaze and studied the earth, assuring himself he still sat on solid ground.

  Please, Lord, tell me what to do.

  He lifted his head and gave the prince a slight nod.

  Jonathan’s shoulders lost their military pose. He stared into the distance. “I thought so.”

  Moments passed in tense silence until at last the prince stood, picked up his bow and quiver of arrows, and placed them at David’s feet. Then before David could stop him, Jonathan knelt, head lowered.

  “Please, do not bow to me, my prince,” David said. “It is I who must bend the knee to you.”

  Jonathan looked intently into his eyes. “Time will tell us that, now won’t it?” He stood, then gripped David’s right hand, pulling him to his feet. “Now, how about I teach you to use these things? After all, a king must be a warrior first.” He paused. “And if we consider Moses’ teaching, I suppose the Most High would want him to possess a shepherd’s heart as well.”

  An hour passed. The wooden doll still lay tucked into the pocket of Michal’s robe, the weight of it growing with every passing moment. She’d been cornered by her mother as she passed the kitchens, keeping her from fulfilling her promise to Ishby. Even there, centered on a wall above the ovens, Michal noticed a carved image—another teraph. Were they everywhere? When had her mother decorated the house with them?

  A troubled feeling settled in her stomach as she stumbled down the dark halls. The doll pressing against her thigh seemed to burn her flesh at the slightest touch.

  She rounded a corner, her mind whirling. Where to put it? Maybe she should have thrown it into one of the ovens’ fuel supplies and let it turn to ash. But a part of her couldn’t destroy what Jonathan’s hands had made.

  She had to hide it one way or the other.

  She sprinted to the outer court. Passing through the door, she tripped, righted herself, and nearly banged into David.

  “My lady! Are you hurt?”

  She looked into David’s vivid dark eyes and thought she might faint.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  His smile sent her heart into a wild gallop. She released a long, slow breath. “I was taking care of something.”

  “I see. It must be urgent.”

  “Yes—no—not exactly . . .” Warmth crept into her cheeks. She should love the chance to talk with him. So why did she suddenly feel like a lost little girl, tongue-tied and nervous? “I . . . it’s a family matter.”

  “It’s not your father again, is it?” A muscle worked along his jaw, and he shifted as though ready to move—to hurry to the king’s side.

  “No, no, it’s not that.” She glanced at the leather sandals strapped to his dusty feet. Had no one offered to wash them when he entered the palace? Lazy servants! If she were in charge . . .

  “I’m glad.” His words brought her wandering thoughts back to him, and she found herself gazing into those fathomless eyes.

  “What? Oh yes, so am I. Glad, I mean, about my father.” She stopped
short, cheeks flaming. Placing a hand over her fluttering heart, Michal drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I must sound like I’ve lost my mind.” She summoned her courage and offered him a warm smile.

  “Not at all, Princess. Just distracted.” He smiled in return, clasped his hands behind him, and took a step backward. “If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He turned, heading down the hall away from her.

  “David?” There was so much more she wanted to say in such a rare moment alone.

  He swiveled around, keeping his distance.

  “Despite what everyone thinks, I’m not a child.”

  David looked at her, head tilted, brow lifted in question. Was that pity in his eyes? “Indeed.”

  “I mean . . . in case Jonathan or Father treats me like one . . . I’m not.”

  “That’s quite obvious. And I understand. You are the youngest—as am I.”

  She let her eyes meet his and linger for a moment. “You are?”

  He nodded, his ever-charming smile making her heart skip another beat. “Considered the runt of the litter, left out of important decisions, stuck with the sheep.”

  Michal’s eyes widened. “Truly? So am I. I mean, my family is always calling me ‘little sister,’ as though I’m never going to grow up.”

  “Maybe you run too much. Don’t most grown women walk with dignity—you know, head held high, chin tipped up?”

  Michal giggled at his imitation, wishing the laugh had come out sounding more sophisticated. “Perhaps I do. I guess I’ll have to become dull and elegant if they’re ever going to see me as a woman.”

  David’s look made Michal’s palms moisten. “You’ll never be dull, Michal.” He moved farther away from her. “I will let you get back to wherever it is you were off to.”

  The field scent of him remained when he slipped from sight. Michal drank it in, wishing for all the world that he could stay and talk with her forever. She felt the wooden doll press against her thigh and pulled it from the folds of her robe. David’s devotion to the God of Israel would never allow him to keep an idol.

  She watched his retreating back, listening to the fading sounds of his footsteps. Then she walked with grace to the garden—head held high, chin tipped up. Once there, she got down on her knees and used a sharp stone to carve a hole in the dirt. With a vow never to go near an idol again, Michal dropped the image into the space and buried it.

  3

  Twelve uniformed jugglers, each wearing the embroidered insignia of an Israelite tribe, lifted a round, red pomegranate in their right hand high over their heads. Miniature, red-plumed helmets representing Philistine soldiers rested in each juggler’s left hand.

  A hush settled over the packed banquet hall. With rhythmic motions, one performer after another placed the tiny helmet on the fruit and tossed the overripe pomegranates into the air, then caught them and smashed them into the center of Saul’s banquet hall. Each splat and spillage of the seeded fruit brought a cheer from the crowd and outright laughter from the king.

  “And we’ll slaughter you again, you Philistine dogs,” Saul shouted when the last leathery skin split like an enemy head crushed in battle. “You think you can summon us to Elah and win? You dare come against the armies of Saul? We’ll grind you to dust.” Saul’s voice rose with each syllable, his hardened face growing crimson with rage.

  David sat in one corner of the room, his lyre resting on his knees, his eyes on the king. Saul’s expression darkened, and his fingers rose to his temples.

  “My harpist. Where is my harpist?”

  David stood and strode toward the center of the room. The jugglers sloshed and slid in the smashed fruit, symbolically tramping in the blood of the enemy.

  “Stop!”

  The room fell silent.

  David studied the king’s lined face, assessing which mood to soothe. Was this another demon attack or merely a headache brought on by too much wine?

  “Where is my harpist?” The demand grew to a wail, and Saul slumped forward. He raked both hands through his salty black hair, pushing the golden crown askew.

  David strummed a harmonic chord on his lyre, stepping around the squashed pomegranates to take a seat near the king.

  “Hear my cry, O God; attend to my prayer. From the end of the earth I will cry to You when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” David closed his eyes, praying as he sang. “For You have been a shelter for me, a strong tower from the enemy. I will abide in Your tabernacle forever, I will trust in the shelter of Your wings.”

  The creaking of a heavy wooden door pulled David’s attention to the opposite side of the room. A royal guard marched with staccato steps across the hall, leading Saul’s wife, Ahinoam, his concubine, Rizpah, and his two daughters, Merab and Michal. They stopped midstride.

  David picked a light, melodic tune to mask the intrusion. Saul’s women made a practice of a ritual farewell at these prewar events. But their timing couldn’t have been worse.

  He continued to play, singing words he’d crafted on long nights alone with the sheep, ever aware of the riveted attention of the crowded room. There was power in music, as though the Lord had given humanity an inner pulse that beat only with the rhythmic cadence of song—a force that flowed through him to the people.

  It was a heady feeling.

  David looked over the room, catching glimpses of appreciation scattered among men and women alike. He stole a glance at Merab, whose elegant beauty made his heart race. Shiny, long brown hair shimmered beneath a striped red and blue veil. Her eyes were almost as dark, like polished onyx stones, and her olive skin was as smooth as the soft garment she wore. Her moist red lips drew him.

  Heart hammering, he looked away. A discordant note came from his lyre as his fingers slipped on the strings. He corrected it, willing his thoughts into submission.

  No woman should have such power over a man.

  He turned his attention to the king and to Jonathan sitting at his right hand. Saul’s eyes were closed, his head tipped back against the wooden throne. David moved to another melodic transition, plucking a tune suggesting spring rain and rustling leaves.

  When the music ended, Saul’s eyes were clear. David smiled. Power belonged to God Most High.

  David breathed a deep sigh as Saul’s women stepped forward to greet the king. He watched Merab’s elegant, graceful steps across the tiled floor. When she stopped, she met his gaze with a beguiling one of her own. His hands tightened around the wood, his mouth dry. Swallowing hard, he shifted his attention behind her.

  She held far too much sway over his emotions. Power belonged to Adonai, he reminded himself, not Merab. Yet the thudding of his heart betrayed him.

  “Come forward.” At Saul’s command his wife, Ahinoam, walked with royal grace to kneel at Saul’s feet. She kissed his outstretched hand.

  “My lord,” she said in a thin, strained voice.

  “Take your seat, woman,” Saul said. His gaze drifted to his concubine, Rizpah.

  “May my lord, King Saul, live forever.” Rizpah’s lilting voice carried across the room as she slowly bent forward, cradling her unborn child, and kissed the hem of Saul’s outstretched sleeve. Saul dismissed her with a wave, relegating her to the seat farthest from him. Merab stepped forward and kissed the back of Saul’s hand. David watched the exchange, unable to pull away.

  “Have you come to wish your father victory, Daughter?”

  David noted Saul’s softening expression. Did she carry some mystic control over him as well?

  “Yes, Father. May you bring the head of the Philistine king back on a silver platter.”

  Saul leaned his head against the chair and laughed. “I’ve trained you well. And if I am successful, what do you wish?”

  David’s interest piqued. This girl knew how to appease the king. So why didn’t she try to do so more often when his moods rose and fell?

  “I wish you to br
ing me your greatest warrior as a husband, Father. Someone who makes you proud.”

  The words came out in a honeyed tone. A typical female trick to get a man to do her bidding. He’d seen it often enough between his brothers and their wives.

  “When we return victorious, you will have your pick of fine young men,” Saul promised.

  Merab turned and took a seat behind her mother, and Michal stepped forward and kissed Saul’s signet ring.

  “Come back to me safely, Abba,” she said, leaning closer to kiss Saul’s cheek. Saul’s face relaxed, his eyes alight with affection.

  David sat up straighter, intrigued. No syrupy tone, no haughty lift of the chin. No tempting power over a man.

  “I’ll always come back to you, Michal.” Saul cupped both hands around her face. “Ten thousand Philistines couldn’t keep me away.”

  Michal tilted her head against the palm of Saul’s large hand and smiled. The image reminded David of when he’d held one of his smallest lambs close to his heart. When Saul released her, Michal started to walk away, then turned back to look into the king’s eyes.

  “I’m counting on you, Abba.”

  Saul’s delighted expression made David pause. He looked at Michal, now sitting beside her sister. A pale blue head cloth covered rich, ebony hair, and her skin, even from a distance, held a rosy glow. She was younger than her sister by at least two years, but the curves of a woman truly did show beneath her striped robe. There was a quiet beauty about her—not elegant and beguiling like her sister, but innocent and fresh.

  Easier to manage that kind of woman, if his brothers could be trusted.

  He glanced at the king again.

  Then again, maybe not.

  David caught Jonathan’s attention and the prince’s slight nod. The prebattle feast would last through the night, then Saul would gather his army of thousands and travel to the Valley of Elah. David stood and tucked his lyre under his arm, heading for the barracks.

  Time to pack his bags and go home.