Bathsheba Page 4

  Tirzah moved to her side as more people pressed in behind her. They were close to the wives and daughters of the king, behind her grandfather and his fellow counselors. Cool night air swirled beneath her robes, chilling her, but the weather would soon grow warm with summer heat. Uriah could be gone many months even into fall, without even one visit home. The thought depressed her.

  “The caves shouldn’t be too much farther, mistress,” Tirzah said, bending close to her ear. Soft murmurs of the people behind her grew silent moments later as Tirzah’s prediction came true.

  Men moved forward, holding the torches aloft to illuminate the entire periphery surrounding the caves. Ripples of stillness settled over the crowd at the screeching sound of the heavy stone being moved from the entrance. Bathsheba looked toward the king, who stood close to the bier looking down on his beloved wife. His face crumpled and he covered it with both hands, turning away from the crowd.

  “Abigail!” His pitiful cry was soft, a moan coming from deep within him, but it carried to where Bathsheba stood.

  Tears filled her eyes at his pain, and again she had the sudden longing to comfort him. She looked to his wives. Would none of them step forward to place a hand on his arm, to pull him to them? Were they glad one of their rivals would no longer vie for his affection? She shuddered, grateful once more to have only Uriah.

  A moment passed as the king lifted his tear-streaked face and hands to the heavens. “Praise be to Your name, Adonai, for You are good. As she loved You in life, so may You welcome her in death. I will go to her one day, but she will not return to me.”

  The king stepped away from the bier as a young man approached and lifted a crippled hand to touch the edge of the bier. A little girl held on to the young man’s robe. Abigail’s children, Chileab and Anna.

  “Ima!” The little girl clung to her brother’s leg. “I want Ima!” David scooped her up and held her sobbing against his chest. Her piercing wails mingled with Chileab’s deep groans.

  “Oh, Mama! If only you had lived to see your children’s children.”

  King David placed an arm across the shoulders of his son and drew him into a three-way embrace, a family set apart, publicly sharing their private grief. Onlookers watched, weeping as well, and Bathsheba joined them, the tears falling freely. She brushed them away in time to see the six slaves carry Abigail’s body into the cave. Moments later they returned, rolled the stone over the entrance, and placed the king’s seal between the stone and the cave wall, preventing anyone from intruding on his wife’s resting place.

  More weeping, softer now, moved among the crowd. Still holding his daughter and supported by his son, the king strode forward, leading the throng, his eyes moist, his pain palpable. Guards and advisors, other wives, children, and mighty men came behind. He came so close to Bathsheba as he passed, she could almost touch him. A little gasp escaped her lips before she could suppress it. But he didn’t appear to notice anything about her or anyone else in the crowd, his eyes blinded as they were by his tears.

  A touch on her arm made her jump. She saw Anittas nod and motion her to follow. She stepped in behind the procession for the long trek home.

  David moved on leaden feet to his audience chamber, the marble and cedar halls echoing the footsteps of his retinue as they led the way. Noise filtered to him from the crowds of men standing in the anteroom waiting to speak with him, to reserve some judgment on their behalf, but it could not pull him from the melancholy that dogged his every step, his very breath. Tomorrow the army would head to war, and Joab expected him to join them—something he could not bring himself to do no matter how many arguments he’d heard to the contrary.

  He stopped as the trumpeters announced his arrival at court, glancing at Benaiah, ever faithful at his side.

  “I am in no mood to pass judgment today. Send those waiting in the outer rooms to their homes. Bid them return next week.” He straightened the belt at his waist and lifted his scepter.

  Benaiah nodded. “It will be as you say, my lord.” He bowed and stepped away to give David’s pronouncement to the guards he commanded, then stepped back to David’s side. “Are you certain then about your decision to remain in Jerusalem?”

  David vaguely heard the familiar announcement of his name to the court as the flag bearers moved forward. He looked at his trusted bodyguard. “I’m certain.”

  Benaiah acknowledged his statement with a slight tilt of his head, then fell in line behind David as he moved to take his seat at court. The cushioned purple fabric welcomed him, and he sank onto the familiar ornate throne. Abigail had designed the green leaf pattern along the edges of the cushions, which matched the color and design on the sleeves of his royal robes.

  Abigail, whose arms would never hold him close again. Had they laid her to rest only two days before?

  He suppressed a deep sigh, looking over the mix of counselors and army commanders. His sons had taken their places in gilded chairs along one side of the room while his counselors and scribes sat along the other. All had risen and bowed low as he entered the room. They looked to him now with expectant faces, probably wondering if the rumors were true. Soon they would know.

  He spoke to Benaiah, his voice low. “Summon my commanders.”

  A moment later, Joab and Abishai hurried forward, bending low, each touching a knee to the tile floor.

  “Rise.” He extended the scepter as each man stood. “Is the army ready to leave for war?”

  “Everything is ready, my lord,” Joab said, his back rigid, shoulders flung back. He wore the garments of Israel’s general, the gold threads of his black robe thick along the arms and across the chest, the wings of eagles stitched along his shoulder blades. “The troops march at dawn.”

  “Good. I have great confidence in you, Joab.” David smiled at his nephew. “I am sending you out to deal with the Ammonites. Defeat them for me, for Israel.”

  Joab’s dark, beady eyes probed David’s gaze, failing to show the proper bowed head and mute nod of acceptance. “You won’t change your mind?”

  “Not this time.”

  Soft murmurs filled the room, and Joab’s posture grew more rigid. “Surely you know the men expect you to lead. The Ammonites humiliated your ambassadors. Your honor is at stake.”

  “And I expect you to uphold that honor. But I will not be going.”

  “My lord, is that truly wise?” Ahithophel stood, not waiting to be acknowledged, sending a wave of irritation through David. Joab’s questioning he’d grown used to, even tolerated, because in all his years as king, he’d never been quite able to keep Joab’s attitudes or actions in check. But the man was an invaluable asset, a general unequaled. Not even Saul’s cousin Abner had measured up to Joab’s cunning. But Ahithophel, though like an angel of God sometimes, had grown wearying of late, always questioning David’s intentions. He, of all people, should understand the loss of a wife.

  “Wise or not, Ahithophel, I’m not going. I would be no good to my men or anyone else right now.”

  “The war would take your mind off your wife.” Ahithophel pressed his point, garnering David’s scowl. He returned to his seat. “Forgive me, my lord.”

  “Your counselor has a point, Uncle. The war will give you something to do besides sit around and feel sorry for yourself.” Joab’s tone held challenge.

  David bristled, angry now. “I am not required to explain myself to you, Nephew, or to listen to faulty advice. Do remember it is I who am king.” One hand tightened on the arm of the chair, the other gripped his scepter. “I trust you and Abishai can handle the army in my stead.”

  “These armies are large, my lord. What if they prove too strong for us?” Abishai spoke now, his expression showing he clearly wanted David to change his mind.

  “It is not like you have never fought a war without me.” David pushed his back against the throne, the threat of a headache forming along his temples. “My decision is made. Do not question me further.” He looked from his generals to his counselors. When no one responded, he stood. “I will expect regular reports. If the battle grows to be too much for you, then I will reconsider. In the meantime, strengthen your hands for battle. Don’t let me find out it is weak-kneed women I have sent to do warriors’ work.”

  Not waiting for a response, he stepped down from the throne and strode from the room without a backward glance.

  5

  Bathsheba lay on the raised bed she normally shared with Uriah, attempting sleep that would not come. Moonlight bathed the room in shadow, the windows shuttered against the night’s cool breeze. Tomorrow Uriah would march to war with the armies of Israel. Who knew when they would see each other again?

  She pulled the sheet closer to her neck, her body yearning to feel Uriah’s arms about her, longing to be held one more night against his chest. But he would sleep instead on a pallet in the sitting room, away from her, away from love. War was uppermost in his mind. Did he think of her lying so close by, needing him?

  She sniffed, jabbing at the tears dampening the pillow beneath her head. Uriah wasn’t to blame in this. War was the enemy, this constant need to defend Israel’s borders, to take the land God had promised to them. If the Ammonites hadn’t been such fools, they wouldn’t be in this mess.

  She flipped over to face the wall, readjusting the covers, frustrated with her train of thought. Anger would not help her sleep. She had best get used to being alone from now on.

  The door creaked softly as she finally settled into the wool mattress. She rose up on one elbow. Uriah stood in the doorway, looking down at her. He closed the door and stepped into the room.

  Bathsheba sat up, letting the sheet fall away from her. She searched his face in the soft moonlight, unable to clearly see his expression. What was he doing here?

/>   “Is something wrong, my lord?” She rose from the bed, her thin night tunic draping in folds to her ankles. She placed a hand on his arm and lifted her face closer to his.

  “Nothing is wrong.” His voice was husky. She knew that look. He bent to place a gentle kiss on her lips.

  She clung to him, wrapping her arms about his neck. His kiss deepened, but a moment later he pulled back, pushing her away. “I’m sorry.” He turned his back to her, then whirled around again to face her. “I shouldn’t have come.”

  His rejection stung. She stepped away from him until her legs hit the bed. She hugged her arms to her chest, her mouth still feeling the sensation of his kiss. “We are married. It’s not wrong for you to be here.” She lifted a shaky hand toward him, unable to keep the pleading from her tone. “Please don’t go. I need you.” It was a risk to say such a thing. But why else had he come here if his need wasn’t as great as hers?

  He rubbed his beard, looking miserable, studying her as if by doing so he could decide what to do. When he did not move toward her, she let her hand fall to her side. He tilted his head back, lifting his gaze toward the ceiling. At last he faced her again. “During the funeral, I couldn’t stop thinking of you, of fearing I could lose you.”

  “You’re not going to lose me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Was he thinking of his first wife who had died like Abigail?

  They stood still, their gazes connected, unable to break free. “I could lose you in war,” she said after a lengthy silence. “Only God knows when our time will come to enter Sheol.”

  He dipped his head in a slight nod, the lines around his dark eyes softening. “I only know I don’t want it to be tonight. I want to spend my last night with you.”

  Her heart warmed to his honesty. “The law doesn’t say you have to keep yourself from women so soon. And it allows for purification if such a thing were to happen.” She gave him a coy smile and opened her arms, beckoning him forward.

  His mouth curved slightly at the edges, but his serious expression made her heart throb. He was so close yet so far. So needing her yet so anxious to obey every hint of the law, every whim of the king’s commands. Could he not give in to his own desires even once? How much did he love her?

  “Please, my lord.” She moved closer to him, knowing she wore her heart in her eyes. Her breath touched his face. If he rejected her now, she would be devastated. But at least she would know.

  A soft groan escaped his lips as he drew her near to him. “Dear wife, you will be my undoing.” He pulled her closer into his arms, nearly crushing her against him, his lips claiming hers.

  She returned his kiss, her heart soaring at his familiar touch. “Do you love me?” she whispered against him as he placed her among the cushions.

  His mouth lifted from hers, his gaze soft, tender. “My sweet Bathsheba, was there ever any doubt?”

  His kiss silenced her answer.

  Bathsheba climbed to the roof of her house after Uriah left the next morning, her gaze fixed on the roofs of her neighbors, trying to catch a glimpse of the army as it marched through Jerusalem’s streets to the fields and hill country of Ammon. Uriah had frowned on her desire to join the women and children lining the streets to sing songs and wave palm fronds. Anittas and Tirzah would have seen to her safety, but his protectiveness bade her stay. No need to cause him extra worry.

  But oh, to glimpse him again, to see the sparkle in his eyes when he looked at her—a sparkle she saw so rarely. She shook her head at the thought. Uriah would not give way to emotion in front of his men. But at least he had left her resting in the security of his love. Why else would he have broken his own code of conduct to be with her if not for love? He was right, of course. There was never any doubt. She’d been a fool to think otherwise.

  She walked closer to the parapet, the wind whipping the scarf against her cheeks, sticking it to her mouth. As she pulled it away, the fringe caught between the rings on her fingers, and she turned about, gently tugging the threads from her hand. She glanced up toward the king’s palace as she always did whenever she ventured outside, expecting to find it empty. But her breath caught at the sight of the king leaning against the parapet of the palace roof, resplendent in his royal robes.

  Her hands stilled and her heart thudded. How close he seemed, yet their roofs separated them, and he wasn’t looking in her direction. She tugged harder on the caught fringe of her scarf, finally wrenching it free of her hand, and quickly pulled the scarf more securely across her cheeks and nose, covering all but her eyes. If perchance he did look her way . . . Uriah would be pleased if the king could not see her face.

  She should turn, pretend she didn’t see him there, but even from a distance, his presence was intoxicating. She watched him, fascinated, remembering the grieving husband of a few nights before. Her grandfather seemed disgusted with the king’s desire to remain in Jerusalem, but surely even a king should be allowed time to grieve.

  Irritation spiked within her. War! Did a man have to be ruled by the constant need to fight? Let the enemy be hanged. A man had more important things to do. Like care for his family.

  Heat filled her face at the realization she’d been staring at the king. She took a step backward and turned to look toward the street again, but stopped cold as her eye caught sudden movement. She glanced in his direction again, afraid to lift her face to his, but equally afraid not to. She was not mistaken. He’d seen her standing there, and his gaze now traveled the length of her, though his expression revealed nothing, as though what he saw posed no interest to him.

  But his dark eyes held her spellbound even with the space of the roof between them, and as he walked closer to come in line just above the edge of her roof, she could not stop herself from moving toward him in response. She knelt, bowing her face to the roof’s floor when she could go no farther, and he stood directly above her.

  “Rise,” he said, his voice at once commanding and gentle.

  She slowly stood but kept her gaze downcast.

  “Look at me, please.” She obeyed. He was leaning over the roof in an obvious attempt to communicate more freely, but when she looked up, he straightened, his expression appreciative. “You are very beautiful.”

  She glanced down and sucked in a quick breath. Her scarf had come loose when she bowed low, revealing her face! Why had she not expected such a thing and taken precautions against it? She grabbed the edge of the fabric and flipped it over her shoulder, covering her mouth and leaving only her eyes visible.

  “Please, don’t cover yourself.” A boyish smile filled his handsome face, making her heart flutter. What betrayal was this? She loved Uriah! Dare she not do as he asked?

  “I am a married woman, my lord. It is proper that I obey my husband, who prefers I cover myself in public.” She lowered her gaze, though she longed to search his face, to feast on the complexity of his expressions, which seemed to move from commanding to vulnerable in an instant.

  “Of course, you are right to obey your husband. Tell me, who is the man who is so blessed to have such a beautiful woman for his wife?” His voice carried clearly to her on the breeze, while the sounds of the retreating army and singing women faded in the distance.

  She glanced about her, but no servants from her household had joined her on the roof. She chanced another look at him. He rested both hands on the parapet, and his gaze was fixed solely on her. His boyish smile turned somber when their eyes met, and she knew she was safe with him. He would honor her as well as her husband.

  “My husband is Uriah the Hittite, and my father is Eliam, son of Ahithophel your counselor, my lord.” The words came out breathy against the fabric, and beads of sweat formed along her upper lip. The warmth of the spring breeze surprised her, making her wish she could remove the head covering altogether.

  “Ahithophel’s granddaughter? I’m surprised that old fox didn’t offer you to me long ago.” His dark eyes softened, and his look felt like an intimate touch. “He would not have been refused.”

  “You honor me, my lord.” Her cheeks blazed beneath her veil. “But I believe you are mistaken.”

  His glance moved from his roof to hers as though he were gauging the distance between them and planning to close the gap somehow. She took a step back, half afraid her words had angered him.