The Anointed

by Michael Arditti

  We didn’t expect to endure his insolence for long. None of Father's recent campaigns had lasted more than a week. Even for one with my meagre interest in warfare, the pattern was predictable. The Philistines advanced; we rebuffed them; they retreated to their five unassailable cities. This time, however, things were different. Ten days passed without word from the field. Mother, fearing the worst, took regular peace offerings to the sanctuary. Finally, a messenger arrived for Ahitophel, Father's chief adviser, bringing news that the battle had been won – without one Israelite casualty. After days of deadlock when a monstrous Philistine champion goaded our forces, a young Judahite shepherd confronted him with nothing but a sling. He felled him with a single stone, whereupon their entire army took flight.

  ‘A11 praise to the Lord,’ Mother said. But, even with the Lord's help, the victory was awe-inspiring, not least when the messenger swore that the Philistine was six and a half cubits tall. Moreover, his mention of the Judahite shepherd unsettled me. I told myself not to be fanciful: there were hundreds of shepherds in the hill country. Yet what were the chances of two from the same tribe coming to our aid within a year? I longed to ask the messenger to describe the youth more fully – starting with the colour of his hair – but I couldn’t risk rousing Mother's and Merab's suspicions. Besides, what would it prove? Red hair might well be a Judahite trait. Such coincidences occurred daily; which was why there was a word for them. It would be wrong to let my regard for one Judahite shepherd blind me to the merits of the rest.

  I turned back to the messenger, who was explaining that the Benjaminite troops would reach Gibeah in a matter of hours. With no time to spare, we went our separate ways: Mother to take a thanksgiving offering to the sanctuary; Ahitophel to proclaim the victory to the people; Merab and I to instruct the servants. Once preparations were in hand, I bathed, put on my chequered robe (now pleasingly tight around the chest), and joined Mother, Merab and Hodiah at the city gate. We stood in the dusty heat, while the women and children sang and danced, played pipes and shook timbrels, until a shout from the watchtower heralded the army's approach. At first I recognised only Father, or rather his mule, its white coat gleaming in the sun, but, as they drew nearer, I made out Abner, with Joab bearing his shield; the twins, riding with a newfound swagger; and, finally, Jonathan, side by side with a man whom I’d never expected to meet again, let alone as the nation's saviour. His prominence in the procession left no doubt that the valiant shepherd was David.

  Breathless, I watched the men dismount. The twins, forgetting that they were battle-scarred veterans, ran forward to hug Mother before recollecting themselves with lofty waves at Merab and me. The others greeted us warmly, except for Father, who gave us each a perfunctory kiss, and barely acknowledging the chants of ‘Saul’, headed straight to the house. Sensing the crowd's disappointment, Jonathan dragged a diffident David towards them and, without a word (which would in any case have been drowned by the cheers), clasped his hand in a victory salute, confirming even to those yet to hear the story that this was the hero of the hour. With his arm draped like a garland around David's neck, he presented him to us: first to Mother, who commended his courage, marvelling at his coupling of martial and musical skill; then to Hodiah, who echoed her sentiments, although, as she addressed David, her eyes strayed to Jonathan, her yearning to kiss him as palpable as her fear of a rebuff. Merab added her plaudits, while wrinkling her nose at the battlefield smell and bloodstains on David's tunic. At last it was my turn but, despite the sparkling speech on the tip of my tongue, I was struck as dumb as the serpent in Eden.

  ‘Come on little sister, is this how you greet your country's champion?’ Jonathan asked. All I could do was shake my head like a goose.

  ‘Count yourself lucky,’ Ishbaal interjected. ‘She usually won’t stop talking.’

  Jonathan, indulgent even to Ishbaal, broke away from David, grabbed his impudent young brother and, feigning fury, wrestled him to the ground, releasing him unharmed to the regret of everyone except Mother. Deploring the impropriety, she sent Jonathan and David home to wash and rest before returning to eat with Father. Watching them go, I was surprised to see Jonathan lay his hand on David's shoulder as if to steer him through unfamiliar streets. Hodiah followed eagerly, but neither man looked round.

  I blinked back the tears that unaccountably welled in my eyes and returned home. Struggling to make sense of both David's prodigious talents and his strange reappearance in our lives, I hoped for an explanation when Jonathan paid his usual visit to Merab's and my chamber before the meal. David hadn’t joined him, although whether he considered that, as girls, we were beneath his notice or, as princesses, we were above his station, I couldn’t say. Too wary of Jonathan's ridicule to ask, I urged him instead to tell us the story of the battle.

  ‘It's really the story of David,’ he said. And although it was another man's triumph, I had never seen my brother look happier. Ignoring her protests, he flung himself on Merab's bed and began. ‘The Philistines were camped across the valley, close enough for us to hear them carousing at night and drilling in the morning, the clash of their swords a stark reminder that their weapons were iron and ours were only wood and bone. Neither side dared risk an attack. Without a priest to cast the sacred stones and determine the Lord's will, Father concentrated on securing our position. He seemed in command – of himself, I mean – but he’d lost the confidence that inspired us to victory over the Amalekites. Then, without warning, a man advanced from the Philistine tents. But what a man! I swear he was more than four cubits tall – ‘

  ‘Not six?’ Merab interjected.

  ‘Are you mad? That's already a good hand taller than Father. He was magnificent. His armour gleamed. The purple plumes in his helmet rippled in the breeze. I was so dazzled that, for a moment, I forgot he was the enemy. Then he spoke, in a voice as deep as the valley itself.’

  ‘And I’m the one who's mad!’

  ‘I swear it,’ Jonathan said, adopting a voice that might have been menacing had it not recalled the Nephilim giants with whom he’d peopled my childhood. ‘“Saul, Saul, why are you hiding up there on the hillside? Come down – “ Oh, this is torture!’ He resumed in his own voice. “‘Come down and fight, Saul! Just you and me, man to man. Whoever wins, his side can claim victory. Fight in the name of your god! Or are you ashamed of the god you’re not allowed to name?” Then he named him – repeatedly, mockingly, impiously – and Father bore it, grim-faced. We waited for him to accept the challenge. He's never shrunk from one before. He may be nearly fifty but he can crush an opponent half his age – me, for instance, during practice. But he hung back, as though the Philistine's mockery had unmanned him. Both Abner and I begged him to let us fight in his place, but he flatly refused. He was sure we’d be killed and the troops would lose heart and desert.’

  ‘So what changed?’ I asked, aching for David's arrival in the field.

  ‘Nothing, for six whole days. Our forces marked time while the Philistine strutted and jeered. I warned Father that the men would be far more disheartened if no one took up the challenge than if one of us did and fell, but he wouldn’t listen. It was as though the evil spirit still had a hold on him, making him doubt himself, his son, and even the Lord.’

  ‘But what about David?’ I asked, as insistently as I dared. ‘Did you call him back to play for Father?’

  ‘No need. He’d been sent with provisions for his three older brothers, who were among the Judahite contingent. By chance – that's to say, providence – he heard the Philistine's challenge and made up his mind to accept it.’

  ‘But he's so small,’ Merab said.

  ‘Not tall, I grant,’ Jonathan replied curtly. ‘Which makes his success all the more remarkable. Joab brought him again to Abner – ‘

  ‘I notice Joab didn’t come forward himself,’ I said.

  ‘Fair's fair,’ Jonathan replied, ‘no one did. They were all too aware of Father's misgivings. But David was new to the camp. He entered our tent a
nd, before he’d even spoken, it was as if a lamp had been lit.’

  ‘You sound like one of his songs,’ Merab said.

  ‘Ignore her!’ I said. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I was astonished to see him, but still more astonished by Father, who showed no sign of recognising him. I worried that the evil spirit had lodged in his mind. Then I realised that for Father to acknowledge him would be to acknowledge his own infirmity. So I followed his lead. For his part, David took no offence, as though he’d never presume that a king or prince would remember him.’

  ‘Unless he was also dissembling,’ Merab said.

  ‘You don’t know him; he's far too modest, something you may find it hard to appreciate.’

  ‘Stop interrupting!’ I said to Merab. ‘So what did David do next?’

  ‘Begged Father to let him accept the challenge. When Father asked him if he wanted to die, he swore that he’d braved greater dangers guarding his sheep: killing marauding lions and bears with his bare hands.’

  ‘Did you believe it?’ I asked, over Merab's snort.

  ‘I believed that he believed it,’ he replied evasively. ‘In the end, Father granted his request. I suspect that he thought him expendable.’ I coughed to conceal a groan, as Jonathan stared at me in bemusement. ‘There was a remote chance he’d succeed and, if he failed, the contest would have been too unequal to damage morale. He even offered him his armour, which was a nonsense, since it would have dwarfed me! Still, David insisted on trying it on.’

  ‘More dissembling?’ Merab asked.

  ‘Why must you be so spiteful? As it turned out, he wore no armour of any sort and took no weapons except for a stick, a sling and a bag of stones. When he saw him, the Philistine was incensed, railing at our disrespect and threatening retribution. He pounded the ground, rocking from side to side, so blinded with rage that for the first time I thought that David might have a chance. He bellowed that he’d eat his flesh raw, which chilled me, but David was undaunted. I couldn’t see his face, but I saw the contraction of his shoulders as he calmly appraised his target, took aim and hit him straight between the eyes. The Philistine stood stupefied, before toppling forward, less man than tree. A thunderous cheer rose up from our ranks while the enemy fell deathly silent. Then David surprised me again. No longer the noble warrior, he snatched the Philistine's sword and hacked at his neck until it snapped. He held the head aloft, letting blood drip over himself like rain.’

  ‘Why the surprise?’ Merab asked. ‘Red-haired men are born to shed blood.’

  ‘Then be grateful. If it weren’t for him, the blood that was shed would have been ours. When they saw their fallen champion, the Philistines fled. Our men pursued them, slaughtering and plundering all the way to Gath and Ekron.’

  ‘I am grateful,’ Merab said. ‘But you make too much of it. One well-aimed shot can’t compare with all Father's campaigns or even your valour at Micmash.’

  ‘It's a well-aimed shot that might win him a king's daughter.’

  ‘What?’ Merab said, as my heart leapt.

  ‘Did I forget to mention it?’ Jonathan asked slyly. ‘The men maintain that Father promised his older daughter's hand to anyone who could vanquish the Philistine.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd!’

  ‘I wasn’t there, so I can’t vouch for it. But you’re eighteen, the same age as Mother when she had me.’

  ‘Mother didn’t marry a shepherd!’

  ‘No, but Leah did and Rachel, when Jacob tended their father Laban's flock. There are honourable precedents.’

  ‘In the past, perhaps. But the world has changed; we have a king in Israel. And kings’ daughters marry kings’ sons: princes from Moab or Edom or Sidon.’

  ‘Even so, there's no man I’d rather see married to my sister.’

  What about me? I wanted to ask. Wasn’t I also his sister? Wouldn’t he like to see me married to David? I was fifteen years old, only three years younger than Merab. I was just as eligible as she was and far better suited to him. Even if, for Father's sake, she were reconciled to the match, she would make David miserable. No matter how much he did for her, it would never be enough. Whereas I wanted nothing but to be near him. Yet, if by some miracle I were to win his love – and the Red Sea might as soon part again after my coyness this afternoon – I would have to win Father's consent. Not everything had changed since Jacob's time: an older daughter still took precedence. If, by a second miracle, Father agreed to our marriage, what was to stop him copying Laban's trick and substituting Merab for Michal?

  To my profound relief, there was no further mention of Father's impetuous promise. Unlike last summer, David showed himself in no rush to go home, preferring to remain in Gibeah, hunting and sporting with Jonathan. At night they returned to Hodiah, whose woebegone air was even more exasperating now that she had a second hero living under her roof. I seized every excuse to visit them, running errands for Mother, whose pleasure at my compliance almost made me repent my subterfuge. From the smile that played on his lips when I brought another basket of cakes or cloth or a message I would have previously entrusted to a servant, I knew that Jonathan wasn’t deceived. I prayed that he’d say nothing to David but, no matter the risk, I couldn’t bear to keep away. Although never less than courteous, David behaved towards me with a reserve that Merab, still smarting at being treated as a trophy, insisted was inverted pride. I, more kindly disposed, ascribed it to shyness, which was something else that we shared.

  Meanwhile, Father was visited by another evil spirit, unless it were the first grown more volatile and violent. Once again David was called upon to expel it, but his presence did more to provoke Father than his playing did to calm him. One moment he would hail him as the bulwark of his throne and, the next, accuse him of plotting with Samuel – whom David swore that he had never met – to usurp it. In a welter of recriminations, Jonathan denounced Father's delusions and Father Jonathan's ingratitude. It was a blessing to us all – even to me who dreaded the prospect of a day without seeing him – when Father sent David, in joint command with Jonathan, to drive back the Philistines, who had rallied and attacked border farms in Ephraim.

  Taking leave of them at the city gate, Father seemed more settled but, on returning home, he sank back into despondency.

  ‘I should be with them, leading them to victory.’

  ‘You’ve led them to victory for the last fifteen years,’ Mother replied. ‘Over the Ammonites and the Amalekites and all the enemies who sought to rob us of our land. It's time to consign the fighting to younger men.’

  He slapped her across the face. As she fell back, clasping her cheek, he held out his hand, studying it as if it were an unfamiliar vegetable he’d found in his bowl. I gasped, too shocked to scream. Merab moved to Mother, who shooed her away.

  ‘It's nothing. Don’t fuss. Your father's not himself.’

  His confused expression confirmed it, but, if he weren’t himself, who was he? I was tortured by the thought that he had become one with his evil spirit.

  After a few days, Jonathan sent word that they’d repelled the invaders in a surprise attack, which, to my delight, he credited to David. Father dismissed the messenger so brusquely that I even wondered if he’d hoped for our defeat. He charged that only a brief account of the victory was to be issued but, as usual, the details leaked out and the widespread acclaim for David plunged him into deepening gloom. Any prospect of the men's swift return was dashed by Father's orders that they were to remain in Ephraim and bolster the defences. The following week he announced Merab's marriage to Adriel, the eldest son of the Manassehite chief. While not the foreign prince of her dreams, he was well-born and wealthy enough to content her. My dismay at her marrying a total stranger was not dispelled by Mother's assurance that the first time she’d met Father was on their wedding day. But, when Adriel arrived in Gibeah, his handsome face and sunny disposition endeared him to us all. So I said nothing to Merab, not least because her marriage removed a serious obstacle to mine.<
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  I suspected that the match had been hastily arranged in order to quash the general assumption that, after this second triumph, Father would be duty-bound to offer Merab to David. My fear that Jonathan would be outraged was borne out. Summoned home for the ceremony, he rode side by side with David into the courtyard, where Father, attended by Abner and Ahitophel, was negotiating the bride-price with Adriel and his father. In honour of the occasion Mother served the guests herself, while Merab and I watched from the top of the stairs, my eyes darting to the new arrivals and hers remaining fixed on her betrothed. Ignoring the visitors, Jonathan leapt off his mule and, barely pausing to prostrate himself, upbraided Father.

  ‘Does the king of Israel have no honour? How can he give his daughter to one man when he has pledged her to another?’

  ‘Who? When? What fresh wickedness is this?’ Father drummed his fingers ominously on his stool.

  ‘On the battlefield at Elah, when the Philistine giant scoffed at us. You promised Merab to any man brave enough to confront him... strong enough to defeat him. This is that man.’ He pointed to David. ‘You Manassehites were there; you can bear witness.’ Shrinking from the family quarrel, neither Adriel nor his father spoke. ‘Abner?’ Jonathan appealed in vain to the one man guaranteed to put loyalty before truth. ‘How can you allow this shame?’