The Anointed

by Michael Arditti

  ‘There is no shame.’ David laid his hand on Jonathan's shoulder. ‘Who am I? A shepherd. No match for your sister. I fought then, as I do now, for my God, my king and my land. And my friend,’ he added, with touching tenderness. ‘That is my true reward.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Father said coldly. ‘You at least know better than to seize on a promise made – if, indeed, it was made – in the heat of battle. Now I suggest that you take my son to rest and recover from – ’

  ‘No!’ Jonathan shouted. ‘If you won’t give him his due, I will.’ He threw off his cloak and thrust it at David, who accepted it uneasily. ‘No, put it on. On!’

  Mother hastened to intervene. ‘Jonathan, you’re tired. You’ve ridden all day in the sun.’

  ‘Put it on!’ Jonathan ordered David, shrugging off Mother's hand as abruptly as her concern. When David hesitated, Jonathan snatched the cloak from him and draped it over his shoulders. He then unbuckled his sword-belt and, rather than risk a rebuff, struggled to fasten it around David's waist. David stood motionless, neither helping nor hindering him, as though unsure which would cause the greater offence.

  ‘Stop this now!’ Father rose to his feet, while the rest of us watched in alarm and Jonathan continued to fumble with the belt. ‘I gave you that sword, the first iron blade I won from the Philistines.’

  ‘There's no man who deserves it more. I’d give him the whole kingdom if I could.’

  ‘You may find that he steals it first.’ Father's words sent a chill through the courtyard. Trembling, Merab reached for my hand, as Mother clasped Jonathan's elbow and led him up the stairs. After a moment David followed, carrying the cloak and sword as formally as an armour-bearer. I slipped away from Merab and joined them in Mother's chamber, for once scarcely glancing at David in my anxiety for Jonathan, whose frenzy bore a frightening resemblance to Father's. Mother sat him on her bed but, rather than comforting him as I’d expected, she roundly chided him.

  ‘What were you thinking? You of all people should know better than to provoke your father. And in front of the Manassehites!’

  ‘He insulted my friend,’ Jonathan replied, his dull voice almost as disturbing as his recent outburst.

  ‘Your friend, your friend! I think he must have bewitched you.’ She glared at David, who looked at his feet.

  ‘He promised that Merab should be his wife.’

  ‘It's time you thought a little less of his wife and a little more of your own.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘Your father loves you very much. He loves all his children,’ she added, as though recollecting my presence. ‘But he rests his hopes on you. Everything he does is for you and your sons, to secure your succession. But where are those sons? You’ve been married for two years.’

  ‘If he's so eager for me to succeed him, why did he threaten to put me to death at Bethel?’

  ‘You forced his hand when you broke the fast. He’d made a rash vow.’

  ‘Yes, he's given to those,’ Jonathan said, looking up at her for the first time.

  ‘Your father's a frightened man. Have you never wondered why he was so susceptible to the evil spirit? No, of course not. To you, he's the big man who held you as a child, the strong man who led you into battle. But when he wears his crown, he's neither big nor strong but frightened: frightened of failing himself, his people and, most of all, the Lord. You know as well as I – as well as anyone – that he never wanted to be king. But it was the Lord's will and he submitted to it. He had a right to expect that the Lord's prophet would support him. Samuel!’ She curled her lip as if the name were a curse. ‘Instead, he undermined him at every turn. Remember when the Philistines mustered at Gilgal? He charged Father to wait for him for seven days before giving battle. The days went by and he still hadn’t come. The men were growing restive and threatening to desert. Father had to act fast to prevent disaster. With no priest at hand to divine the Lord's will, he ordered a sacrifice to entreat his blessing before the attack. No sooner was it made than Samuel arrived and denounced him for disobedience, warning him that his house – that's you, Jonathan – wouldn’t survive. It's as if he had been waiting for that moment, willing him to fall short.’

  ‘Samuel was hard on me too,’ Jonathan said, and I recalled the cries of pain, which had almost reconciled me to my exclusion, when the prophet came to teach him and the twins the stories of our ancestors.

  ‘You were a boy; Father was a man – although Samuel made him feel like a boy again. What happened at Gilgal was not unique. You were there when Father defeated the Amalekites and spared the king, after Samuel had ordered a wholesale slaughter.’

  ‘He said it was the Lord who ordered it.’

  ‘He always did,’ Mother said bitterly, ‘when there was no one to contradict him.’

  ‘I had nightmares for weeks. I’d seen my share of carnage but nothing to compare with Samuel's savagery. He made the king kneel before him and bare his neck. He picked up Father's sword, but it was too heavy for him and it took five or six strokes before the bones split. Blood poured on to him as he held up the severed head.’ To my dismay, I was reminded of David's decapitation of the Philistine but, when I looked at the man himself, he was listening impassively. ‘“Thus perish all the Lord's enemies,” he said. And, though he was speaking of the Amalekite, he was staring at Father.’

  ‘Ever since then, despite all your father's attempts at conciliation, he's refused to see him. How about you, young man, who’ve set father and son at odds, what do you think the king should have done?’

  ‘Obeyed the Lord's command,’ David replied, without a pause.

  ‘I wonder if you’d be so sure of yourself if you were in his place, determining the fate of a fellow ruler... But then that's what he's afraid of finding out.’

  ‘What do you mean, Mother?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Probably nothing. Your father's dearest hope when he became king was that the Lord would speak to him. But he did so only through Samuel. Now Samuel no longer speaks to him, he feels abandoned by them both. Given how brutally he condemned Father, you might think that Samuel would blame himself for anointing him or even...’ Mother stopped short as though afraid of implicating a higher authority. ‘But no, it's always wilful Saul, wicked Saul. And even you, his eldest son, who should be his greatest support, turn against him.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jonathan said, his voice filled with remorse, ‘for helping me – for helping us both – to understand him.’ Mother frowned at the coupling. ‘But there's still no excuse for his spurning David.’

  ‘No?’ Mother asked. ‘In their last ever conversation – though, from what he told me, Father uttered no more than two or three words – Samuel informed him that the Lord had rejected him in favour of a worthier man. He hoped it was you – I think he could have borne that – but then that would have validated the very house that Samuel reviled. So Father is on guard against any possible claimant: someone known or unknown to him, a prophet or a soldier... or a musician.’

  ‘Me?’ David asked, betraying his confusion. ‘I’ve explained before; nothing could be further from my mind.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Mother said, ‘but minds change. Now I should go to the king.’ She turned to Jonathan. ‘You should go to your wife.’ She turned to David. ‘And you should go.’

  I watched the two men hurry down the stairs and steal through the courtyard, avoiding any further confrontation with Father. Rash as it might sound, I was convinced that I, a mere girl, was the only one who could make peace between them, but my intervention would have to wait until after Merab's wedding. The contract was signed later that afternoon and the celebrations set to begin on the morrow. At daybreak, Mother led Merab to the hillside spring where she was to purify herself. It wasn’t just my resentment of another rite from which I was excluded that made me question its purpose. If anything were to purify her, it was love. But on her return, rather than shivering from the water, which was freezing even in summer, she g
lowed more brightly than ever. To cap her delight, Father gave her some of the precious stones that Adriel's father had brought and Mother and I adorned her in them for the first of the feasts that evening. Glittering in the torchlight, she walked through the courtyard to join our aunts and cousins and Adriel's mother and sisters. With her pendants tinkling, she leant towards me and whispered that Adriel's mother had more whiskers on her chin than her son. Although too far away to hear, her new mother-in-law was close enough to smell mischief. Deflecting her scowl, I prayed that she would treat Merab kindly when she took her back to Manasseh.

  David was called upon to play, but what would have been an honour for the shepherd who arrived from Bethlehem a year ago felt like a humiliation for the soldier who had twice vanquished the Philistines. To make matters worse, he was accompanied by the Ammonite bondwomen. I longed to tell him that there was one person present who suffered on his behalf. Yet, he showed no rancour as he sang a song in praise of Merab, who gave him the same curt nod that she did the servants. His was not the only humiliation, since among the company was Rizpah, the harlot whom Father kept in a house outside the city. The one virtue of his infirmity had been to prevent his visiting her. Although the twins took a perverse pleasure in pointing her out to me in the street and I liked to think that her deep bow was a reflection less of my status than of her shame, I wasn’t supposed to know of her existence, so I could do no more than shoot sympathetic glances at Mother, whose pain at losing her daughter was compounded by the presence of such an unwelcome guest.

  Midway through the meal, Father signalled to Mother that it was time to escort Merab to Adriel. Straightening her robe and jewellery, Mother led her through the courtyard, which rang with whoops and roars reminiscent of the soldiers’ homecoming. Merab's face flushed, with excitement or embarrassment or wine or maybe all three, as she walked unsteadily between Father and Mother up to the chamber from which, for the next seven nights, I was to be banished. I imagined our positions reversed and I was the one being taken to join my bridegroom. I speculated on what lay in store. From all that I’d gleaned, I pictured darkness and nakedness, blood and seed, pain and pleasure, but I had no idea in what order or to what degree. It offended me that, unless he were bragging, even Ishbaal knew more about what transpired on a wedding night than I did. Men made fun among themselves of something that women held sacred. I looked at David and gave thanks that there was one man I could trust to show respect.

  I watched as, waving Father's sword to ward off the evil spirits, Merab made her way to the chamber, where Adriel and his brother Jotham waited to greet her. Father, Mother and Jotham then returned downstairs, affording the bride and groom their first taste of privacy, although the twins, seemingly licensed by Father, twice ran up and hammered on the door, to the cheers of the men below. With their banter growing coarse, Mother sent me with my cousin Keziah to my aunt's, where I was to stay during my week of exile. Keziah's prattle made me realise how much I already missed Merab. First thing the next morning, I hurried home, eager to talk to her, only to find our chamber door shut and what I took to be the wedding sheet strung from the lintel. In the middle were several red spots, like the blood sprinkled in a sacrifice. Mother, seeing me stare, came up and hugged me more warmly than usual. ‘Look, there's barely a speck. It's nothing to be afraid of,’ she said, as if I would know instinctively what she meant.

  When at last she emerged, Merab looked so joyful that, for all Mother's obliqueness, I felt reassured. Was I ascribing my own hopes to her or was there a new light in her eyes, such as I’d seen in Jonathan's when he and David returned from Ephraim? Had she found the fulfilment in love that he had in battle? I needed to know what to expect or at least what to wish for. But when I questioned her, she prevaricated, claiming first that what she’d felt couldn’t be put into words, which was patently untrue since the Lord gave us a word for everything, and then that she didn’t want to spoil the surprise, when she knew full well that I loathed surprises. It was as if, overnight, she’d crossed a river whose current flowed too fast for me to follow.

  Given her newfound happiness, it seemed cruel that she was able to see Adriel only at night. He spent the day hunting and hawking with his brothers and mine, while she entertained Adriel's mother and sisters, taking them up to the hills or to meet old friends, leaving me at home. Even when we were together, she favoured them, setting her loom beside theirs and chatting so volubly that she dropped her shuttle, a fault that would have earned me a severe rebuke but for which she was excused. Her older sister-in-law made a reference to Adriel's shuttle, which I failed to understand but, from Merab's blush and Mother's frown, was sure must be ribald. On an ordinary day, Mother would have noticed my wretchedness and consoled me, but she was preoccupied with the welfare of her guests and the week of feasting. Even so, I suspected that she would have preferred to provide meals for another month than to bid farewell to her daughter who, as soon as the celebrations were over, left for Manasseh with her new family (hateful phrase!). Fighting back her tears, she kissed us all again and again, even Ishbaal, who recoiled as though stung. She made me promise to visit her in the spring, although I planned for her to return long beforehand for my wedding.

  If the plan were to succeed, my first step was to speak to Jonathan, who called on us more often after Father lodged David in the gatehouse. ‘You can do what you please during the day, but at night you’re to go home to your wife,’ he’d told Jonathan, which was unfair since he had always gone home to Hodiah, whether David were there or not. I intercepted him as he left a meeting with a Hittite emissary. My innocent ‘Is something wrong?’ sparked a tirade against Father's tyranny, which ignored the fact that he and the twins had enjoyed far greater freedom than Merab and I, who were subject alternately to strict discipline and stifling affection. Nevertheless, I knew better than to challenge him when I needed his help.

  ‘It's not as if Father has forbidden you and David to see each other or sent one of you to Asher and the other to Simeon. You can exercise together, explore together, hunt together,’ I said, increasingly aware that I had no idea how they occupied their time.

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘Because I’m a girl? Because I’m fifteen? Or because I’m your sister?’

  ‘Forgive me! I feel as if I’m splitting in two. Father may not have sent David away, but I will... I must.’

  ‘Why?’ I struggled to keep my balance.

  ‘There's no other way. His very presence enrages Father. Even the music that cured him last year threatens to revive his evil spirit. I’m sure that he’d concoct some pretext to have him killed if he weren’t afraid of provoking the people.’

  ‘Then you’re right; he must go. At once! But it will be so hard for you.’

  ‘You do understand. I’d never dreamt that anyone else – let alone another man – could bring me such pleasure, such peace, such contentment. He's more than my friend; he's myself. He's more myself than I am. I’m sorry; I know that that makes no sense.’

  It made perfect sense since I felt the same. Yet our two loves could not have been more different. Jonathan's was the daytime love of a friend, whereas mine was the night-time love of a future wife. For all that I cherished the uniqueness of my feelings, I envied my brother the easy expression of his. I’d watched him rest his hand on David's shoulder and the small of his back; I’d watched him wrestle him to the ground and punch him on the arm, his playfulness compounding my pain. Despite my wealth of fantasies – passing him his bowl or his lyre, dropping my mantle in his path and even fainting at his feet and reviving, slowly, as he carried me to my bed – I had never so much as brushed David's skin.

  ‘If only Father had allowed him to marry Merab,’ I said, marvelling at my insincerity.

  ‘He promised... if not in so many words.’

  ‘He wouldn’t mistrust him if he were allied to our clan.’

  ‘You’re not making things any easier.’

  ‘Not yet, but maybe I could.�
��

  ‘How? She's married to Adriel.’

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘As a bride for David.’ I gulped.

  ‘You?’ He laughed. ‘I’m sorry, but you... little Michal!’

  ‘Why little? I’m almost as tall as him.’

  ‘Yes, but – ’

  ‘And I’m fifteen years old. Fifteen. Plenty of girls my age are married.’

  He looked me up and down as if seeing me afresh after years in captivity. ‘True.’

  ‘Then David could stay here with us... with you.’

  ‘You’d do that for me?’

  ‘Of course. And for Father – to ease his mind. And the kingdom – to preserve its best general... second-best.’

  ‘You were right the first time,’ he said with a smile. ‘But are you sure it's what you want?’

  ‘I’ve felt so alone since Merab left. Mother's forever finding fault with me. I’m ready to run my own household.’

  ‘And it helps that David's good-looking.’

  ‘Like Adriel,’ I said casually. ‘Besides, I don’t want to move away. David's living here. Or will he have to return to Bethlehem?’

  ‘No, he has several brothers.’ Jonathan's face shone. ‘Who knew that I had such a clever sister? But we must take care not to arouse Father's suspicions. Merab's open disdain for David was what made it safe to endorse the match.’

  He hurried away to find David. I felt excited but also exposed. Although he swore to present the scheme as his own, what if David saw through it? I had been so absorbed in my own desires that I’d given no thought to his. Was it too much to hope that he felt as drawn to me as I did to him but, afraid that I’d prove as haughty as Merab, he’d feigned indifference? Or did I disgust him, with my callow mind and, worse, my scrawny body? Would he reject the scheme outright, regarding marriage to me as too high a price even for closeness to Jonathan and kinship with the king?