The Anointed

by Michael Arditti

  ‘No, we used it when Machia had the fever.’

  ‘So now you’ll try to poison him?’

  ‘Why? So I can be married off to Achim or Yimnah?’ Even she can see that that would be escaping a trap to fall into a snare. She urges me to go and, when I return with the potion (minus the anise seeds), I find my two prospective husbands, along with their wives, occupying the chamber. They lower their voices at my approach and turn towards me in harsh reproof. Yimnah accuses me of goading Nabal and provoking his seizure. Although one glance at his bloated body is enough to refute the charge, I say nothing but, rather, hand Shirah the potion, which, prising open his jaws, she spoons down his throat only to watch it dribble back. Achim proposes to set out at once for the sanctuary at Hebron to sacrifice a sheep for his recovery I long to tell him that it's pointless; I have seen the man whom the Lord favours and it's not Nabal. The others find reasons to leave, as if to conceal the only valid one: their helplessness.

  For the next ten days they return sporadically while Shirah and I watch over the living corpse. I too sink into a kind of stupor, which is neither restful nor troubling but as devoid of sensations as his. I revive only when I retire to my chamber at night, leaving Shirah exultant in her solitary vigil. Then on the tenth day, Nabal dies. I put on my widow's robe, the chafing goat's hair an added incentive to remarry. I may not have long to wait, for Nabal has scarcely been entombed when Achim, as his oldest surviving brother, stakes his claim. Yimnah sets aside their rivalry to ensure that Nabal's wealth remains in the clan. Machia, however, is less sanguine. All the rancour she felt towards me when I was her brother-in-law's wife is doubled now that I am to be her husband's, taking precedence over her not just in the household but in his bed. Yimnah's wife, Zillah, obliged to defer to us both, is sure to fuel her malice. I’m amused that, having sneered at my barrenness, they are now prepared to concede, however tacitly, that the fault may have been Nabal's, trusting Achim to prove more potent. I contemplate refusing him but, although Ahinoam offers me a refuge with her parents, I prefer to remain in the one place I know as home.

  Achim must wait ninety days before we marry in case a son to inherit Nabal's name is already growing in my belly. I say nothing to disabuse him and relish this interval when I have no prescribed place in the household and am treated with neither respect nor resentment but indifference. It is as if the law against touching a corpse has been extended to the widow. I feel an anonymity which is the closest I come to freedom. Then, sitting one morning in my chamber, I hear a commotion in the courtyard. Looking out, I see at least fifty armed men confronting Achim, Yimnah and a group of cowering servants. I strain to listen as their leader strides forward, but his voice is so loud that I recoil, bumping into Shirah.

  ‘I am Joab, kinsman to great David, son-in-law of King Saul. My general has heard of your chief's death and sends me to grant you his protection.’

  ‘We thank you for your general's concern,’ Achim replies, ‘but we have already paid dearly for his protection. Besides, the clan has a new chief. I am to lead the Calebites. My strong arm stretches over all their lands.’

  ‘You misunderstand me,’ Joab speaks as if to a simpleton. ‘My general is willing to relieve you of that burden. In return, he requests the hand of Abigail, the chief's widow.’

  I gasp. Shirah grabs my wrist and tries to drag me back into the chamber. I push her off with a strength that springs directly from David's proposal. She falls against the wall with a moan that I barely register as I fix my attention on Joab.

  ‘What impudence!’ Achim says. ‘Do you think us so ignoble that we’d swear allegiance to a bandit? I myself am to marry Abigail as soon as the Law permits.’

  ‘Is that your last word?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘It is indeed,’ Joab says, drawing his sword and skewering him in the stomach. Achim drops to the ground. A deathly hush descends, broken by a single scream. I turn to see Machia and Zillah together at the rail. But it's Zillah who screams, while Machia stands as still as Lot's wife, turned into salt. I’m shocked, as much by my own composure as Joab's savagery. ‘I trust that that answers your objections,’ he adds. ‘But my general has no wish to force anyone.’ He leisurely sheathes the sword that belies his claim. ‘It is for the woman herself to decide. Where is she?’

  ‘Here,’ I say, walking slowly down the passage, conscious that everyone except Machia and Zillah, who weep in each other's arms, is staring at me. Even Yimnah looks up from his dead brother. I descend the stairs at a steady pace as if pondering my decision, although I made it the moment I heard the proposal. For the first time, my life will have a purpose beyond the everyday. I may finally find an answer to the question that has gnawed at me ever since the Amalekite raid: why was I the only member of my clan to be spared?

  ‘Your general does me too much honour,’ I say, on reaching the ground. ‘I am happy to accept.’ Ahinoam, facing me, claps her hand over her mouth. I have scandalised her; I have scandalised the whole household, and no one more so than myself, but I don’t care. David is an outcast, a royal outcast but an outcast nonetheless; the king will hunt him down and, if he finds him, he will no more spare the women who are with him than he did the priests of Nob, but I don’t care. David is married already, to a princess who's young and by all accounts beautiful, but I don’t care. I have had forty years of behaving prudently; now I’m doing the opposite, and I don’t care. ‘Tell your general that I long to serve him. I am ready to give him many sons,’ I say, hoping that Joab is standing too far away to demur.

  ‘I thank you, lady.’ Joab walks forward and kisses my hand. His lips are fleshy and cold. ‘I shall return with him in three days.’

  ‘But the Law – ‘ Yimnah interjects.

  ‘My general's ardour brooks no delay. I trust that will give you time to prepare the wedding feast. We have seen how richly you celebrate the sheep-shearing,’ he adds, with the trace of a smile. ‘I almost forgot; it's customary for the bridegroom to bring gifts. So I’ll leave you with a dozen men to guard the household.’

  ‘They are a gift?’ Yimnah asks, outraged.

  ‘They will be when they’re removed.’

  Joab leads his contingent away. I gaze warily at those who remain but, apart from their pressing demands for food and drink, they show commendable respect for a household in shock. I am grateful for their presence the next morning when I follow the body to the tomb. We make a sorry band since, afraid of further violence, few of the clan attend. Those that do regard me with undisguised malice. The heat is so punishing that I am sure I’m not alone in praying as much for a swift end to the lamentations as for Achim's smooth passage into Sheol. Then, when the sepulchre stone is removed, the stench of Nabal's recently interred corpse makes even Shirah cut short her keening. We return home and I shun the burial feast, retiring with Ahinoam to my chamber where we weave a wedding robe of finest linen to replace my widow's garments. At dusk Helah brings us a soup, which she vows she has made herself, dispelling my fear that Shirah has administered the poison she accused me of intending for Nabal. I have no desire to eat but I know that I must since I’m as light-headed as if I had drunk ten bowls of wine.

  The men Joab has left to guard the household guard me from its wrath, nevertheless I keep to my chamber, fashioning my robe and envisaging my future. After the meagre attendance at the burial, the men are determined to avert a similar slight to their chief and comb the countryside rounding up the clan, who arrive on the wedding morning looking daunted. From my vantage point on the upper floor, I watch David ride into the courtyard, crowned with a garland of blood-red anemones. Leaping from his donkey, he stands two palms shorter than Joab. He glances up at me, and I’m seized by the fear that he glimpsed my surprise through my veil. Yimnah greets him stiffly and I retreat behind a rail as they come upstairs to sign the marriage contract, which makes David master of all the land and goods that passed to me on Nabal's death. I suspect that they are the main attraction, but Yimnah's summo
ns prevents me from brooding. Ahinoam adjusts my veil a final time and I enter what I still think of as Nabal's chamber. I kneel before David, who kisses my hand, draws me up and uncovers my face. My cheeks sting as he stares at me. I wonder what Joab has told him to expect but read nothing in his gaze but its intensity.

  ‘Do I displease you, my lord? Did you expect Rachel only to discover Leah?’

  ‘Didn’t Jacob love and honour Leah?’

  ‘He did, my lord.’

  ‘Didn’t she bear him six sons?’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘No, you don’t displease me.’

  He takes my arm and leads me downstairs, where the servants have laid out the feast. We’re no sooner united than we must part, he to his place with Yimnah, Joab and the elders and me to mine with Shirah, Machia and Zillah, to whom my very presence, let alone my marriage, is an affront. Scarcely a word passes between us and I linger over every mouthful to fill the silence. I envy the merriment across the courtyard, but a hurried look reveals that it stems entirely from David and his companions. The Calebites sit grim-faced, only raising a cheer to order.

  ‘Is this David now to be our chief?’ Zillah asks, as I chew a date. I resolve to answer in a way that shows that my commitment to him is free and absolute. Calling for a bowl of water, I cross the courtyard. All eyes are on me but, whereas the others are uneasy or perplexed, David's are smiling. Head bowed, I kneel before him, untie his sandals and slowly – lovingly – wash his feet before drying them with the tips of my veil. I make to return to my place, but he clasps my hand.

  ‘Have you finished eating?’ he asks. ‘Shall we go upstairs?’

  With no mother or father to escort me to my bridegroom, I was afraid that Shirah and Yimnah would arrogate the right. ‘Whatever my lord wishes,’ I reply, relishing the murmurs at another breach with tradition. He leads me up to Nabal's chamber, which he has taken as his own. Although Ahinoam has filled it with sweet-scented herbs, I fancy that I still detect Nabal's stale flesh and step closer to David, who smells like a freshly tilled field. He grins at my approach and throws off his mantle. I marvel at his rugged arms and sturdy chest. Nabal was soft-bellied even when we met, but David is as taut as a timbrel... I wish that he had chosen a chamber empty of ghosts.

  ‘You’re shaking,’ David says, as he steers me towards the bed. ‘Are you afraid of me?’

  ‘No, my lord.’ Although I say the words routinely, I find that they’re true. ‘Not of you, but of others.’

  ‘Who, the Calebites? Don’t worry, my men can control them.’

  ‘No, the king.’ He knits his brow, but I am determined to speak. ‘I told myself that, far away in Benjamin, he was no threat.’

  ‘No more he is.’

  ‘He's sure to pursue you more relentlessly than ever. By marrying me, you’ve insulted his daughter.’

  ‘On the contrary, he insulted me by marrying his daughter to another man.’

  ‘The princess has married again?’

  ‘Yes. Her brother risked everything to bring me the news.’

  ‘But how, while you’re still living? It's against the Law.’

  ‘The king sets himself above the Law.’

  ‘But it's the word of the Lord.’

  ‘Then he's surprised when the Lord abandons him!’

  ‘Do you know her new husband?’

  ‘Only that he's a Manassehite and old.’

  ‘Poor lady! It's no joy being married to an old man.’

  ‘The young one didn’t bring her much joy either.’

  ‘I can’t believe that,’ I say, as the lamplight gilds his skin.

  ‘I treated her unjustly.’

  I wonder if he's trying to impress me with his honesty or prepare me for pain. ‘Then maybe she’ll be happy with him,’ I reply quickly

  ‘I doubt that she will ever be happy with anyone.’

  I long to talk of more cheerful matters or, better still, not to talk at all, but his frankness inspires mine and there is something I must mention or else our lying together will be a lie. He is twenty-six; I am fifteen or so years older (I’m not being coy; I don’t know my exact age. My parents are dead and no one thought to record the birth of a girl).

  ‘You spoke of Leah, my lord.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And her sons. I won’t be able to give you six. I may not be able to give you one.’ I screw up my eyes to staunch the tears. ‘A man like you deserves many sons. For that you need a younger wife.’

  ‘I shall have one. I shall have many. Sons and wives.’ I bite back my sense of betrayal. ‘But for now, all I want is you. Are you tired?’

  ‘Not at all.’ His sigh shows that I’ve misunderstood the question. ‘But I would like to lie down.’

  ‘Shall I put out the lamp?’ he asks, with a smile.

  ‘Not on my account.’ I am more intent on admiring his body than concealing my own. Turning away, I take off my mantle and tunic and unbind my breasts. I leave my loins covered and, turning back, I see that he has done the same. He follows me to the bed, lying at my side, although I yearn to feel his weight upon me as much as I longed to escape from Nabal's... I must cease these comparisons! He takes my hand and I feel him tremble. ‘Are you cold, my lord?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Then ill?’ I ask, as the trembling quickens.

  ‘I’ve disappointed one woman; I’m afraid of disappointing another.’ He speaks as if spitting out nails.

  ‘You could never disappoint me.’

  ‘Michal felt the same. We were young, shy of each other. Her brother is my greatest friend. I thought that would help. I was wrong.’

  ‘I’m not young. I’m not even shy, although I was certain that I would be.’

  ‘Thank you. I knew at once you’d understand.’

  I have no idea what he means but I’m determined to reassure him. ‘Of course,’ I say, squeezing his fingers.

  ‘I began to fear that I wouldn’t be at ease with any woman.’

  ‘Is she... was she?’ I want to ask about his other women but feel constrained.

  ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I’ve slept among many men – in camps, on campaigns – but only with one woman.’

  I am starting to see that his very strength makes him afraid of hurting me. At the risk of appearing wanton, I know that I must take the lead. I lean over him, kiss his face and neck, stroke his chest and stomach, loosen his loincloth and slip my hand beneath its folds. In response, he rolls on to his side and grabs my breasts. Struggling not to wince, I arch my back and press my hips against his before removing my under-tunic and guiding him inside me. I find myself whispering instructions. ‘Put your hand here... no, not so fast.’ He laughs. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  ‘Not at all. But you remind me of my father teaching me how to ride.’

  ‘I don’t mean to offend you.’

  ‘You haven’t. On the contrary. Please, teach me everything you know!’

  He proves a quick study, promptly adding intricacies of his own. I never knew that a man could have such vigour. Nabal was no sooner pleasured than he fell back in a daze, but David barely catches his breath, indeed, each spasm seems to revitalize him. At first modesty impels me to muffle my cries, but I rapidly abandon all restraint and shriek with delight, even after the guests have left and the household is still. Let the whole clan know that I now have a husband worthy of the name! Shortly before dawn, he flags and, after a final kiss, studies the wedding sheet with as much care as Nabal did, finding proof not of my purity but his own potency He asks for wine and, slipping on my mantle, I step outside where the faithful Ahinoam has kept watch. She smiles either at what she sees or what she has heard and I embrace her without a blush. She brings in a wineskin and pours two cups, looking first shocked and then beguiled by David's nakedness. She leaves, flashing me a sly smile, and I return to bed, snuggling up to David, savouring the salty sheen of his skin.

  ‘Not too weary?’ he asks.

  ‘Not in the least,’
I reply. I want to banish sleep forever and share every waking moment with him. I don’t even want to dream of him, unless I can be certain that he's dreaming of me. Married to Nabal, I sought love only from children and, blessed with none of my own, looked to my nephews and nieces, pressing almonds or figs into their eager hands for which they paid in hugs and kisses. But David has shown me that love can be mutual and unconstrained.

  ‘What drew you to me,’ I ask, ‘making you send Joab when you heard of Nabal's death? Was it the three thousand sheep and thousand goats, the fields of wheat and barley, the olive groves and vineyards?’

  ‘Why do you say that? I’d want you even if you were your own maidservant.’ He glances at the door through which Ahinoam has just left. I am not sure that I believe him but I can see that he believes himself, which is enough.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Everything about you. Your courage in coming to confront us alone – ’ I make to protest. ‘Very well, with a handful of servants. Your resolve to save your household when I doubt that many of them would have done as much for you. Your bearing. Your beauty.’

  ‘I was veiled.’

  ‘It shone through... it's true! The warmth of your voice; its sweetness. Shall I go on?’

  ‘Yes please,’ I say. Until now no one has named even one of my charms.

  ‘But most of all, it was when you acknowledged me as king.’

  ‘It wasn’t a ploy. I don’t know how but I saw it with utter clarity.’

  ‘There's no need to apologise. You said you weren’t weary. May I tell you a story?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘One I’ve never told anyone, not even my dearest friend – especially not my dearest friend.’ It is hard to be sure in the half-light, but his face seems to crumple. ‘I was very young. Ten or eleven. The prophet Samuel came to Bethlehem, my home town. People were honoured but alarmed.’

  ‘No wonder. I’ve heard that the Lord spoke to him more often than to anyone since Moses.’

  ‘I’ve heard the same. Nobody could work out why he’d come. As a judge he confined his activities to Ephraim and Benjamin and rarely ventured into Judah. I still remember the turmoil as brother denounced brother and clan denounced clan for the hidden transgressions that they expected him to expose. In the event, he hadn’t come to punish us but to offer a sacrifice. My father and all the elders prepared for the ceremony, and Samuel gave specific instructions that my brothers and I should attend. He summoned us one by one and sprinkled us with holy water, looking increasingly disappointed in my brothers (I have seven), his face finally lighting up when he came to me. After the sprinkling, he took a horn of oil from his mantle and anointed me. He spoke a long blessing, but I was too conscious of the stickiness on my forehead to pay it much heed. Besides, I was steeling myself for the inevitable mockery – and worse – from my brothers. We had barely finished the ritual meal when Samuel asked if I would take him to see my sheep. I was horrified, but my father gave me a look that made the cost of refusing painfully clear. Samuel kept his hand on my shoulder the whole way, except when he moved to ruffle my curls. I was young and personable – ’