The Shepherdess

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Had he feared the shadow as he passed through from this life? If he had, I’d seen no flicker of such a thing in his eyes. I swiped at my own eyes as fresh tears fell once more. Zadok the priest spoke words I did not listen to. I felt the press of the people around me. One glance to my left revealed King David’s other sons, Adonijah among them. He caught my eye. I did not like the look he gave me and swiftly turned my attention back to the priest.

  I sidled closer to Bathsheba once King David’s body rested in this lovingly carved tomb, relieved when she did not send me away. Her smile, though sad, welcomed me, and she drew me into her arms like she would a young daughter.

  “My dear Abishag,” she whispered as we began the long walk back to the palace. “Tonight you will stay with me.” She slipped her hand in mine and squeezed. “Tomorrow is time enough to move you to the women’s quarters.”

  I nodded, overcome with the sudden realization that a single day had completely changed my life—again. No longer would I live in the king’s quarters, caring for his needs. No longer would I be privy to private conversations between the king and his advisors or his family. His family was no longer my family. I was simply one of many who now belonged to Solomon.

  That thought brought less comfort than I had long hoped.

  The night was one of sleepless sorrow as I listened to the soft weeping of Bathsheba in her chambers and her maid Tirzah in her own smaller quarters near the queen. I tossed on one of the plush beds once used by Bathsheba’s younger sons, all of whom had moved on to rooms of their own. Though the palace had become home to me, Bathsheba’s chambers were foreign. I missed the king’s warmth, what little he possessed, next to me. I missed the spacious bed, the sound of his voice, his smile.

  Tears wet the pillow beneath my head, but I could not sob as Bathsheba did. I had lost a companion. I had not lost my heart’s true love. I am not sure I could even define such a feeling.

  That thought troubled me, and I rose from the bed, shivering as my bare feet dangled over the side and touched the tiled floor. I padded softly from the room, past the other bedchambers and sitting room, and entered the gardens that had adjoined King David’s and Bathsheba’s rooms.

  Moonlight cast a dappled glow over the inlaid stones, the only light with the torches unlit, and a soft breeze tickled the curls at my neck. I had forgotten my robe and wished for it now as I made my way to a stone bench in the center of the foliage, watched over by spreading trees. The colorful flowers, so bright in daylight, lay in shadow now, much like my heart. I pulled my knees to my chest, tucking my feet beneath my tunic. How bare I felt without my robe and scarf, but there was no one here to see me. I rested my chin on my knees and sighed, allowing the regrets of the day, the bitterness of life, to seep from me.

  Here in the garden I could find my song once more if I but searched for it. It lingered in the branches where the birds had mimicked David’s psalms. And if I closed my eyes, I knew I would catch some of the tunes floating with the breeze.

  I felt myself swaying to the silent tune, The Lord is my shepherd . . . Yes, my shepherd. He would not leave me alone in this place, just as he had not left me alone in Dekel’s misguided household. Surely David had understood God better than most. Surely Adonai had a plan for me yet.

  I startled at the hushed thump of footsteps on the stones. A guard coming to make his rounds? But who would care to explore the gardens by night? Would they not risk coming upon Bathsheba, angering the queen mother?

  I sat straight and hugged my arms to my chest, fearing exposure. A quick glance around me showed no place to hide. I was too big to burrow my way into the bushes, and I had no desire to scratch my skin among the briars and thorns. Perhaps if I stood I could slip past whomever it was that approached. But the footsteps grew louder, and I found my limbs would not obey the command to flee.

  “Abishag?” In the shadows I might have mistaken him for another, but I could never forget the sound of his voice.

  “My lord Solomon.” This time I slipped easily to my knees and bowed at his feet. What was he doing here? But of course, these rooms were his now, and he had always been at home among them.

  The lightest touch of his fingers skimmed the top of my head. Then before I could think or speak, he took my hand and pulled me into his arms. His grip was strong, needy, and I responded in kind. How long I had dreamed of this moment, this freedom to be held so securely.

  His lips trailed a line from my forehead to my neck until my pulse could barely keep up with the startled intake of my breath. Heat filled my face at his familiar way with me, and I nearly lost myself when his lips covered mine.

  “Abishag.” His words were a whisper. “How long I have wanted you.” He lifted me in his arms and swung me around as if we were lovers in an exotic dance. “How beautiful you are, my sister, my bride.”

  Had he said the words or merely breathed them against my ear?

  “Am I your bride, my lord?” I clung to his arms as my words caught hold of him, and he slowly lowered me to the ground. He studied me and seemed to notice for the first time my state of undress.

  He took a step back. “Yes,” he said softly, touching my cheek. “You are part of the king’s inheritance.”

  I glanced at my bare feet. I was only a prize to be gained, nothing more. “Should we not wait until the period of mourning is past then?” What would his father have thought if Solomon took me so soon? And yet . . . there was comfort in his kiss, and I sensed the living needed such comfort, whether it was proper or not.

  He stroked my face, his touch unimaginably tender. “My dove,” he whispered, leaning close. “You are my dove hiding in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places on the mountainside.”

  I glanced at his own shadowed face, barely illumined by the moon, my heart stirred with his words.

  “Show me your face, my dove, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely.”

  I could not disobey the pull of his earnest plea. I lifted my face to his and let him kiss me once more. But the kiss was gentle, chaste even, as he held himself back.

  “Until the day breaks and the shadows flee,” I said, drawing close to his ear, “turn, my beloved, and be like a gazelle or like a young stag on the rugged hills.”

  His ringed fingers grasped my shoulders, sending tingling warmth through me. Even in the moonlight I could not miss the longing in his eyes, the fire that he would put out for my sake, for propriety’s sake. For to take me now before the proper time of mourning would bring scorn on him and his rule.

  Perhaps that was the true motive for his self-control, even more than any imagined concern for my purity. But as he kissed my head in parting and turned to leave the gardens that were fully his—I was the usurper here—I did not allow myself to ponder how many reasons he had considered in this decision. Or that I was a bride of political gain. I chose instead to recall his sweetened words. My dove. And with the memory, I closed my eyes and almost dreamed that I had wings.

  8

  The week of mourning came and went, and I had fully expected Bathsheba to send me to the women’s quarters as she had promised. But I think she took comfort in my presence. I reminded her of the king, she’d said, and she could not bear to part with me.

  Solomon, on the other hand, seemed in no hurry now to take me as his wife. Though he glimpsed me now and then in his mother’s chambers, we did not speak of our stolen moment in the king’s garden, or the kisses that still haunted my dreams and warmed me to the depth of my soul.

  My heart longs for you, my soul yearns for you in a dry and weary land where there is no water . . . My mind sang the words as I worked alongside Bathsheba and Naamah, placing colorful tiles into a mosaic that would one day be set among the tiles of the queen’s apartments. My cheeks burned as Naamah glanced at me. The words had been King David’s for Adonai, and here I had put Solomon in Adonai’s rightful place. Could Naamah read my thoughts?

  But her attention had turned to Bathsheba as
her hands suddenly stilled on the tiles. “There is something I have wanted to tell you, my queen.”

  Bathsheba looked up and smiled at her daughter-in-law. She turned her head to the side as if trying to solve a riddle, one brow curiously raised. “Tell me,” she said, though by the gleam in her eyes I sensed she had already guessed the news.

  Naamah placed a hand on her middle. “I only just told Solomon last evening.” She paused, and I suspected her dramatics were for my benefit. I ignored the jealous thumping of my heart. Solomon had spent time with his wife. His first wife. His only wife. Why should he have any thought or need of me?

  “I felt the child quicken yesterday.” Naamah’s words should not have jolted me, as I had known for several months that she carried Solomon’s second child.

  “I am happy for you,” I said without thinking, and Bathsheba clapped her hands and laughed with joy.

  “Another son! I am sure of it,” she said, smiling. “But I would not mind a granddaughter, if God so desires.” She bore a dreamy expression for the briefest moment, and I wondered if she wished to have borne a girl. But as quickly as the expression came it left, replaced by a soft shadow. She leaned close to pat first Naamah’s knee then mine. “I have two wonderful girls to love right here.” The words felt right and awkward at the same time, but the queen seemed to pay our discomfort no mind.

  She picked up her tiles once more and with graceful fingers fitted the stones in the pattern she had begun. But I felt Naamah’s stare amid the once peaceful camaraderie. She did not like having the queen consider me a daughter. For to do so meant she also considered me a wife to her son. And Naamah most obviously had no desire to share him.

  A month passed and then another, and I found myself spending more and more time in the court of women, away from the queen. I think Bathsheba had grown used to me in one sense, but in another she had also probably wanted to please Naamah, who often brought Rehoboam to visit his grandmother. I felt like an intruder during those times and often made excuses to roam the palace halls or hide in my rooms, strumming instruments the king had given me. With the coins Solomon had allotted to me, I had taken Rani together with a palace guard and gone to market, where I delighted in bargaining for fine threads to weave into the softest linen the king’s coins could buy. With them I learned to create intricate designs such as Abigail had stitched on the first royal garments for the king.

  But these things could not keep my heart from aching in the dead of night, nor give me a reason for being. To what end did I work? To what purpose did I craft garments and songs and learn to inscribe my words on clay tablets as the scribes had taught me when the king still lived? Without the king, what good did I bring?

  Was I truly Solomon’s wife? If so, why had he not come for me? Would there be a wedding in the real sense, or would he just take me to his bed like a common concubine? Had he forgotten my existence in the months since his father’s death? I chafed under the strain of waiting, wondering.

  From all accounts, Naamah seemed pleased with our current arrangements. She remained Solomon’s one and only wife, while I was no different than the few aging concubines left as widows when King David died.

  I confided some of these thoughts one day to Rani as we walked through the spacious halls of the women’s court, halls that rang hollow with the emptiness of loss. Few women lived here now, as most of King David’s wives had died before him, and the ten concubines Absalom had claimed lived in a separate house outside the palace walls. Adonijah’s mother Haggith and the older wives of David also lived in separate quarters with their children.

  “Does Solomon call for any of them?” I inclined my head toward the apartments that still housed some of the younger concubines, then glanced at Rani as we entered a room near the mikvah used for the monthly purification rites.

  “No, my lady,” Rani said, her large pale eyes showing wide in her round face, as though the question had startled her. “While I suppose he is entitled to them, it seems like breaking the law, I think.”

  “Which law?” Moses had given so many of them. I will admit the Law was not often read in Dekel’s home, and I had never been to the tabernacle to hear it read until I came to Jerusalem.

  “‘Do not have sexual relations with your father’s wife; that would dishonor your father,’” she quoted as though she had heard it often.

  “But King Solomon’s father is dead. Does the law apply the same then?” It was the habit of kings of the east to inherit the harems of the previous king. King David had taken King Saul’s wives into his harem. But Saul was not David’s father, only his father-in-law. And as far as I knew, King David had treated the women as widows.

  “A king’s wealth is measured by his women.” Rani motioned for me to sit on a bench while she proceeded to bathe my feet and soften them with scented oils. “But that doesn’t mean he sleeps with all of them.”

  I pondered this thought as I studied the slight girl. “You are so young, yet you know so much already.”

  “I was sold into service as a child,” she said. “I am older than I seem.” She took the towel from her waist and dried my feet, then tied the sandals in place. “I also tune my ear to listen.”

  “You are wise,” I said. Solomon would not take his father’s wives if it meant breaking the Law of Moses. He cared too much about pleasing Adonai and about not repeating the sins of his father. Solomon would not take a woman in adultery, nor would he take a forbidden woman. He would take only those he could rightfully marry.

  The problem I faced now was a question I did not want to consider. Could Solomon rightfully marry me?

  I slept fitfully that night, dreaming of my vineyards, of the sheep pens and the way the sky looked when the stars hung low and the moon cleared a path bright enough to outshine the fire in the pit. Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest is my beloved among the young men, I sang in my dreams. I delight to sit in his shade, and his fruit is sweet to my taste.

  I awoke with a start. Solomon. My heart yearned like one denied. Wherefore, beloved? The word once rang with Yaron’s name, but no longer. My heart beat for Solomon’s.

  I rose from my bed in the women’s quarters and wrapped a heavy robe about me, but I did not venture from my rooms. I sat instead on a plush couch and gazed into the courtyard through an open window. Night breezes lifted the curtains and whispered my name on the air. I listened for the night song, but the music did not meet me here, could not displace the heavy weight of the unfulfilled dream.

  I did not realize I slept again until Rani woke me the following morning. “Mistress Abishag.” She gently shook my shoulder. “You must dress at once and come.”

  Alarm shot through me at her tone, and I jumped up, nearly losing my balance. Rani’s hand steadied me. “Do not fear. I did not mean to startle you, only to urge you to hurry.”

  I followed her into my chambers and allowed her to dress me. “Tell me what you have heard.”

  “There is news that Adonijah has entered the palace and is headed to Bathsheba’s chambers to seek an audience with her,” she said in a rush. “The queen’s maid Tirzah said you must come.”

  Dread grew like a wild thing within me as Rani covered my hair with a headscarf and tied my sandals, tasks I seemed unable to perform. Adonijah. His visit here could do no good.

  I would gladly take you as my wife . . . You are as beautiful as they say. Adonijah’s words that long-ago day crowded out all other thoughts. What possible reason could he have to seek an audience with Bathsheba? My stomach sickened, though I forced myself to follow Rani’s steady feet, fairly running toward the king and queen’s chambers. I could not imagine why Bathsheba would want me present at Adonijah’s visit. Unless . . . did she know something, even arrange something I did not know? Was this Naamah’s doing?

  Impossible. Solomon’s women would have nothing to do with Adonijah, considering the man was Solomon’s rival. My sense of dread heightened, my pulse erratic. Fear I could not name took hold, and yet .
. . I told myself to calm. I had no reason to work my emotions into panic.

  I smoothed my hands on my hastily donned robe and released a long-held breath as we approached the guard at the queen’s door. Tirzah met me. “Good. You are here.” She motioned me into the chamber I had used during those few weeks after King David’s death.

  “What is going on?” I asked once Tirzah had closed Rani and me within the room. Bathsheba was nowhere to be seen, though I did hear movement coming from her bedchamber.

  “The guard at the gate is keeping Adonijah waiting for an audience with my lady,” she said, looking me over as though I were her charge. She straightened my headscarf and tsked her tongue at my disheveled hair. “Oh, child, you need not have rushed without completing your morning tasks.”

  My hands shook as I removed the scarf. “I can brush it here.” I moved to the basket that still held the things I had used in this room, but Rani snatched the comb up before I could proceed, obviously anticipating my nervous mood. “You still have not explained the need for my presence,” I said as I sank onto a bench and allowed Rani to dress my hair and reposition my headscarf.

  “I only know that Adonijah wishes to speak to the queen and your name was mentioned as the reason,” Tirzah said.

  My heartbeat quickened again as my mind flashed the vision of Adonijah at his father’s funeral, looking at me with that too-possessive gaze. I felt nearly faint when Bathsheba swept into the room, graceful and confident. Perhaps many men thought her weak, especially considering the way they say she had given herself to King David while she was still wed to Uriah the Hittite, but I saw much strength in her during the years of David’s illness. Especially during the moments when she stood in defense of her son, begging the king to spare them both. She knew her mission and she knew her husband. She got what she wanted.

  I suddenly wondered what she wanted now.