Michal

by Jill Eileen Smith

  The man looked at David as though he had lost his mind. David was about to turn away when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. He looked into the face of Saul’s general, Abner.

  “Are you the young man who asked about the Philistine?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Abner motioned with his hand. “Come with me.”

  The commander, with a stiff-backed march, led David to the king’s tent. As Abner lifted the black flap, flickering light spilled over the entrance. David removed his sandals and ducked his head to enter the plush oriental interior. He took in the room and found King Saul seated upon a raised dais of embroidered pillows, Jonathan to his right. Abner approached and knelt at Saul’s feet.

  “This is the one who’s been asking the questions, my king.” Abner extended his arm in David’s direction.

  “The harpist.”

  “Yes, my lord,” David said. Abner rose to stand at Saul’s side, and David took his place, kneeling before the king.

  “What is this I hear about you? They say you want to know what the king will do for the man who will slay the giant. Do you know such a man, my son?”

  David swallowed, forcing down his rising anger at their lack of faith. He met the king’s steady gaze. Peace settled over him, and the same sense of expectancy he’d felt the morning of his anointing filled him from head to toe. God would defend His honor. No uncircumcised barbarian was going to defame the Name and live!

  Resolve tightened his gut and clenched the muscles in his arms. He took a steadying breath. “Let no man’s heart fail because of this Philistine, my lord. Your servant will fight with him.”

  Saul’s cold, gray eyes narrowed, contempt flickering in their depths. “You are not able to fight this Philistine. You are only a boy. He’s been a warrior from his youth.”

  David rose slightly, his elbow resting on one knee. Passion burned in his soul. “My king, your servant used to keep his father’s sheep, and when a lion or a bear came and took a lamb out of the flock, I went out after it and struck it and delivered the lamb from its mouth. When it rose against me, I caught it by its beard and struck and killed it. Your servant has killed both lion and bear, and this uncircumcised Philistine will be like one of them, seeing he has defied the armies of the living God. The Lord who delivered me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine.”

  A telltale twitch began above Saul’s left eye. He directed a skeptical glance at Abner and Jonathan, who both tipped their heads forward in reluctant nods.

  Saul cleared his throat and gripped the edges of the pillows at his side. “He’s but a boy.”

  “The Lord is with David, Father.” Jonathan’s low voice rang in the ensuing silence.

  Saul nodded in mute ascent, his gaze troubled.

  “No one else has come forward, my lord,” Abner interjected, eyeing David.

  Saul stared at his counselors one at a time, then studied David again. At last he heaved a deep sigh and leaned back against the cushions, resignation lining his grizzled face. “Go, and the Lord be with you.”

  Michal’s jeweled sandals struck the smooth round stones of the family court, taking one slow step after another. No sense hurrying. There was nothing to do with the men away at war unless she wanted to sit and listen to Merab complain about the food, the servants’ attitudes, or the lack of male attention. Maybe if Father’s strategy worked, Merab would soon marry, leaving Michal free run of the palace without a haughty sibling guardian to interfere with her plans. And if Merab married the giant slayer, she would no longer be Michal’s rival for David’s attention. That is, if someone in Israel actually had that much courage.

  “Why the sullen look today, Michal? You look like you’ve swallowed sour grapes.” Ahinoam’s arched nose tilted, and her eyes squinted as Michal met her in the large palace kitchens.

  “There’s nothing to do, Mother.” How long did it take to win a war anyway?

  Ahinoam turned toward one of the open windows, her gaze pensive. “There are still a household of servants to feed and manage, Michal. You will never be queen, but you must still know how to manage a home. Your husband will need you to be a disciplined, industrious woman.”

  Who says I will never be queen? The thought slipped unbidden to her mind. It was something she had long pondered, but of course, the whole thing was impossible. If Jonathan succeeded Father, his wife, Sarah, would be queen. But what if he didn’t? If the rumors were true . . . But her mother would not understand the direction of her traitorous thoughts.

  “So what should I do?”

  The braying of a donkey and the creaking of an oxcart came through the open window.

  “He’s late.” Merab entered the room with regal grace, passing five serving girls bent over wooden kneading troughs.

  “Who’s late, Mother?” Michal picked up her skirts and hurried after Ahinoam, annoyance nipping at her. She was frustrated that Merab should know something she didn’t.

  “Adriel, the merchant,” Merab answered before Ahinoam could. “Really, Michal, you should pay more attention to overseeing the servants, otherwise things will get out of hand. In this case, the vegetables should have been here at dawn.”

  “Why? Did they have an appointment with someone?” Michal studied the turbaned merchant leading an uncooperative donkey up the stone walk.

  “Don’t be impertinent, Michal.” Ahinoam brushed past her daughter to meet Adriel at the door. Merab followed two paces behind.

  The burly guard Benaiah, who was left to protect the king’s household, had allowed Adriel access to the palace kitchens. There was nothing unusual about the sight before her. Benaiah and a handful of other guards were fixtures she encountered at every turn. And she’d seen Adriel bring food to her father’s table almost daily for over a year. With the men gone, getting here at dawn didn’t seem to make much difference.

  Michal lifted one hand to inspect the dark orange henna on her fingernails, then turned to where Adriel and her mother stood looking over a clay tablet checklist. Every now and then the man’s gaze drifted to Merab. Was that admiration in his eyes? Michal studied the quiet merchant a moment longer, gauging Merab’s demure reaction to him. Adriel was older, probably in his late twenties. Chances are he had a wife and a quiver of sons already. Still, some men took more than one wife.

  The stiff staccato of sandaled feet made Michal turn. Benaiah marched across the tiled floor to make his circle of the grounds. He was a dark, average-looking man, but larger than most, his size dwarfing Michal by comparison. He paused at the arch of the door and turned to scan the room. For a long moment he looked at her, then courted a hesitant smile and turned away. Michal studied his back, for the briefest instant warming to the power of her own physical appeal. She shook her head. He couldn’t possibly be interested in her. He was just a guard. Then again, he’d paused when he saw Merab too. Maybe Benaiah and Adriel were both attracted to her sister. Like David.

  A sick feeling settled over her. Would her sister’s beauty always outshine hers? Michal looked again at the merchant, and her thoughts pondered her father’s decree sent the day before. Merab would marry the slayer of the giant.

  If someone did kill the giant, Father would likely promote him, and he could end up someday as Jonathan’s right-hand man, like Abner was for Father. If Merab married him, she could be the second most powerful woman in the land next to Sarah. Suddenly irritated and cross, Michal slipped away from the kitchen and walked slowly out of the room toward her rooftop retreat. She clenched her hands into tight fists. She couldn’t let that happen.

  The air felt thick and still in the wide Valley of Elah, which separated the Philistine camp from the Israelites. Overhead a lone black hawk circled the sky. David stood, watching the carrion bird swoop low toward the Philistine ranks, then fly westward in the direction of Gath, then swing back toward the enemy army again. If God intended to send him a sign of his coming victory, the bird surely made it clear. Not that it
mattered. Without a doubt, David knew the Most High had called him to this moment, and nothing anyone could do or say would shake his confidence in the Almighty.

  David rested his left hand on the pouch of stones at his side. His sling draped from his right hand. He walked to the top of the ridge, ever aware of the silent army of Israel at his back.

  On the opposite rise, Goliath stepped from the battle lines and followed his armor bearer to the point where he usually barked his challenge. David began his descent to the valley floor before Goliath’s mouth opened. No sense giving the man what he expected. When the giant saw that someone had come forward to accept his challenge, he lumbered down the hill, each footfall shaking the ground. David’s heart beat double time with every approaching step.

  With his left hand, David slipped one of his five smooth stones into the pocket of his sling, eyes scanning the armorplated giant for some kind of chink, a space unprotected. He squinted against the rays of morning sun bouncing off the giant’s bronze helmet and coat of brass-scaled armor. Even his legs were cloaked in shining brass greaves. The man looked impenetrable—until a shaft of sunlight moved like an arrow to the center of Goliath’s forehead, as though God’s finger had pointed to the exact spot David needed to aim his weapon.

  David’s feet touched the valley floor and began the trek up the other side of the hill. The giant stopped, took two steps forward, and lifted one hand to shade his eyes. David drew closer, but not near enough for the man’s javelin to reach him. He stopped within aiming distance.

  Sneering laughter bellowed from Goliath’s throat. “Am I a dog that you come to me with sticks?” A string of curses spilled like vomit from his mouth. “Come to me, and I will give your flesh to the birds of the air and the beasts of the field.”

  David extended his arm and began to twirl the sling. “You come to me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come to you in the name of the Lord of Hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the Lord will deliver you into my hand, and I will strike you down and take your head from you. And this day I will give the carcasses of the camp of the Philistines to the birds of the air and the beasts of the earth, that all the earth may know there is a God in Israel.”

  “May Dagon grant me victory. I’ll have your head first, boy!” The giant lifted his heavily plated leg. Thud. Clop. Dust rose from the earth with every step. The Philistine armor bearer ran closer to David.

  The black hawk screeched, then a collective hush blanketed the valley. The giant’s huge hand straightened the plated coat of mail, then moved to the shaft of his spear. David whirled the sling in one fluid motion at his side. Goliath raised his spear to shoulder height as David flung the stone. He reached for a second stone, his gaze never leaving the path of the first. Time stretched into eternity.

  The stone jolted the giant’s head back, hitting its mark. Goliath tilted, his expression clouding. His arm pulled back the spear. A dazed look crossed his huge face. David held his breath, clutching the sling.

  Out of the corner of his eye, David saw a flock of black hawks join the lone sentinel and fly in circles above the heads of the Philistine army, as though waiting to feast on their flesh. The giant’s armor bearer glanced up, his face riddled with terror. He dropped the heavy shield meant to protect Goliath and ran for the top of the hill. David heard the birds’ incessant screeching, but his gaze was focused on Goliath.

  A moment passed. The giant teetered, both hands pressed to his feathered helmet. Like a tree falling in a forest, Goliath toppled face forward into the dust.

  David ran toward him with cautious strides. The spear clattered to the dirt behind the giant, but when David reached it, he knew he’d never be able to lift the thing. He stepped closer and found Goliath’s sword still in its scabbard. He tugged it loose and squinted as the sun glinted off the shiny metal. The giant didn’t move, but there was no sense taking any chances. He swung the blade high over his head and brought it down on the Philistine’s thick neck. Blood spurted over his sandals and onto his tunic.

  David tugged the feathered helmet from the severed head, wrapped his fingers around the locks of dark hair, and raised the bloody trophy like a banner high into the air.

  “For the Lord and for Israel,” he shouted at the Israelite army watching on the ridge.

  “For the Lord and for Israel.” The thunderous roar shook the ground. Pounding feet pummeled the dirt as battle cries echoed to the opposite hill. As men surged into the valley and climbed up the other side, David grabbed Goliath’s sword again and led them to pursue their fleeing enemies.

  “Here is the head of the king’s enemy. May all your enemies become as this one, my lord.” David stood outside Saul’s tent, bowing low before the king, the bloody head of Goliath at his feet. The stench of sweat and blood filled David’s nostrils, while the buzz of excited male voices carried to him on the evening’s cool breeze.

  “Whose son are you, young man?”

  David’s head lifted at Abner’s question. The commander’s brawny arms were crossed, his gaze looking David up and down.

  “I am the son of your servant Jesse the Bethlehemite.”

  “The harpist.” Saul’s dark gray eyes flickered in recognition, his thin lips lifting his beard in a half smile.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “You’ve done a good thing in Israel today, my son.” Saul’s brows dipped ever so slightly. David straightened, his weary senses alert to Saul’s mood. Would the demons attack him after such a victory?

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  David’s peripheral vision caught Jonathan’s lithe form striding across the compound toward them. “God be praised for you, David!” The prince clapped David’s back. “You have performed a great feat. May all who hear of it bless the Lord God, for there is indeed a God in Israel!”

  David fell to one knee and bowed his head. “Thank you, my prince.”

  Jonathan grabbed David’s arm and lifted him to his feet. “David has done a great service for you, Father. I assume you plan to reward him.”

  Saul’s pinched expression moved from the bloody trophy to David. He interlaced his long fingers and began twirling his thumbs around each other. “Of course, my son. This is why we asked his lineage.” He glanced briefly at Abner. “His family will receive tax-exempt status and wealth beyond compare.”

  “And Merab’s hand in marriage,” Jonathan stated.

  “Of course . . . Merab’s hand in marriage. My daughter will get her wish, and the harpist will become my son-in-law. We’ll make the arrangements when we return to Gibeah.” Saul ducked into his tent, Abner at his heels, as the last words trailed behind him. Was the king regretting his promise?

  Jonathan spoke to a standing guard and pointed to Goliath’s bloody head. “Take this trophy and impale it on the top of the ridge overlooking the Valley of Elah—in case our enemies should ever care to come this way again.” He looked at David and smiled. “Come to my tent, David. I have something for you.”

  David followed in silence. Fires dotted the starlit camp, and the voices of the men reached his ears.

  “Did you see the way David walked with such confidence toward Goliath?”

  “And the look on Goliath’s face when the stone hit its mark.”

  “They’re singing your praises, David.” Jonathan lifted the flap of his tent and ushered David inside.

  “Yes, my lord. But it was God who gave the victory.”

  Jonathan lit a clay lamp and hung it from the center tent post. “Sit down a moment.”

  David sat on a woolen mat, noting the simple furnishings— a few cushions, a change of clothes, a water jug, a sword and shield, a bow leaning against one wall, and a closed food basket hanging from the ceiling. In wartime, the prince of Israel did not live in luxury like his father.

  Jonathan stood silent, head bowed. Was he praying? When he lifted his head, his eyes were clear, and a serious smile turned the corners of his mouth. “Would you stand now, David?�
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  “Of course, my lord.” He jumped to his feet, ignoring the ache in his strained muscles—the evidence of his first battle.

  Jonathan walked toward him, released his leather belt, and slipped his blue and purple robe from his back. He draped the robe over David’s shoulders and tied the belt around his waist. He walked to the side of the tent, grabbed his shield, sword, and bow, and set them at David’s feet. Finally Jonathan fell to his knees and touched his head to the floor three times.

  David’s chest muscles tightened with emotion, and a lump formed in his throat. Jonathan’s robe covered his own legs and formed a pool of folded cloth at his feet, attesting to the prince’s stature. David fingered the soft fabric and touched the fine, jeweled leather belt. It was a taste of the future, a small glimpse of the finery that would surround him when he was king.

  “I know you will sit on my father’s throne in my place, David,” Jonathan was saying. “I knew it the moment I met you, as surely as I’ve felt my own breath. Samuel’s anointing confirms what my heart has told me all along.” He drew in a long, slow breath. “But today . . . today you had a courage I have lost.” He looked beyond David to some point on the tent wall and let the silence hang between them. After a moment, he lifted clear eyes to David’s and gave a wistful sigh.

  “Once, when the Lord was with my father, I had great faith, planning from my earliest youth to follow in his footsteps. But ever since that day when he willfully disobeyed the Lord’s command to destroy the people of Amalek, I knew I would never be king. And now I know the Lord has chosen you to take my place.”

  David clasped Jonathan’s shoulder. “Do not bow to me, my lord. I would much prefer we be friends.” He studied Jonathan’s sober expression. Brotherly love was mirrored there, and the fire of friendship warmed David’s heart.

  “Promise me, David, when you come to power, not to kill me or wipe out my family.”

  David’s heart skipped a beat. Kings had absolute power. And the kings of the east showed little mercy to a dethroned monarch or defeated foe.