Michal

by Jill Eileen Smith

  “When the time comes, you have my solemn promise,” David said. “But should the tables turn, promise me—will you do the same for me?”

  “I stake my life on it, my friend.”

  5

  Michal stood at the flat wooden table in the palace kitchen, her hands pressed into the soft wheat dough, kneading and stretching it into a thin layer. Across the spacious room, Marta, the cook, stirred a sticky, honey-raisin mixture over the open flame on the stove, and other maidservants mixed dates with butter and cinnamon to be spread and rolled in leavened dough.

  Michal rarely helped with domestic chores, but today the task was more than distraction, it was necessity. The honey cakes and raisin pastries would be among the succulent dishes laid out at the victory feast and subsequent betrothal ceremony. A betrothal she couldn’t bear to see come to pass.

  How could this disaster have happened? Three days ago word had come from the battle. The war was finally over, and the giant slayer would be honored in a huge victory celebration. How was it possible that the giant slayer was David? He wasn’t even in the regular army.

  With a violent jerk Michal ripped off a small section from the ball of dough and shoved the heel of her right hand into the grainy mass, making it slide to the center of the table and causing Michal to nearly lose her balance. The action made the elastic dough too thin, producing a gaping hole where a dollop of dates should go.

  “Oh bother!” Michal snatched the dough from the table and punched it into a ball again. Merab couldn’t marry David. Not ever!

  “Having trouble, little sister?” Merab’s haughty tone grated against Michal’s ears like fingernails on limestone.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” Michal avoided eye contact, her gaze riveted to the ball of dough as she began pushing and stretching again.

  Merab sauntered about the wide kitchen with an air of authority, then settled into a chair opposite Michal.

  “Isn’t it exciting?”

  Michal could feel Merab’s scrutinizing look and wished with all her might that the earth would suddenly swallow her sister whole.

  “Isn’t what exciting?” Michal shoved the heel of her hand into the dough again, glanced up for a moment, then looked back to her work.

  “The wedding, of course! What else would I be talking about?”

  Michal smoothed the dough into a square and shrugged her shoulders, ignoring the annoyance in Merab’s tone.

  “I told you they said David was valiant as well as talented. Can you imagine living with such a man? And he’s soooo handsome! I can’t believe he killed a giant of all things! Father promised me his best warrior. I just never expected to end up with one I like so well.”

  Yes, but do you love him? The thought made Michal’s jaw tighten as she studied the shape of the dough. Merab didn’t deserve a man like David. She couldn’t possibly know how to love a man of his caliber.

  “Yes, well, the wedding hasn’t happened yet.” Michal reached for the date mixture to drop into the center of the dough.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Michal felt the searing heat of Merab’s gaze and lifted her head to look at her sister. “Exactly what it sounded like. How many times in the past year has Father promised to find you a husband, only to put it off again? I say don’t count on it happening until you’ve been to the marriage tent with David.”

  The look of surprise on Merab’s face sent a shiver of satisfaction through Michal’s soul. If only her words were true. This time Father had a man picked out. It wasn’t likely he would go back on his public word.

  Michal dragged the wooden spoon along the insides of the clay bowl and dropped the last of the date mixture onto the pastry dough.

  “Are you jealous, Michal?” Merab leaned toward the table and narrowed her eyes at Michal. “You are jealous, aren’t you? You’d like nothing better than to see Father change his mind. You think you can marry before I do, is that it? Or is it David you want?” Her eyes widened to dark, round orbs. “Ah, I’ve touched a nerve. My, how red your cheeks grow when you’re found out, little sister.”

  “I’m not jealous.” Michal glared at Merab. “And if you want David so much, you can have him! I just think you should worry that Father might not keep his word, that’s all.”

  Merab sat back and tapped her forefingers together. “I think you’re lying, Michal. I think the person I should worry about is you.”

  Michal forced herself not to look away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m too young to marry—at least by Father’s definition. Besides, I’ve got my eye on someone else.” Merab studied one hennaed nail, then looked at her sister again. “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “Who?”

  “None of your business.”

  Michal hated to lie, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, give Merab the satisfaction of being right. God forgive her, but she must find a way to stop Merab’s betrothal to David.

  Merab rose in one graceful motion and smoothed her red and yellow linen robe. She gave Michal one last penetrating look and turned to go, then apparently thought better of it and looked at her again.

  “If I find out you’re lying or you do anything to stop this wedding, Michal, I’ll make sure Father gives you to your worst enemy as a wife. Don’t you forget it!”

  An involuntary shudder swept up Michal’s spine as the steady slap of Merab’s sandals on the stone floor faded away. If she was going to stop the wedding, she’d better do it in such a way that Merab never discovered the part she played.

  Michal sprinted up the steps to the roof and positioned herself between the twin towers, eyes on the winding road beyond Gibeah’s gates. Clouds of dust billowed beneath the feet of the returning army. Women and children craned their necks in the grasses lining the path. Ahead of the shouting men, young virgins, veils drawn over their faces, shook tambourines and danced, while others accompanied by flutes and lyres sang the victory song.

  “Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands.”

  The words, usually a tribute to her father, stung Michal’s ears. The women repeated the phrase in varying tunes over and over until it resounded like an incessant drumroll in her head. Michal looked to and fro in the crowd. Her father rode a brownish black donkey at the head of the throng, and his brooding expression confirmed her worst fears.

  The virgins’ song would become a threat to David.

  She dragged her gaze from her father to David and Jonathan, who rode their donkeys side by side behind him. The sight of David made her heart twist with desire. She leaned forward, straining for a closer view. Sudden, swift longing rose in Michal, followed by a painful shot of despair. David’s beard had filled in, and he sat taller than the last time she’d seen him. And there was no denying his handsome features or the piercing honesty of his dark brown eyes. With candid humility, confidence, and dignity, he nodded to the women and children, offering them an enchanting smile. He seemed oblivious to the stinging effect of the virgins’ song.

  “Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands.”

  The consistent song cut through the fabric of Michal’s thoughts. Her fists clenched, and she forced her eyes from David back to her father. The grim set to his jaw, the smoldering gray of his gaze, and the nervous twitch of his worn hands grasping the donkey’s saddle told Michal his true feelings. She must warn David. If she didn’t, there would be no end of trouble.

  David’s eyes adjusted to the dim light casting shadows over the gray stone walls of the king’s banquet hall. Tables laden with roast lamb, dates, raisins, lentil stew, leeks, and sweet cakes sent tempting, succulent aromas drifting across the room. David’s stomach rumbled as his gaze moved in an arc over this hall of contrasts. Bright embroidered tapestries hung along one wall, and bronze and leather foreign shields—trophies in battle—graced the other, as though Saul were trying to mix war and peace. David stood, tucking the picture of the place in his memory for future use. His palac
e would have its own trophy room, separate from the banquet hall entirely. When the time came.

  He smiled at a table of fellow soldiers as he passed. The drone of men’s voices joined the clanking of tableware about him. Hurried footsteps of a handful of servants added to the din.

  “David, my son.” Saul’s voice echoed across the noisy hall. “Come, take the seat next to Jonathan. That’s it. Don’t be shy.” Saul’s narrowed gaze moved down the long table toward his commanders. “Our hero certainly wasn’t shy when he faced the giant, now was he?” Saul’s sardonic laughter was met with a trickle of agreement, but the captains looked embarrassed.

  David sensed their pride and compassion with each step he took toward Saul. They seemed to admire his victory over the giant, despite Saul’s mixed approval. Before taking the seat offered him, David stopped in front of Saul and bent forward, touching his head to one knee. “Thank you, my lord. May the Lord be praised for the victory He gave us today.”

  “The Lord be praised!” Jonathan said, raising his goblet of wine.

  “The Lord be praised!” all the men echoed, doing the same.

  The meal dragged. Hours passed until David grew weary of Saul’s repeated stories of long-ago glory days. He uttered a soft sigh when the king rose at last and let his guards escort him to his chambers. Jonathan leaned toward David.

  “I’ve heard those stories my entire life.” He gave David a rueful smile. “I could repeat them backward in my sleep . . . and probably do.” He chuckled.

  David rested against the couch and stretched. “They do get tiresome after a while.”

  Jonathan took another sip of wine. “Well, my friend. I have a wife I must go home to.”

  David stood. “Good night, my lord.”

  Jonathan strode from the banquet hall while David moved in the opposite direction. He shivered, his warm blood cooled by the high granite walls of the passageways, which led through the palace toward the soldiers’ quarters. He tugged on the folds of his robe.

  “David. Psst . . . David.”

  David’s hands stilled, and his head twisted from side to side. “Who’s there?”

  A mirage with luxurious raven hair, doelike dark brown eyes, and lips the shade of wild poppies slipped from the shadows. She wore a pure white tunic and a royal blue robe tied with a golden sash, covering a shapely, slender frame. David’s heart kicked into a hard gallop, and he struggled to swallow. The scent of sweet perfume wafted from her skin.

  “Michal?”

  “Yes, David, it’s me,” she whispered.

  She moved closer to him, making his pulse thunder in his ears. Could this be the child of Saul—the one who two months ago would not have turned his knees to mush?

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I need to speak with you. You must listen to me.” Her gaze darted in all directions, and she stepped within a handbreadth of his chest. When she rested her delicate hand on his arm, he thought his heart would stop. “My father. You must be careful around him.”

  David groped to understand her meaning. Every nerve ending screamed for him to dig his fingers through her hair and bury his face against her neck. He took in a deep, steadying mouthful of air. “What are you talking about?”

  Michal’s breath touched his neck as she leaned against his ear. His blood raced through his veins, and he had to force his mind to focus on her words. “I heard the virgins’ song. The ‘Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands.’ ” She looked at him then, her heart in her eyes.

  “What about it?” David managed.

  “My father hated it.” She held his gaze.

  Raging temptation tugged at him. She was doing strange things to his senses. “How do you know this?” He stepped back a pace, fighting for inner control.

  “I know my father.” She stepped closer and placed one hand on his chest. “He will try to harm you, David. He is jealous beyond reason. I could see it in his eyes.”

  The steady hammering of his heart throbbed in his throat, and her touch made heat flood his face. On impulse he closed his fingers over her hand and lifted it from his chest. “What do you suggest I do?”

  The shock of his touch registered across her flawless face, and David watched her bronze skin blush crimson and her eyes lower. Was she attracted to him, as he was to her? But he was promised to her sister.

  “I don’t know. Just be careful, please.”

  He felt her cool fingers against his skin, and he squeezed them once before releasing his hold. “Thank you. I will.”

  She gave him a bright smile, then turned abruptly and hurried around a corner and out of sight.

  David settled on a woolen mat on the hard ground, trying to sleep. Images of Michal floated through his thoughts. The girl was gorgeous—and tonight seemed even prettier than her sister. And the things she did to his senses still made his blood race like hot oil through his veins. The soft scent of myrrh clung to his tunic where her hand had rested, and he clenched his fingers open and closed, imagining the soft tendrils of her raven hair flowing between them. He had to stop thinking like this.

  He flopped onto his back, tucked his arms beneath his head, and stared at the wooden beams running along the ceiling. The barracks door creaked open, and David’s eyes darted to the moonlight spilling into the room. Footsteps tiptoed closer.

  “David?”

  He rose up on one elbow. “Yes?”

  “Come with me.” David recognized one of the king’s personal guards motioning him forward.

  Without question, David stood.

  “And bring your lyre.”

  David pulled on his robe, quickly tying the belt, then grabbed the goatskin bag holding his lyre and followed the guard back to the palace.

  “The king can’t sleep.” Abner met David at Saul’s door. David peered beyond the man to Saul, who was propped up on his wide bed, fingering his spear.

  He will try to harm you, David. Michal’s words suddenly made sense.

  David pulled a chair close to the open door.

  His fingers plucked the soothing tunes, eyes riveted on the king. His body poised for action, David played by rote feel, nerves as taut as the strings on his lyre.

  “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows His handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night reveals knowledge.”

  He forced the song past parched lips, grateful for the years he’d spent in the hills with the sheep, committing the words to memory. If he’d had to come up with something new now . . .

  He jerked as Saul shifted on the bed and tightened his grip on the spear, lifting the tip off the ground. David held the lyre closer to his chest, his right hand missing a note, then another. Saul’s head snapped up, and he looked directly at him. David quickly finished the song, and Saul lowered the spear to the floor.

  “Your music is lacking tonight, harpist. Play something else.”

  David drew in a slow breath. His hands trembled on the strings. What was wrong with him? He’d just killed a giant twice the king’s size. But here his only weapon was a lyre, and in his exhaustion, his skill was failing him.

  But he plucked a new tune just the same.

  “O Adonai, our Lord, how excellent is Your name in all the earth, who have set Your glory above the heavens!” He kept a wary eye on the king, whose movement suddenly stilled. “When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars, which You have ordained, what is man that You are mindful of him, and the son of man that You visit him?”

  “Stop singing about Adonai!” Saul’s eyes resembled glittering ice. The spear twisted in his hand. David closed his mouth, silent prayers for wisdom aimed heavenward. He let his fingers move over the strings again, playing songs without words, begging for relief for the king and for himself.

  Moments ticked by, but Saul’s gaze did not soften. The strength of his anger heated the room.

  David flexed his shoulders. Saul straightened, tensing. Another chord spr
ead from David’s fingers, and he searched his mind for words that didn’t ultimately focus on Adonai. Finding none, he moved from melodic to harmonic transitions, switching from one key to another. He blew out a soft breath as Saul relaxed against the cushions. At last!

  But a moment later, Saul sat up again, his face lined with tension. David swallowed, his throat in desperate need of water. The music was doing nothing to soothe the king’s soul. What was wrong with the man? He usually drifted to sleep by now.

  David stretched his brows wide, fighting the need to yawn. Exhaustion warred with duty, compassion with suspicion.

  Leather sandals slapped against the stone floor, and David’s gaze darted to the door to see who was coming. In the space of the moment his gaze left the king, Saul hurled the spear straight for David’s heart.

  David leaped from his seat toward the open door. A guard blocked his way, but David pushed past him, lyre in hand. Heart pounding with the rhythm of his feet, David ran breathless back to the barracks.

  6

  The feasting and celebrating over the Philistine victory lasted a week. On the final day Michal slipped into the shadows to watch the dancers and the plethora of musicians playing for her father’s entertainment. At the end of the performance, David picked up his lyre and strode to the center of the room. His clear voice carried to the farthest corner, sending a shiver of delight up Michal’s spine.

  Hidden behind a large crowd of men, she leaned against the wall just inside the entrance of the banquet hall, her heart stirring, her hands clammy. In the next breath, she silently begged him to sing a song of love—for her.

  “Listening to David’s singing again I see, eh, little sister?”

  Michal jumped at her sister’s whispered words, released an irritated growl, and whirled to look at Merab. “Looks like you’re no different,” she hissed, keeping her voice low.

  Merab’s chin raised a notch, and her eyes held disdain. “I have a reason to be here. Father summoned me.”

  Michal bit back a curt retort and looked her sister up and down. She wore an elegant gown and jeweled sandals, and a sheer veil covered her face. Her long hair was piled high with shell-shaped combs, and a golden sash held her scarlet-and-blue-striped robe together.