Michal

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Saul lifted both hands to his ears. Stop screaming at me!

  “Are you all right, Father?”

  Who said that? His gaze drifted from Jonathan to David. He lifted his arm and pointed at his son-in-law.

  “Send him home.”

  The room began spinning, and a sharp pain shot against his left ear. Saul leaned his head back against the coolness of the stone and closed his eyes briefly. Blinking them open again, he tried to move but could only focus on blurred objects in front of him. Time seemed to stand still until he drifted into merciful blackness.

  The moment Michal caught sight of David trudging a slow path toward their house, she flew down the mud-brick steps from the roof to meet him.

  “David! Oh, David. You’re back.”

  Her heart melted at his tender look, and he dropped the weapons he carried and whisked her into his arms. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. His fingers sifted through her undone hair, and he buried his face against her ear. “Just hold me, Michal.”

  Her arms slid around his neck, and she kissed his sun-drenched cheek. He smelled of fields and fresh air, and her heart sighed with relief at the scent of him, then soared with delight at his gentle touch.

  “Let’s go inside.” He spoke against her ear, one arm around her waist, the other scooping his gear in one hand.

  Michal leaned into him and smiled. “I’ve made your favorite pastries, David, and fresh wine is cooling in a tub of water.” He released her to close the door, and Michal hurried toward the kitchen. “If you sit on the couch, Keziah can wash your feet.”

  She turned to pick up a tray of pastries and hurried back toward the sitting room, nearly bumping into David, who still stood where she had left him.

  “My lord, I thought you would sit and rest your feet—” His look halted her words, and her heart jumped to her throat. She swallowed and lowered the tray to a table. “What’s wrong?”

  David cupped his sturdy hands over hers. “We defeated the Philistines.”

  “You’re distressed over a victory?”

  “No, of course not. It’s what happened at the gate afterward, as we returned home.”

  Michal watched the discouragement flicker in his eyes. She pulled one hand from his grip to brush the hair from his wrinkled brow. “Tell me.”

  He studied her with searching intensity. “Your father collapsed.”

  Stunned, Michal felt her knees grow weak. “What do you mean? Is he dead?”

  “No, no, he’s fine . . . physically.”

  Michal’s heartbeat slowed, and she wrapped her fingers around David’s and squeezed. “The demons?”

  David nodded. “The women were singing your father’s favorite tune as we entered the city.”

  Michal groaned. “Not again.”

  David gave her a rueful smile. “Yes, again. Only this time they started chanting my name when they finished the song, then sang it all over again, though I tried to stop them.” He draped one arm over her shoulder and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. “I’m weary of your father, Michal.”

  “Then don’t think about him.” She leaned into his chest, the fatigue in his body pervading hers. “Come,” she said softly, leading him to the couch. “For tonight we will not speak of him again. We will pretend my father is dead and you are king, beloved.”

  “I can’t pretend such things.”

  She urged him to sit and pulled his sandals from his dusty feet. “Yes, you can. And if not, I will pretend enough for both of us.”

  The twittering of the birds the next morning woke Jonathan from a sporadic night’s rest on a mat in a corner of his father’s room. He should have been home greeting his wife, but duty called before pleasure, and Jonathan’s obligation was with his father.

  The yellow glow of the rising sun filtered through a slit in the heavy red curtains, which were drawn to allow the king more time to sleep. After collapsing, then wakening in a rage, then passing out again, he needed all the rest he could get. Jonathan sighed. A longing to see Sarah again struck with such ferocity that he felt ill. Then again, maybe the nausea was due to sleeping in tents and riding rough terrain, then coming home and sleeping on a hard floor next to a restless, unpredictable monarch.

  Standing and stretching to his full height, Jonathan strode to the window and peered through the crack to watch the explosion of warm color accompany the dawn. The beauty of the Most High’s creation sifted through him. How he longed for tranquility. To walk the highlands and listen to the whispers of nature would do wonders to erase the frustration in his soul.

  O Lord, how long? The prayer echoed from deep within him. How long must he live with his father’s madness? How long until he could help David lead the people back to true worship of Adonai? When, Lord? When?

  Yesterday, when they had returned from the battle, David had refused the praises his father reveled in. David had turned the people’s focus back to the Lord. As it should be. If only Israel could have a leader who would always point them in that direction.

  Not until Father is dead.

  The thought disturbed him. He didn’t wish his father harm. But he longed for peace—a blissful entity that seemed a long time in coming.

  “Jonathan?” The voice of his father startled him.

  “Yes, Father, I’m here.” Jonathan strode to the king’s large bed and sat beside him. “Are you feeling better?”

  Saul shook his head as though to clear it. He looked around the room, a dazed expression on his face. His gaze settled on Jonathan, and his eyes became cloudy and then hardened, the lines around his mouth stretching taut. Sitting straight up in bed, his father gripped the edges of the wooden frame, every muscle in his arms and neck strained. With a fierce growl, he leaned forward and grabbed Jonathan’s tunic.

  “David must die!”

  Jonathan bit back a retort and pried himself loose from his father’s grip. He gently patted his arm. “You’re distraught, Father. You need rest.” Please, God, give him more rest.

  “No! As long as the son of Jesse lives on the earth, you will never be king. He must die!”

  “If killing David is the only way to make me king, I would rather die myself. Please, Father, think of all David has done for you. We would be captives of the Philistines by now if it weren’t for him.”

  Saul jumped from his bed and marched out of his bedroom and down the hall. “David must die!”

  Jonathan sat in stunned silence, exhaustion slowing his reactions. What had just happened here?

  “David must die!” Saul’s words grew dimmer as he strode farther from the bedchamber.

  Adrenaline rushed like a raging river through Jonathan’s veins. He jumped to his feet and ran from the room, down the long corridors, and across the field at the back of the palace grounds.

  To warn David.

  “I’ll leave right away.” David bent to fasten his sandals. “Thank you for telling me.” Jonathan’s strong arms pulled David into a fierce embrace.

  “Be careful, David. I will take my father to the practice field and meet you at the stone Ezel after I try to talk some sense into him.”

  David swallowed the bitter lump in his throat, his shoulders sagging. This constant running was getting tiresome. Hardly a day went by when he didn’t fear for his life. Had God changed His mind? Maybe Samuel had made a mistake.

  David snatched his leather belt from a peg on the wall and girded himself with his sword and sling. Michal’s quiet weeping cut deep into his heart. Oh, that he could take her away, as she had requested, and hide her from her father’s insanity. He walked to her side and pulled her close.

  “Don’t worry, beloved. God will protect me.” He had to believe it. He lifted her chin with his fingers and kissed her. “I must go.”

  He released his grip on her arms and watched her collapse into a chair. Her emotional state was not helping him. With an about-face, he turned to Jonathan and followed him into the courtyard.

  “Fear not, my friend,” Jona
than said, clutching David’s shoulders. “You know how unstable my father can be. He changes with the wind, and I’m certain this time will be no different.”

  David gave him a cheerless smile. “I hope you’re right.”

  11

  The mournful cry of a dove woke Michal from her cramped position on the couch. A stiff layer of dried tears coated her cheeks, and she struggled to open her swollen eyes. Her stomach twisted into a hard knot with each waking breath, and worry blanketed her thoughts.

  Through blurred vision she glanced at the opposite wall, where a ceramic dish lay on the floor in a shattered heap. The rush of memory made her tremble from head to toe. She’d thrown the vase in an angry fit last night.

  Just like Father.

  A sudden headache made her temples throb, and she rolled her neck, fighting tears. Thinking like this would only add to her problems. A kink in her back forced her to stand and stretch, and she followed the sound of the dove’s tuneless melody to the open window. One hand shoved the curtain aside, and her gaze riveted on the large field where David lay hidden, waiting for her father’s wrath to subside. David, oh, David.

  A knock on the solid wooden door startled her, and she turned in time to see her half-Nubian, half-Hebrew maid, Keziah, slip from the servants’ quarters to answer the call. Michal hurried into her bedroom. She lifted the polished bronze mirror from the oak table and peered at her reflection. Smudges of black kohl still rimmed her eyes, and her black hair hung down her back in a tangled heap. With shaking fingers she tugged the golden comb through her tresses, wincing.

  “Is my sister home?” Merab’s voice drifted through the sitting room to grate on Michal’s ears. “I haven’t seen her in days, Keziah. Is David here too?”

  “Your sister has just arisen, and Master David is not here, my lady.”

  Michal let out her breath, praying Keziah would say no more. She didn’t need Merab’s prying, and David’s struggles with Father were none of Merab’s business.

  Michal heard footsteps coming in her direction. She quickly poured water from a ceramic jar into a silver bowl, snatched a white linen cloth, and rubbed the remnants of makeup from her face.

  “Did I wake you?” Merab pushed the bedroom door open and sat on Michal’s raised bed.

  “The birds woke me a few moments ago.” She continued washing, her back to her sister. “You’re up early.”

  “Adriel is always up before the birds, and he likes me to join him for the morning meal,” Merab said in a lilting tone.

  Michal dried her face with the towel and sat in front of the dressing table before turning to glance at Merab. “So what are you doing here?”

  “I came to see you, of course. It’s been almost a week.”

  “I suppose it has.” Michal picked up the mirror and examined her face.

  Merab shifted positions on the bed. “Where’s David?”

  “He had business to attend to. He’ll be back later.” Michal set the mirror down as Keziah entered the room, picked up a clay pot, and began stirring cosmetic mixtures. She grasped a long-handled, narrow brush and leaned toward Michal to reapply kohl to her eyes.

  Merab rose and walked over to hold the mirror steady so that Michal could see what Keziah was doing. “Your lids are all puffy. Have you been crying?”

  “They were swollen when I awoke.” Michal averted her gaze. It was the truth, as much as she cared to tell of it.

  “Has this happened before?”

  Michal turned at the concern in Merab’s tone, certain her sister had an ulterior motive.

  “On occasion.” She studied Merab’s uncharacteristically humble, almost embarrassed gaze. Something had happened.

  “Why did you come?”

  “What do you mean?” Merab wore a look of surprise and set the mirror facedown on the linen table covering.

  “You have something to tell me. What is it?”

  Merab smiled evenly, her straight white teeth gleaming in her tanned face. “You always were good at reading my mind, weren’t you?”

  The muscles in Michal’s shoulders ached, stiff from worry and a restless night’s sleep. “I suppose. But don’t keep me waiting. Tell me.”

  Merab lowered her long, dark lashes in another shy gesture, then held Michal’s gaze. “I am with child.”

  Michal masked the stab of jealousy with a smile. “I’m happy for you.”

  Merab strode to the window and lifted the curtain, her back to Michal. “Are you?”

  “Of course. Every woman longs for such a thing.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed, with Merab staring out the window and Michal’s heart warring with bitterness. David was the one who deserved sons.

  “Too bad David isn’t home long enough to give you a child. Adriel is so attentive. He treats me like a queen.” Merab turned, giving Michal a scrutinizing look.

  “David is needed in more important matters right now.” Michal lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing. “Besides, David loves me.”

  Merab’s eyes flashed, and her chin tipped up. “I better go. I promised Mother I’d visit today, and I haven’t told her the news. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

  Michal watched her sister walk to the door. “Greet Mother for me.”

  Merab looked down her nose with a proud, disdainful air. “One of these days you’ll have to join us, little sister.” She walked off while Michal looked on, emotions raging.

  “Can I get you anything, my lady?” Keziah stood beside her, watching Merab go. “Some breakfast, perhaps?”

  “I’m not hungry, Keziah.” Sick was closer to reality. David had to return. Now more than ever she needed to give him an heir. Surely Jonathan would persuade Father to cancel the death threat. Unless God was punishing her for her part in Merab failing to marry David. The pain in her head intensified, and she stumbled over to the couch and sat down.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” Keziah bent her tall, dark frame beside Michal and touched her arm.

  “A cold cloth.” Michal leaned against the cushions and closed her eyes. Merab could be so irritating. Of course this pregnancy was bound to happen sooner or later. But the timing couldn’t have been worse. If Father couldn’t be appeased and David didn’t come home again, she would never have a son, and she’d never be queen. There was no way she was going to let that happen if it was within her power to stop it.

  “I’m going shooting, Father. I’d like you to come with me.” Jonathan stood in the dining hall, bow slung over his shoulder, watching his father swallow the last bite of goat cheese and drink from his silver water goblet.

  Saul stood, eyeing his son. “I’m coming.”

  The two strode through cool palace halls, along the cobbled path of the courtyard, and past the gardens to an adjoining field. Jonathan fitted an arrow in his bow, took aim, and shot toward a stack of flax, left there for that purpose.

  “Good shot, Son. Too bad the target wasn’t your brother-in-law.” Saul’s voice erupted into gales of laughter. “Maybe that’s what I should do. Tie him to a tree and then cast my spear at him. He’s too quick otherwise.”

  Jonathan held his tongue, praying for wisdom. “Father, why would you harm an innocent man? David has done nothing to deserve death.” He watched his father’s lips curl in a childish pout. “Remember when he killed the Philistine? He took his life in his hands then, and you rejoiced to see such a victory. And every battle since then, David has handled himself with wisdom and skill to the benefit of your kingdom, Father. You are seeking his life without cause.”

  Saul folded his arms over his muscular chest, and his lower lip quivered. “But he wants my kingdom. You are my heir, Jonathan. David will take your place if we let him live.”

  “If God is the one who wants David to rule, who are we to fight against Him, Father? I would rather obey God than men.”

  Jonathan held his breath, gauging his father’s stiffened back and the proud tilt to his head.

  “You would choose David
over me?” Saul’s dark gaze glittered like embers.

  “I would choose to obey the Lord. Wouldn’t you, Father?”

  Jonathan studied the indecision moving in waves over Saul’s features. The prophet Samuel had once accused the king of rebellion, and Jonathan knew his father’s heart held no real desire to obey Adonai.

  “You’re right, of course.” Saul’s shoulders slumped beneath his royal robe, and his head drooped forward in defeat. “I’ve played the fool, Jonathan.” Tears formed small pools in his eyes, and his voice cracked. “As the Lord lives, David will not die. I will cancel the order right now.” He whirled about and set out at a brisk pace for the palace.

  Jonathan jogged to his father’s side. “Thank you, Father. Do you want me to come with you?”

  Saul shook his head. “No, no. I need to be alone.” He paused, his expression uncharacteristically humble. “Sometimes, when a man does a foolish thing, he doesn’t want an audience.”

  Jonathan watched until his father’s feet passed through the gardens and out of sight before walking over to a large stone where he knew David was hiding. “Did you hear what he said, my friend?”

  David brushed the dirt from his tunic and rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms behind his back. “Not clearly. What did he tell you?”

  “He swore by the Lord you would not die. I told you he’d change his mind.” Jonathan hugged David, then held him at arm’s length. “I’ll take you to him myself as soon as I collect my arrows.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  Jonathan looked into David’s worried face. “As sure as one can ever be of my father.” There was no sense trying to deceive the man. “I’d like to tell you this will never happen again, David. But only God knows.”

  The sun had reached its zenith in a cloudless blue sky when David finally trudged the path from the palace to his mud-brick home just outside the king’s fortress. The meeting with Saul had gone well enough. The king had fallen on his neck and kissed him, apologizing for the misunderstanding and praising him for his military conquests. Then David had played his harp for old time’s sake and left the palace with Saul in high spirits. But David’s own spirit sagged with defeat. He needed time to rest, to enjoy his wife, to sleep without fear.