Michal

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Their eyes met. There was a stern set to his jaw and an authority in his tone she’d never heard before. He looked haggard and irritated, if she read him correctly. Well, she could be stubborn too. And he had no right to tell her what to do.

  “I’m not going.” She clutched the donkey’s reins and tried to swing the beast around to trot away. Never mind that Benaiah was strong enough to lift her with one hand. By himself he could force her to comply. Then again, Benaiah had once shown an interest in her. She glanced past Paltiel to the burly soldier and gave him a pleading look. Maybe he could be convinced to help her now.

  The animal took one plodding step, but Paltiel’s hand grabbed the bridle, stopping it.

  “You can’t make me go with you, Paltiel. I’m going to join my husband.”

  “He’s not your husband anymore.”

  He was lying. David belonged to her, and she to him. “Unless you can prove David is dead, you are mistaken.”

  The look Paltiel gave her sent a shudder down her spine.

  “There are other ways to end a marriage.”

  “I have no certificate of divorce. David wouldn’t do that. He loves me.”

  “David wouldn’t, but your father would—in fact, did.”

  Michal stared at him. He was wrong. He had to be. “What are you talking about?”

  She watched the guard study her with a familiarity that made her skin crawl. She didn’t like this man. She glanced again at Benaiah. The pained look in his eyes sent jagged throbs up the back of her neck and tied her stomach in knots.

  “I’m telling you, Michal, that your father summoned one of the scribes to annul your marriage to David. He has decided that David is as good as dead and has promised you to another. That’s why we’re here. To take you home to your new husband.”

  Michal tried to swallow but couldn’t get past the dryness, so she tried again, nearly choking. She wouldn’t let them do this to her. She wanted David.

  David!

  “He’s not lying to you, Michal.” Benaiah’s gentle tone startled her, but when she searched his face for some sign of an ally, she found nothing but resigned sadness. The realization hit with a force that nearly knocked her off the donkey. She leaned forward, clutching the animal’s mane.

  “Who?” she managed to squeak through clenched teeth. Her gaze still rested on Benaiah. He wasn’t going to help her get to David. Could it be his past interest in her had never ceased?

  “You mean who is your new husband?” Joash asked.

  She nodded, her throat aching with unshed tears.

  Paltiel reached a gentle hand to brush a loose strand of hair from her cheek and smiled at her. “The king, your father, had no idea whom he wanted to give you to. When he found out you’d run away, he promised I could have you if I could find you. I’m to be your new husband, Michal.”

  18

  Ginger-hued brick towers rose above an open, arched gate— an imposing structure used to welcome visitors or bar enemies from entering the city of Gath. Two weeks had passed since his visit to Ahimelech—two weeks of him and his men wandering south through Judah, avoiding places where people could recognize him, hiding in caves, scrounging for food, and finally reaching the Philistine city. David stood on the outskirts of the town now, watching heavily laden merchant carts pass under the inspection of guards flanking the solid wooden and metal doors. How to join their ranks was the question. Could he get inside undetected? Or maybe he should just announce his intentions up front. How else did one find an audience with the king?

  “So, do I look ragged enough?” David turned to Abishai and sported a look of desperation. “Do you think the king will believe me when I tell him I’m seeking refuge?”

  Abishai’s thick, dark brown mustache twitched in response. He sized David up and down, crossing his arms. Joab and the rest of his men had eventually agreed with Abishai and followed David to the border, but they had stayed behind when David and Abishai had broken camp that morning. David was weary of their harassment and questioning of his decisions. Abishai was the only one he trusted with this mission.

  “You look ragged, all right. But, David, this is a fool’s mission. Please reconsider.”

  “Don’t start sounding like your brother, Abishai. My mind is set.”

  Abishai uncrossed his arms and tucked both hands in the pockets of his robe. “So, how do you plan to get inside?”

  David looked back at the gate. A line of merchant carts still awaited entrance.

  “Guess I’ll join a caravan.” He took two steps forward, then turned and embraced Abishai in a fierce hug, kissing each of his cheeks.

  “God go with you, Uncle.”

  David released him and unfastened Goliath’s sword from his belt. He handed it to Abishai. “Keep it for me . . . until I return.”

  “I will.”

  David set out at a brisk pace for the gates of Gath. He should have talked with some of the merchants around their campfires the night before. It would have given him an advantage he didn’t have now.

  When he reached the end of the line, his stomach knotted. He wasn’t sure what he was so worried about. He’d spent years in a king’s court. How different could it be?

  “You, Israelite! State your business.”

  David snapped to attention. How had they spotted him from this distance? He glanced up to the guards decked along the walls, then down at the two stationed at the gate. A third soldier he hadn’t seen before strode purposefully toward him. “You there.” He pointed a bony finger at David. “State your business.”

  David swallowed hard and met the man’s scrutiny. “I’m here to request an audience with King Achish.” It was too late to do anything else.

  The youthful guard adjusted his red-feathered helmet and studied David. “For what purpose?” His voice was stern, his gaze calculating.

  “To seek refuge . . . and offer my services.” David lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders.

  The guard turned. “Follow me.” He walked past the rest of the merchant carts, leading David through the gate to the King’s Highway. Multicolored ornamental pillars and grotesque statues carved of white marble lined the street. Signs hanging from metal poles announced places of business—an apothecary here, a temple there, a theater at the corner of an intersecting street. Philistines of varying levels of economic status bustled about, children raced around produce carts, men and women haggled over prices, a donkey brayed in the distance. David took in the scene while his feet kept pace with the guard’s hurried gait until they reached the limestone steps of the jeweled palace of Achish, king of Gath.

  “This Israelite requests a meeting with the king,” the man said when they stopped at the scribe’s desk outside the closed audience chamber.

  The scribe lifted his turbaned head and rested beady eyes on David. “State your name, please.”

  “David, son of Jesse, of Bethlehem.”

  The scribe dipped a thin brush in a clay pot and jotted strange letters on a sheet of beige papyrus. David watched the man with a wary gaze, then scanned the enclosed portico. To his right, two servants huddled, whispering. Behind him a group of guards approached.

  “Isn’t that David, the king of the land?” one of the guards said, his tone a mix of curiosity and condemnation.

  David crossed his arms, feeling the heavy thudding of his heart beneath his fingers. This was not good.

  “Yeah, that’s him.” Another guard took three steps closer, inspecting David like a farmer would scrutinize a lamb for sacrifice. The man stepped back and turned to his companions. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Said he wants to see the king.” This from the guard who’d led David to the palace. “This ought to be good.”

  “Maybe the king will take him prisoner.”

  Another guard approached. “Hey, Israelite! Aren’t you the one they sing about in their dances—Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands?”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet he’s seen plenty
of Philistine blood on the end of his sword.”

  David’s heartbeat slowed, every rhythmic thump sluggish, blood draining from his face. Coming here was a big mistake.

  “The king will see you now.” The scribe spoke, the words distant.

  They knew who he was, and they would use the knowledge against him. Saul’s threats were nothing compared to what he had walked into here. They would surely torture him before they finally allowed him the escape of death. The vision of himself impaled on a stake made his knees weak. This was no lion or bear or wolf going after a lamb. His sling was useless among so many Philistine swords.

  The room tilted, and he closed his eyes, clutching the edge of the scribe’s table for support. Dread, relentless and deep, spiraled downward into the pit of his soul.

  O El Yeshuati, God of my salvation, help me now.

  “Did you hear me, Israelite?” The scribe spoke again, louder this time, but the words barely penetrated David’s fear-induced stupor. “What’s wrong with you, man?”

  “Maybe he needs a little prodding.” A soldier lifted his sandaled foot and kicked David from behind. “Move along, Israelite! Don’t keep the king waiting.”

  David stumbled forward as his self-preservation instinct swiftly rose, putting every nerve ending on high alert. His natural impulse screamed at him to whirl around and kick the man in return. But wisdom told him to ignore the insult. His mind raced with the best way to handle the Philistine king.

  In the space it took him to totter and waver his way through the ornate doors, flanked by guards who grabbed his arms and tugged him toward the king, he knew what he should do.

  “Who is this you’ve brought to me?” King Achish wrapped nimble fingers one at a time over the head of his staff. His dark eyes were intelligent, penetrating.

  The guards shoved David to his knees, and he fell forward, hands braced against the cool mosaic floor.

  “An Israelite, my lord. I believe we’ve captured their king without even trying. Seems he seeks refuge among us.”

  David kept his gaze on the red and blue tiles, simultaneously berating his own foolishness and begging Adonai for wisdom and rescue.

  “What is your name?” Achish’s tone was stern, menacing.

  To not answer could get him killed, but to speak would reveal his own clear thinking. On impulse, he slid his hands forward, then tilted his head to look behind him. His gaze grazed the king’s as he let his eyes roll back. In slow motion he stood, grasping at air, spittle pooling in his mouth. He let his lips go slack, the fluid dripping onto his beard. He turned away from the king, stumbled to one of the marble pillars, and dug his fingernails along the smooth surface.

  Forgive me, Adonai. I should never have come. If You could just see Your way clear to intervene . . .

  Had he gone too far? Would God change His mind and reject him as king before he ever started to rule? The thought made him physically ill. He’d be better off a madman than to forfeit the privilege to lead Israel. He was a complete and utter fool.

  “Look, you see the man is insane. Why have you brought him to me?” Achish said. “Have I need of madmen, that you have brought this fellow to play the madman in my presence? Shall this fellow come into my house? Take him away.” Two staccato claps followed his words.

  Guards moved in, encircling him. They stood for a moment as if uncertain how to approach him in his new irrational state. At last, when the king’s impatience grew in a string of angry curses, two Philistine soldiers gripped David’s arms and half dragged him out the palace doors, through the city streets, and to the guard towers framing the gate. His heartbeat quickened from a state of near dead to a normal rhythm when they shoved him through and stationed a guard to bar his reentry.

  “I won’t marry him, Mother! You can’t make me.” Michal limped from her narrow bed to the curtained window, ignoring the pain in her foot. “I’m David’s wife! Father can’t just deny that fact.” Her voice rose with every syllable, and a deep shudder swept through her. Michal leaned forward, elbows on the window ledge, her senses assaulted by the pungent odor of roasting meat. Armfuls of wildflowers were being arranged in earthen vases around the large courtyard. In the garden, in the exact location where she’d first shared David’s love, the wedding tent stood like a lone sentry watching for signs of an approaching battle. If her father made her go through with this, there’d be a battle all right.

  She whirled on her good heel and stared at her mother, who calmly brushed lint from Michal’s wedding clothes, the ones she’d worn over a year ago—for David.

  “I’m not wearing that, Mother.” Michal’s throat felt raw from the tears she’d shed the moment Paltiel, Benaiah, and Joash had deposited her back at the palace. “I’m not marrying that man!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Michal. You don’t actually think you can go against your father, do you?” Her mother looked her up and down. “Now come. Wash your face so Keziah can reapply your makeup. You’ve got kohl streaked over your cheeks from your tears. Then I’ll take you to the mikvah and you can wash yourself. No man wants a dirty, disheveled bride.”

  “Aren’t you listening, Mother? I’m not going to marry Paltiel. I’m David’s wife, and I’m going to wait for him.” She limped over to the bed and flopped on her back, arms behind her head, staring stubbornly at the ceiling.

  “Now listen to me, young lady.”

  Michal kept her gaze on the ceiling despite her mother’s harsh tone.

  “Your father has been good to you all these years, giving you everything you wanted, including David, when it went against his wishes. Now your husband has deserted you and is threatening your father’s life. Do you honestly think he will let you return to the man?”

  Michal turned on her side and rose up on one elbow. “Why not? Father is the true threat here. He has tried to kill David repeatedly. David has never once raised his hand against him.”

  “How do you know for sure, Michal? Do you really know David? Didn’t you say he threatened to kill you, his own wife, if you didn’t help him escape? How can your father trust the man to take care of you if he’s threatened to hurt you?” Ahinoam shook her graying head, her long turquoise earrings swinging with the movement. “David will soon be dead anyway, if your father has his way.” She stepped closer to the bed and placed one hand on Michal’s arm. “Let the king take care of his baby girl, Michal. Cooperate with this marriage. It’s for your own protection.”

  Michal’s whole body gave in to a tingling sensation. She couldn’t decide if she was going to pass out or be sick. Had her lie to protect herself from her father allowed him to think he should give her to another man? Had she forfeited her marriage because of fear?

  She rolled onto her stomach and stuffed a pillow to her lips to muffle the sobs rising within her. Oh, David!

  What had she done?

  “So how does it feel to be marrying a man you don’t want, little sister? I’d say you’re getting what you deserve.” Merab walked up to where Michal was standing between the main hall and the center court.

  The earlier sick feeling invaded Michal’s stomach again. She lifted one hand to her middle in an effort to quell the fear-induced nausea and met Merab’s triumphant gaze.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Merab’s lip curled in a smirk. “Oh, come on, Michal. You know I was supposed to marry David, and Father just happened to find out about Adriel’s interest in me and betrothed me to him instead. Now who would have spoken that idea in his ear? Adriel says Father approached him. But who told Father?”

  “Any one of the servants could have suggested the idea.”

  “You were the only one with a reason.”

  “As far as you know, you mean.” Michal’s limbs shook with nervous tension. She should just tell Merab the truth. It didn’t matter now anyway. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. Adriel loves you. If Paltiel loved me, he’d return me to David.” Michal’s gaze darted past her sister, and she lowered her voice. �
�Besides, you didn’t love David the way I do.”

  “You have no idea how I felt about him.” Merab’s sharp tone slashed through Michal’s heart.

  A distant look passed through Merab’s dark eyes, and she cradled her protruding abdomen in a protective gesture. The movement pierced an arrow of jealousy through Michal’s soul.

  “Just leave me alone, Merab.” She knew her tone carried waves of hurt, and her throat closed as she fought tears.

  Merab studied her sister for a long moment. “You won David deceitfully, Michal. And now Paltiel has done the same with you. I hope you’re happy.”

  She stalked off, her bitter words meshing with the discordant notes of the tuning musicians. Michal pulled her multicolored robe tightly across her body, a sudden chill shaking her.

  The musicians, their instruments now ready, began one of the wedding songs, and her father appeared in the courtyard dressed in full royal garb.

  A touch on her shoulder made her jump. She turned to stare at Benaiah.

  “What do you want, Benaiah? Haven’t you done enough?”

  She glanced into the young man’s mammoth face, curious at the sorrow etching his brow.

  “Forgive me, Princess.” He motioned her closer to the shadows, his wary gaze darting about before resting on her. “If I can arrange it, I will try to take you to David.”

  Michal blinked burning eyes and gaped at him. “How?” He hadn’t helped her when Paltiel came for her.

  “During the feast, before Paltiel leads you to the bridal tent, I’ll be standing guard over you. Watch for my signal.”

  “You’ll never get me past my father’s soldiers, Benaiah. They’ve been watching every entrance like a pack of jackals.”

  “I have it all worked out, Princess. Trust me.”

  The tapping sound of hurried footsteps sent Benaiah scurrying down the hall and out of sight.

  “Are you ready, my dear?” Her mother appeared in the arch of the door, killing Michal’s hope and bringing all of her fears back in a rush. “It’s time to join your husband under the chuppah.”