Michal

by Jill Eileen Smith

  Trust Me, David.

  “When you come into power,” Jonathan was saying, “promise me you will show kindness to my family—to me.”

  David’s head came up. Was that defeat in Jonathan’s expression? “You know I would never hurt you, my prince. Should God allow me to reign as king, you will be second to me.”

  “But if I die—”

  “You’re not going to die.” The thought pierced David’s heart.

  “Nevertheless, if I die . . . please . . . protect Sarah and any children born to us. Promise me you will deal kindly with us.”

  David swallowed the thick knot in his throat. “You have my word, my prince. May God deal with me, be it ever so severely, if I ever betray this trust.”

  22

  Four Years Later

  “Nothing will ever be right again, Keziah.” Michal picked up the golden-handled comb and started to sift through her tangled hair. Her father’s moods had become worse since he’d ordered the deaths of the priests, and when Paltiel had joined Father’s military campaigns against David, Jonathan had refused to set foot in their home again. She had taken to meeting him now and then in the gardens, in secret, but even then the tension and the memory of better times with David made their encounters uncomfortable at best. Sometimes the memories and the stress of it all made her want to scream . . . or weep.

  “Let me do that, mistress.” Keziah gently took the comb from Michal’s clenched hands. Michal sank onto a low stool and placed the mirror on the table. She didn’t care what she looked like anymore.

  “One of the servants just returned from the palace, my lady,” Keziah said in an obvious attempt to interest her.

  “Mm-hm.”

  “There is news of David.”

  Michal’s stomach did a familiar flip, but she forced indifference into her expression. “What news? And please spare me the long explanations.”

  Keziah lowered her head, and Michal suspected she’d hurt the girl’s feelings, but her own nerves were stretched like taut bowstrings, nearing the breaking point. She gritted her teeth, trying to still her impatience.

  “David has been seen in the Wilderness of Maon—”

  “We know that already, Keziah. He’s been there for months, if Jonathan’s sources are accurate.”

  “Yes, but while he was there he met one of the wealthy landowners. He and his men protected the man’s sheep, and when sheepshearing time rolled around, he requested payment for his services—”

  “A reasonable action.” Michal’s interest piqued, and she waved her hand, urging the girl to continue.

  “Yes, well, the man refused to pay any compensation, so they say David got ready to kill the landowner and all in his household.”

  Michal’s heart sank. If David took vengeance, despite his right to receive payment for services rendered, the people of Israel would change their opinion of him. If he reacted, shedding innocent blood, the men in Israel’s army would turn against him, the way so many had deserted her father when he killed the priests. The face of Benaiah, one of the few guards she had trusted, flashed in her thoughts. Had he fled to David as she’d urged him to?

  She placed one hand over her stomach to control the uneasiness. If David killed innocent Israelites, he could never be king. And if he never became king—as Jonathan was convinced he would someday—then he would never be able to get her back, and she would never be queen.

  “Did he? Kill the man, I mean?” The words were stiff and choked, and Michal chided herself for caring so much. David had deserted her, after all, and had taken another wife, if the rumors were true. Still, she couldn’t deny the curious tug to her heart that news of him brought.

  Keziah shook her head. “The man’s wife stopped him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The man was a fool, to hear the servants tell it. His wife knew it, and when she heard David was coming in anger, she loaded up donkeys with the provisions David had requested, and more so, and met him with the gift.”

  Michal’s shoulders slumped, relief washing over her. “Oh, good.” A tiny flame of hope flickered in her heart. Maybe David could still come for her after all.

  “There’s more, my lady.”

  Michal’s heart jumped at her tone. “More?”

  Keziah nodded. “The landowner died ten days after his wife gave David the food. When he died . . .” Keziah paused. Michal hated the girl’s drawn-out storytelling at times like this—especially when she asked her not to. She could have her flogged for it, but she didn’t have the heart. She held the girl’s gaze instead, apprehensive of what she read in her expression.

  “David asked the woman to be his wife after her husband died. She accepted.”

  The depression she’d awakened with could not match the sinking despair now dragging her soul to the pit. Why did David need another wife? And why could he accept someone he didn’t know but leave her, his true wife, to languish in the home of another man?

  Like a drunkard, Michal staggered to the open window and clutched the ledge. Hot tears scalded her throat. Perhaps David didn’t want her anymore. Could it be true? But he loved her! He’d doubled her father’s gruesome dowry just to marry her.

  David asked the woman to be his wife.

  How could he do that?

  He doesn’t love you. If he did, he would have found a way to get you back.

  She stood rigid, emotion draining from her. Was it true? If David didn’t love her, why was she pining for him year after year? Why not make a home with Paltiel? At least he cared for her, however misguided his care might be.

  With trembling fingers, Michal pushed the curtain aside and studied the ground below her bedroom window where David’s feet had landed and he’d promised to come back for her so long ago. Not a day had gone by since she’d returned home that she didn’t stare at this spot and beg God to bring him back to her.

  Well, no more. If David could so easily cast her aside and embrace another—two others, in fact—she would toss her love for him away as well. Let Paltiel come home from this pursuit of David—and from this war, however futile, that her father thought he could win—and she would welcome him. Even if David one day became king, she was through with him.

  PART III

  Now the Philistines fought against Israel; and the men of Israel fled from before the Philistines, and fell slain on Mount Gilboa. Then the Philistines followed hard after Saul and his sons. And the Philistines killed Jonathan, Abinadab, and Malchishua, Saul’s sons.

  1 Samuel 31:1–2

  So Saul, his three sons, his armorbearer, and all his men died together that same day.

  1 Samuel 31:6

  23

  Three Years Later

  The blackness of night gave way to a diffused yellow glow, and Paltiel lifted the flap and stepped into the morning dew. His sandals did little to protect his feet from the moist ground, but he ignored the cool tingle and walked slowly through the sleeping camp to the edge of the ridge. Word had it that David was among the Philistine warriors. A tremor swept through Paltiel, and he rubbed both arms, trying to calm his anxious nerves. What he wouldn’t give to be the one to shoot the arrow straight through David’s heart. If the fool could walk away and leave his wife just to save his own skin, he deserved to die. Besides, if David were dead, he could never reclaim Michal.

  The thumping of someone walking toward Paltiel made him turn. At the sight of Saul, he bowed low.

  “My king.”

  Saul approached the cliff, flanked by two sentries. He nodded at Paltiel, who stood and stepped back to give the king a better view. Saul glanced at the brightening sky, blinked twice, then squinted hard, his head moving from side to side. He stood still a moment, then staggered backward. The guards stopped him from falling.

  “Are you all right, my lord?” Paltiel rushed closer and fell to one knee.

  “How many?” Saul’s hoarse voice croaked, and his arms were shaking.

  Paltiel studied the king a moment, trying to
understand the question. “How many what, my lord?”

  Saul’s whole body began to tremble now, and he struggled to speak. “How . . . many . . . men?”

  Insight dawned, and Paltiel turned to examine the Philistine army once again. How many soldiers were there? A hundred thousand?

  “I’m not sure, my lord,” he said, turning to face the king. “Many thousands at least.”

  Saul’s body shook like a leaf carried on the desert khamsin. Paltiel had never seen his monarch so visibly shaken. The image unnerved him, sending a flutter of fear to his own heart. An army couldn’t follow if Saul wasn’t prepared to lead. He looked over the sea of Israelite tents. If Saul didn’t lead them, Jonathan would have to take up the cause. Assuming Jonathan had the strength to do so.

  “What will we do?” Saul’s voice, usually so strong and deep, now rose to a thin whine on the still morning air. “They’re too strong for us.”

  “Surely not, my king. The Lord is with us.”

  Saul sank to the dew-drenched earth and buried his head in his hands. “Is He?” He looked at Paltiel. “I need to ask Him. Send for the priests, Paltiel. I need to find out if the Lord is with us.”

  Paltiel swallowed hard. “The priests are dead, my lord.” Had Saul forgotten his own order to kill them? The Urim and Thummim had been missing ever since as well, probably carted off by Abiathar, the one survivor unaccounted for. Had he taken them to David?

  A sinking despair began to work its way into his gut.

  Saul rocked back and forth, covering his face. He stopped abruptly. “A prophet then? Surely there is a prophet in the land.”

  Paltiel shrugged and averted his gaze. “I don’t know, my lord. Samuel is dead, and I don’t know what happened to the prophets he trained.”

  At the sound of quiet sobs, Paltiel turned, bewildered to find the king weeping. “I have to find out somehow. If He would just speak to me, in a dream perhaps.” His gray eyes blinked to focus on Paltiel. “I can’t fight this battle alone. I need the Lord to tell me what to do.”

  Paltiel stared at the man, suddenly aware of his silver-streaked hair and lined face. Saul was afraid. Unlike the fear he’d shown toward David, this fear, this terror, stripped him of his dignity and reduced him to a common man. Paltiel lifted his head and scanned the camp. The men were stirring. Soon everyone would know of Saul’s ineptness, his paralyzed inability to lead. Paltiel had to do something.

  His mind skipped over a handful of scenarios. They could pull back, retreat until the king could get a grip on himself. Or they could pose a challenge like the one when David fought Goliath. Perhaps a select few could fight for the whole. He glanced at the king, who was still rocking back and forth like a scared child. No, they needed something more.

  With tentative steps he backed away from Saul and looked once again at the imposing Philistine army flanking the opposite ridge. Red-feathered helmets now dotted the landscape. The camp was waking. Would they surge forward to fight today?

  Paltiel impatiently tapped his foot. He had to figure out a plan. If God wouldn’t answer the king’s pleas, there must be some other way to guess the future, even if it wasn’t true, to bring some sort of peace to the man.

  “Find me a woman who is a medium, that I may go to her and inquire of her.” Saul’s whimpering voice carried to Paltiel’s ears. He turned in disbelief to face the king. After David had left Israel a year and a half ago to live among the Philistines, Saul had banished all mediums and spiritists, when the demons taunting him could no longer be appeased. Michal had told him her father thought it would somehow bring him relief, grant him favor in God’s eyes. Paltiel released a frustrated breath. Did Saul honestly think the Lord would somehow bless him and now speak to him through a medium?

  “There is such a woman in En Dor, my lord,” one of the servants said.

  “Take me there.” Saul’s voice sounded surer now, and he stood, his shaking limbs growing steadier as he walked toward Paltiel. “You will accompany me.” Paltiel squirmed under the scrutiny.

  “But, my lord, En Dor is in Philistine territory. What if they see us?”

  Saul’s dark eyes sparked with sudden purpose. “We’ll go at night and disguise ourselves.”

  “I could take you there, my lord,” one of the guards said. A sinister feeling slithered down Paltiel’s spine at the guard’s empty, soulless look. Mediums practiced witchcraft, something Paltiel wanted nothing to do with.

  “Good,” Saul said, smiling now. “You can accompany me and my son-in-law.”

  “Perhaps someone else could go, my lord.” Paltiel hated his cowardly tone, but the mission was foolish. How would he ever explain to Michal what he’d done?

  The glowing embers of Saul’s eyes grew cold, and he stared immovably at Paltiel. “Fine!” He barked the words and whirled about. “Find another servant,” he said to the guard, “one more worthy to go with me. We’ll leave at dusk for En Dor.”

  Paltiel’s stomach twisted in a hard knot, while at the same time relief loosened his taut shoulders. At least he wouldn’t be party to something so ridiculous. And yet the whole thing troubled him. Saul shouldn’t be going at all. Perhaps if he could convince Jonathan to lead the army, none of this would be necessary. He released a slow sigh. Jonathan could barely tolerate him. Abner then? His mind whirled. No, Jonathan was the heir. Whether the man liked him or not, he must be told. There must be something they could do.

  Not a single star dotted the clouded heavens, though Jonathan searched for one, praying for some sign of God’s light to dawn in his soul. But his yearnings went unheeded, and his heart ached. He paced slowly in front of his tent, intermittently stroking his beard, then paused to gaze north past the Philistine encampment at Shunem toward the town of En Dor. If his father made it there, going and coming past the thousands of Philistine warriors, he was still placing himself in the hands of an evil woman—a witch of all things!

  They wouldn’t be in this mess if his father had trusted Adonai and obeyed His word long ago. David wouldn’t be fighting against them, and he, Jonathan, would be planning to succeed his father to Israel’s throne.

  Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ward off a horrible headache. He didn’t care, really. Being king had always been his father’s ambition for him, not his. David’s coming on the scene had almost been a relief.

  His restless feet threaded their way through the camp to the place where Saul would likely come the moment he returned. He twisted the belt at his waist. How much longer? Why had he allowed his father to go through with this? His own aversion to Paltiel had caused him to nearly block his ears to the man’s impassioned plea. Still, what would happen if Saul were captured and killed along the way to or from En Dor?

  Once, long ago, Jonathan could have taken charge and led the armies to victory—in the days when he knew without a doubt the Lord was with him. But he couldn’t be sure of that now.

  The admission made the back of his neck throb, and Jonathan stretched and tipped his head from side to side, hoping for some relief. He looked north again and squinted. There, stumbling closer in the inky darkness, were three men. Jonathan drew a deep breath and took two steps toward them. Moments later, his father fell in a heap at his feet, weeping. Jonathan looked at the ashen faces of the two sentries who had accompanied Saul, his heart sinking to his toes. “What happened?”

  One of the guards just shook his head, the whites of his eyes visible in the light of the moon. The other spoke. “Samuel spoke with him.” The words were blunt and quick as though he longed to be rid of them.

  “Samuel’s dead,” Jonathan said. His headache intensified. How could a dead man speak?

  “The woman got his spirit to come up, and he spoke to your father.”

  Saul’s weeping quieted, and he lifted his hooded head to look into Jonathan’s eyes. In that instant Jonathan saw straight through to his father’s soul.

  Saul was going to die.

  That was it, wasn’t it? Samuel had predic
ted his father’s imminent death.

  The fear in his father’s gaze drifted to something akin to sadness during the silent exchange, and Jonathan’s strength evaporated like mist before sunrise.

  They were both going to die.

  He swallowed a leaden lump in his throat. Hadn’t he realized it all along? Hadn’t he felt it in the hot wind and known it when he held Sarah and Mephibosheth the day they left for war?

  He stumbled away from the small group of men, then groped his way to the edge of the rise overlooking the enemies who would be his undoing.

  Are you out there, David? Will yours be the arrow that pierces my heart? Oh, God, may it never be!

  He sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to live to hold his wife and son again, to watch Mephibosheth grow to manhood, to bless his grandchildren on his knees. Unshed tears threatened to choke him.

  Should he run away to save his life?

  Silent sobs racked his body, draining the last of his energy, even as he wrestled with his tormented thoughts. He slowly lifted his head to gaze once more at the heavens, tears blurring his vision. He blinked and brushed them away. His heart was warmed by the sight of a million stars, which were hidden from him moments ago, now winking like distant flames across the blackest sky he’d ever seen.

  Are You trying to tell me something, Lord?

  Peace settled over him, diffusing his last fragment of fear. God had a plan, and somehow, though it might mean the end of his earthly life, he was part of God’s intended design. Pictures of Sarah and Mephibosheth flashed in his mind again, but the peace remained. And then he remembered his covenant with David.

  David would soon be king. And David would take care of his family. Hadn’t he promised as much? A half smile curved his mouth, his heart soaring with the stars. God would not abandon him to the grave. God still cared for his soul. He raised his arms heavenward and let the words of David play a melody through his thoughts.