Michal

by Jill Eileen Smith

  David was a simple shepherd, a usurper of her father’s throne. Without her, he had no right to rule Israel. It was time he realized it.

  David looked out over the dispersing crowd, quiet joy filling all the spaces in his heart. What a day! God’s mercy had shined on their efforts, and the ark of the Lord now rested in the tent he had prepared for it. Once again the feeling of awe and humility swept over him, leaving his heart open and bare. But he wasn’t afraid anymore. Yahweh had examined his heart, pierced his soul, and cleansed his hidden sins. He felt clean, usable, and the joy of the Lord made his heart sing.

  With a parting glance toward the front of the tent where the ark now rested, David turned and walked to the tent opening. Benaiah stood waiting to escort him.

  “Your robe, my lord.” Benaiah held David’s gold and blue embroidered robe open, and David slipped his arms through the sleeves.

  “Thank you, Benaiah.” He accepted the crown from Benaiah’s outstretched hand and slipped the signet ring back on his finger. “Although I’d almost prefer the humble ephod over this. Brings a man’s thoughts in line with how insignificant he really is, you know?”

  Benaiah nodded and fell into step beside David as he moved out of the tent and began the walk back to the palace. “Your actions today endeared you to the people, my lord. But I think you were too concerned with Adonai’s opinion to notice.”

  David stopped to look at the guard and smiled. “I’ll take whatever blessings God allows, my friend. I couldn’t help but feel the need to strip myself of the trappings the people place on me when coming before the Lord. He is Israel’s true king.”

  The marble steps of the palace loomed before them, and the two walked in silence to the halls leading to the royal family’s private quarters. When they reached the audience chamber, David spotted Michal walking toward them, head held high, eyes flashing. On instinct he stiffened.

  “How the king of Israel distinguished himself today! He uncovered himself today in the eyes of his servants’ maids as one of the foolish ones shamelessly uncovers himself!” Michal flung the words at him like sharp barbs, her voice rising with every word.

  David stood still under the arch of the covered portico, staring into her hardened dark eyes. The joy of the day vanished under her icy glare, and in an instant David saw into her bitter soul.

  She hated him. She stood there acting like his superior, condemning his actions. Why? Because he’d removed the symbols of royalty? How did that make him immodest or shameless? He’d done it for Yahweh, because only Yahweh is king.

  But Yahweh did not rule Michal’s heart, nor could she understand someone whose life was lived in devotion to Him. The thought sank to the pit of his gut, making him unutterably sad.

  She would never understand him. He saw it all too clearly now.

  The moment stretched to an eternity until David finally spoke. “It was before the Lord, who chose me instead of your father and his house, to appoint me ruler over the people of the Lord, over Israel.” He lowered his voice, but it still carried across the room. “So I will play music before the Lord. And I will be even more undignified than this and will be humble in my own sight.” He paused, searching her face for some flicker of remorse, but was greeted only with disdain. “But as for the maidservants of whom you have spoken,” he continued, “I will be held in honor by them.”

  “And I suppose if they look on you with respect, you’ll be adding them to our number?”

  David almost flinched but caught himself. So that was her problem. She just couldn’t accept the fact that he had taken other wives. What did she expect of him? A king took wives to make alliances, to keep war at bay, to strengthen his kingdom. He had swallowed that bitter reality long ago. If she cared about him, she would understand.

  But she didn’t care. He could see it now in her rigid stance and cold stare. Goliath had looked less menacing.

  He met her silent glare with one of his own and straightened his shoulders, taking the kingly posture she expected. “If I choose to add more wives to my family, it is not your concern, Michal. Your part is to support me as a first wife should, in being an example to the others. But seeing as you scorn your role and disdain my choices, I will grant you what your heart seems to desire. You will live in my home, but do not expect to see my face again.”

  He watched shock register on her beautiful face. But in the next instant, her eyes grew cold once again, her fists balled at her sides.

  “Take this woman back to her rooms, Benaiah.” David forced his voice to sound casual, hiding his sense of loss. “She is not welcome here.” With that, he turned and strode with brisk steps to the roof where he could mourn in peace.

  35

  Grief. That had to be what he was feeling—as though he had lost Jonathan all over again. He should never have allowed the woman to have such power over him. Didn’t he know that? Hadn’t he clung to that belief long ago?

  He had no one to blame but himself, of course. If he hadn’t allowed her innocent beauty to entice him, hadn’t succumbed to the longings of youthful love, hadn’t thought that the way to the kingdom might be through marrying into Saul’s family, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

  David closed his eyes where he sat among cushions in his rooftop pavilion and buried his face in his hands. It was weakness that made him so miserable. If the truth were known, women held his heart far too easily. And he never should have given so much of it to Michal.

  He had loved her once—thought he still did. Until today. But time had changed her. He could still feel the hatred in her glare, see the ice in her eyes.

  Could any woman’s love last?

  Jonathan would never have turned on him like that. But then Jonathan shared his love for Yahweh. Obviously Michal did not.

  Sudden restlessness overtook him. He stood and paced the small room, soon tiring of the confines of the darkened tent. He slipped under the flap and walked along the rim of the parapet.

  Was anyone left of the house of Jonathan? He’d vowed he would protect his friend’s family, but in all the struggles to advance the kingdom, he’d forgotten. How could he have been so faithless?

  His thoughts lashed out at him, berating him. Maybe he couldn’t change Michal’s heart, but he could do something for Jonathan’s offspring, if he could find them. He walked to the stairs where a guard stood.

  “My lord the king.” The guard bowed in respect.

  “Summon my counselors. Have them meet me in my private chambers.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The man turned to do his bidding.

  “Is anyone left of the house of Saul, that I may show him kindness for Jonathan’s sake?” David looked around at Ahithophel, Hushai, Joab, Benaiah, and Abishai, trusted soldiers and friends. If anyone could find this information for him, they could.

  “You mean besides Merab’s sons or the sons of Saul by his concubine, Rizpah?” A scowl worked its way up to Joab’s eyes. “Michal has already pushed hard for her nephews’ positions in your kingdom, my lord. You’ve been more than gracious toward her requests by even allowing them to live. Isn’t that kindness enough?”

  David heard the underlying bitterness in Joab’s tone and tented his fingers beneath his bearded chin. Merab’s sons were surly, insolent young men, a constant reminder of Saul’s slights against him. He had put up with them for Michal’s sake.

  But didn’t Jonathan have an heir?

  “Most kings would have killed every member of their rival’s families, my lord,” Ahithophel said. “Besides, if you pursue this, the people may think you need Saul’s goodwill to hold your kingdom together—that you are weak without Saul. And when they find out you’ve banished Michal, they may think you are grasping to hold their favor. With all due respect, my lord, you are stronger without Saul’s family.”

  David drummed his fingers on the cushion beside him. “I made a vow to Jonathan, Ahithophel. I am bound by honor and by Adonai to keep it.”

  The older man nodded his acquiescence. “In
that case,” he said, “I know of a servant of Saul—a man named Ziba. He may be able to answer your question.”

  David’s heart lifted. “Thank you, my friend.” He looked toward the standing guard. “Find Ziba and bring him to me.”

  “Mephibosheth is coming here?” Michal’s heart thumped at the painful memory of Jonathan’s crippled son. Sometimes, when she lay alone in her bed, Sarah’s distraught screams still rang in her ears, and the twisted legs of her nephew materialized before her closed eyes. She should have sought him out and demanded Paltiel allow her to care for him years ago when his mother died. Why had she let Paltiel’s aversion to his handicap keep her from compassion? And what would David do with him now?

  Fear gripped her, making her blood run cold. She looked warily at Keziah. “When?”

  “The servants said the caravan carrying Jonathan’s son was seen entering Jerusalem’s gates moments ago, my lady. They should be arriving at the palace shortly.”

  Why would David want Jonathan’s son except to harm him? “I have to warn him, Keziah. Before it’s too late.”

  Keziah placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Why do you fear, my lady? You cannot stop the king’s decree. Besides, has David harmed your other nephews or Rizpah’s sons?”

  Michal stared at the woman, her heartbeat slowing a pace. She was right, of course. David had never done anything to hurt her family. Why should she think any differently of him now?

  Except that now she had shown him how much she despised him. Her own loathing fueled her fear. He knew she hated him.

  And she knew he must hate her in return.

  She turned away from Keziah’s searching gaze and walked into her bedchamber, flinging herself across the bed. Why had she allowed her feelings to overcome her good sense? Why had she spoken such bitter words?

  Now it was too late.

  David rested both hands on the gilded arms of his throne, watching the crippled son of Jonathan drag his disfigured feet behind him. It had taken six months to find Saul’s servant Ziba and arrange for Mephibosheth to get here. Now Mephibosheth leaned heavily on Ziba’s arm across the length of the audience chamber. Pain beat a path to David’s heart. The son of Jonathan deserved better.

  When the young man reached the throne, he let go of the servant and fell to his face on the tiled floor.

  “Mephibosheth?” David’s voice filled with compassion.

  “Here is your servant!”

  David watched the man’s shoulders shake. He motioned to a guard to help Mephibosheth to his feet. When their eyes met, David smiled. “Do not fear, Mephibosheth, for I will surely show you kindness for Jonathan your father’s sake, and I will restore to you the land of Saul your grandfather, and you will eat bread at my table.”

  Mephibosheth bowed his head, his voice low. “What is your servant that you should look upon such a dead dog as I?”

  David studied Mephibosheth, searching for some resemblance to his old friend. The man was thin and weak limbed, but the somber olive brown eyes were Jonathan’s. He smiled, silently thanking the Lord that he could at last fulfill his vow.

  “Ziba,” David said to the servant, “I have given to your master’s son all that belonged to Saul and his house. Therefore you and your sons and your servants will work the land for him, and you will bring in the harvest, that your master’s son may have food to eat. But Mephibosheth your master’s son will always eat bread at my table.” David’s gaze shifted to Mephibosheth, warmed by the man’s awed smile.

  “According to all that my lord the king has commanded his servant, so will your servant do.” Ziba knelt, head bowed in respect.

  “As for Mephibosheth,” David said, smiling, “he will eat at my table like one of the king’s sons.”

  It was the least he could do.

  36

  Five Years Later

  Michal sat in the center of her private garden, fanning herself from the arid heat and staring at the sparse almond leaves and wilted flowers. Two years after Mephibosheth had come to live near David’s home, the famine had set in, and now, three years later, the drought had withered the plants and dried up the soil until the people cried continually at the king’s gate for something to be done.

  Surely by now David must realize that God was punishing them. Why else would He withhold life-giving rain and allow the heat to zap the moisture from the already dry land? The thought unnerved her. Could she be the cause? Was Adonai punishing the nation because she had despised her husband?

  Her gaze drifted across the garden to the life-size teraphim standing guard on either side of the entrance—household gods she had once vowed she would never look at again. She’d changed her mind when she realized David meant what he said and would never come back. Somehow the sight of them reminded her of happier days when David had belonged only to her.

  She choked out a brittle laugh. Even the memories mocked her, and she wondered, not for the first time, why she chose to torment herself with them. She bent to pick up a clump of dry earth and flung it at the teraphim. Her mother had once thought of the images as some kind of magic charm against her father’s demons. But they’d held no power to help her mother or father then or to help her realize her dreams now. They only managed to fuel her resentment. Ishby would have frowned on the images, and Jonathan would have demanded she destroy them.

  She bristled, frustrated at her own confused train of thought. If she hadn’t used one as a ruse to help David escape all those years ago, things might have been different.

  She brushed the remnants of dirt from her palms and went back to fanning herself. Who was she kidding? If she could do things over again, she would have helped him exactly as she had then. She’d loved him with abandon. And it had been the death of her dreams.

  Sighing, Michal stood and walked toward the teraphim, examining the carved wood and intricate gold overlay. David would smash them in a heartbeat if he knew.

  You shall have no other gods before Me. Jonathan’s words haunted her now. She was acting just like her mother. Perhaps Adonai was angry with her. Could her household gods be the cause of the famine?

  The thought made the blood drain from her face, and she thought she might faint. She needed air. But the air was oppressive inside and out, and she was sick to death of the small section of the house in which she was allowed.

  Cries from outside the palace walls drifted to her on the still afternoon air. Men and women should be resting on their beds until this heat wave ended. But their voices permeated the cedar beams and marble halls until Michal wanted to tear her hair out.

  She whirled about, shoved one of the teraphim on its side, and strode into her bedchamber, longing for relief. Guilt nudged her, but she shushed it away. It wasn’t her fault the land was ravaged by famine. How could it be? God wouldn’t condemn a whole nation because of one woman.

  And why did she even worry about such things? The problem rested with David. Let him find a solution.

  The audience chamber with its marble floors and cedar-lined walls offered little respite from the continuous oppressive heat. David drummed his fingers on one arm of his gilded throne while servants lifted palm branches and papyrus fans to cool the air around him. The prophet Nathan strode across the floor, arms tucked into the sleeves of his brown robe. When he reached the throne, David motioned for him to sit beside him.

  “Welcome, my friend. Thank you for coming.”

  “I could not have done otherwise, my king. You have something you need from me?” Nathan took the seat offered him and rested his hands on his knees. His aqua eyes sparkled, and his lips curved in pleasure. He was a tall man with a straight black beard and hair extending halfway down his back. The lean prophet, a few years David’s junior, had taken the Nazarite vow never to cut his hair or drink wine. He had joined David’s special council soon after the ark came to Jerusalem.

  David studied the simple dress and guileless smile of the prophet and sighed. Such an uncomplicated, joy-filled life Nathan lived, commun
ing with Yahweh day after day.

  “I want you to inquire of the Lord for me, Nathan. I need to know the cause of this famine.”

  Nathan stroked his beard. “You think the Lord is punishing Israel, my king?”

  David sighed heavily. “I wish I knew, Nathan. If He is, I need to know.”

  The prophet nodded and stood. “I will seek the Lord on your behalf, my lord.”

  David dipped his head in acknowledgment as Nathan walked from the room.

  During the evening meal, while David sat with his sons, Mephibosheth among them, Nathan strode into the dining hall. David stood at Nathan’s approach.

  “What has the Lord said to you?”

  Nathan’s gaze seized David’s, sending chills up his spine. “Thus says the Lord.” The clank of silver goblets and the din of voices drifted to silence. All eyes looked to the prophet. Nathan drew in a slow breath and spread his arms wide. “The cause of the famine is due to Saul and his bloody house because he tried to exterminate the Gibeonites.”

  David’s tense muscles relaxed, relieved his own guilt wasn’t the cause of such misery among his people. “Did the Lord say what I am to do about this?”

  Nathan shook his head. “No, my lord. This is all He said.”

  David sat back in his seat, his thoughts sifting through the possibilities. He would confer with his counselors and send for the leaders of the Gibeonites. There must be some way to make amends so the land would be blessed once again.

  The walled gardens directly opposite his bedchamber usually gave David a welcome respite from his hectic court life. But even here the drought reached, making fig trees fail to produce and normally shiny flowers droop, their petals falling like teardrops to the dry earth.