by Angela Hunt
Was the king here? If he had news of the battle, I would have expected him to meet me in his council chamber or the great hall.
I did not have time to ponder the odd setting, for the guard placed his hand in the small of my back and prodded me forward, his touch altogether too rough for a man who’d been sent to fetch a warrior’s widow. I glanced back to rebuke him with a look, but his dark eyes remained impassive and unreadable. Instead of speaking, he pointed toward the canopy.
With no other choice, I walked past the line of potted palms and caught my breath when I recognized the red-bearded man seated on a couch. Since the return of the Ark, I had seen King David only from a distance, and on those occasions he had always seemed regal, strong, and impressive. Now, softened by twilight and with no more space between us than was proper for an ordinary man and woman, he looked far less royal and more like the man who had danced in the dust.
Only when he lifted his gaze did I fully realize where I was.
“O King, live forever.” I collapsed on the floor as my quivering knees gave way. I stretched my hands toward the king of all Israel and struggled to find breath to speak. “If I have found mercy in your sight, please tell me what news you have of Uriah the Hittite.”
Keeping my gaze downcast, I heard him utter two words to the guard. “Leave us.”
Was the news so dire he could not bear to share it before a guard? A tumble of confused thoughts and feelings assailed me, but I knew I ought to remain bowed and submissive until the king gave me permission to rise. Grandfather had taught me about official protocol, but at that moment I had neither the patience nor the discipline for royal rules. Desperate for news of my husband, I raised my gaze to study the king’s face, searching for some hopeful sign. Perhaps Uriah had been captured, or perhaps he had been injured while on patrol. As long as his body hadn’t been discovered, I could hope, the king could negotiate, and others could search for him. Together we could find some way to bring my husband home.
My stomach dropped, however, when I beheld the king’s expression. The eyes I had never examined at close range were not cloudy with grief or soft with compassion; they sparked. They burned, in fact, with the same heat I saw in Uriah’s eyes when he came home after a long day and wanted to take pleasure in his wife. I delighted in that look when I discovered it in my husband’s eyes, but seeing it in the king’s . . .
Cold panic bloomed between my shoulder blades and ran down my spine.
“By all that is holy, you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” The king leaned forward and grinned, his hot gaze searing my skin. “When I looked out and saw you bathing, I knew I had to have you.”
I covered my ears, unable to trust what I’d heard. This could not be happening. The king possessed a harem of women, many of them famous for their beauty, and all of them righteously belonged to him. He ruled over an entire kingdom of families with beautiful virgin daughters, any one of whom would willingly leave her home to become a royal wife. He could have any unmarried woman he wanted, so why did he send for me?
“My lord and king.” I lowered my head in the proper posture of submission. “I am honored you sent for me, but I came because I thought you had news about Uriah, my husband. He has been at Rabbah with the army these past five months—”
I did not have an opportunity to finish. Without warning the king loomed over me, his hands clasping my wrists like iron manacles. I gasped as he lifted me to my feet, and his mouth smothered mine before I could remind him yet again that I belonged to another.
Somehow, even as his hands gripped my wrists, he found the cord that tied my cloak and loosened the knot. My mantle slid away from me, leaving me exposed and vulnerable in my light tunic.
I stood, stiff and still, as urgent thoughts pushed and jostled in my head. The king tasted of wine, he smelled of perfumed oils, and his mouth felt hard and demanding. What was I to do? For a moment I considered slapping him in the hope of bringing him to his senses, but he still held my wrists, and who was I to strike the king? I thought about screaming when he finally pulled his mouth from mine, but even if someone heard, who would take action against Adonai’s anointed ruler? Not the guard who had brought me to this place, and surely not the servants. No one would come to my aid. The king was the king, and he could do as he pleased with his people.
Familiar words from a long-dead prophet whirled in my head. “She will be a tob woman.” One who possessed intoxicating beauty. One who would be desired. Coveted. Craved.
The king’s mouth traveled down my neck, over my thin linen tunic, and pressed against my breasts. In that moment I would have given my life to be ugly.
“My lord, please.” My voice trembled. “You are a far better king than this. I am your servant, but I am another man’s wife—”
“If the king cannot take what he wants, why is he king?”
The words were a warning growl. The inner trembling that had begun when the guard appeared in our courtyard now spread to my limbs. I shuddered as he pushed me onto the couch and gasped when he planted his knee, forcing a space between my legs. “My lord and king,” I begged, openly weeping, “please let me go. I will say nothing of this. I will go home and remain silent like a good soldier’s wife. You have other women. You have but to send for them, and they will come. You are king of Israel; nothing righteous will ever be denied you—”
“Be quiet now, and do not resist.” A feral light gleamed in the depths of his eyes as he stared down at me. “I will not hurt you if you do not struggle. And no one ever need know.”
No one? I would know. I would never forget this horror, nor would I ever hear his name without reliving these moments. How was I supposed to face my husband, who adored the king? How was I supposed to listen to my Uriah praise Adonai’s anointed one?
What could I say to the man above me? He had not listened to reason, and I had run out of words. I neither wanted nor welcomed his attentions, but he was a king and I a mere woman. All I could do was surrender . . . and trust him to keep his word about keeping this secret.
Because greater than this sin would be the sin of hurting my honorable, loyal, and trusting husband.
In reluctant acquiescence, I stopped struggling. The king loosened his grip on my wrists, apparently satisfied that I would not strike or claw at him.
As my arms went limp, I closed my eyes and felt my heart turn to ice as the king of Israel used me for his personal pleasure. During the assault, I focused my thoughts on Uriah and promised myself that I would remain silent to protect the man I loved. I would not speak of this to Elisheba, or Amaris, or even Adonai, because I could not understand how HaShem could know everything and do nothing as I suffered.
When the king had finished, he sat on the edge of the couch without looking at me, poured himself another cup of wine, and then summoned a guard. “A new tunic,” he told the man, jerking his thumb toward me. “The other is ruined.”
The guard glanced at me, then removed his cloak and held it open, silently indicating that I should stand and wrap myself in it. Ignoring him, I darted toward my own cloak, then wrapped it around me. I waited, silent and shivering, until the guard returned a few moments later with a tunic to replace my torn garment.
When I had again made myself presentable, I left the king sitting in a chair, sipping from his cup and gazing into the darkness. The guard led me down the stairs, then escorted me home.
But I did not go inside the house. Unable to face Elisheba and Amaris, I curled up like a wounded animal on the gritty stones of our courtyard and wept until daybreak.
Chapter Twelve
Nathan
THE SUN SEEMED TO RISE RELUCTANTLY the morning after my vision. Weak, gray light seeped into my house, announcing an end to my sleepless night and the beginning of a dreaded day. I stared at the rugged ceiling beams as the darkness thinned, unable to look at my wife or daughters lest they wake and see the distress on my face.
I had not seen everything in my vision. In His mercy,
Adonai had spared me the violence of what must have happened after David learned the woman’s identity, but I had seen enough to know that the Lord’s anointed king had coveted a beautiful woman and sent for her. If David had only lusted, Adonai would have forgiven him, and the Lord would not have shown me the event. If the king had learned that the woman was married and put thoughts of her aside, again, Adonai would have forgiven and forgotten the offense. But the God who knows past, present, and future had known what would happen after David lusted for that beauty, and Adonai wanted me to see the result of a darkness that had entered the king’s heart.
Our beloved king, who had been anointed to replace disobedient Saul, had also disobeyed the Law and the moral instruction given to Adonai’s chosen people. Why? Because he believed he could get away with sin.
I closed my eyes as Ornah stirred beside me. I had not yet regained my composure, and better that she should think me asleep than to know what troubled my thoughts.
What did Adonai expect me to do with the knowledge He’d given me? I could go to the palace and confront the king, but few men relished being caught in their crimes, and fewer still handled rebuke with gracious repentance. David might say that a king had the right to take whatever he wanted, and most of his counselors would support his position. I would look like a fool, and for what? If the woman had not been injured, some would say no harm had been done. To my knowledge, the king had not violated a child or committed any unnatural act. He had simply seen a lovely woman and sent for her, practicing the same right held by the kings of the many peoples around us.
But David . . . I had held such hope for him. I had placed such faith in him. He was a better man than the king I watched last night.
Unable to remain motionless a moment longer, I swung my legs off the mattress and rested my head on my knees as my heart filled with despair. Was Israel doomed to be led by men who allowed power to corrupt their minds and hearts? Could any man be trusted with the authority and responsibility necessary to govern the affairs of a nation?
HaShem had warned us that our cry for a king would result in misery. Samuel told the people that a king would draft our sons and assign them to his army, making them run before his chariots. Some would be generals and captains in his military forces, some would be forced to plow in his fields and harvest his crops, and some would make his weapons and chariots. He would take the best of our fields and vineyards and olive groves and give them to his officials. He would take a tenth of our grain and grape harvest and distribute it among his officers and attendants. He would take our male and female slaves and demand our finest young men; he would take our donkeys and force them to carry his loads. He would demand a tenth of our flocks, and we would be his slaves. And he would take our daughters . . .
But Israel did not listen. We insisted that we wanted to be like the nations around us, and now we were. Our king was as prone to evil as their kings, and last night David had been every bit as predatory.
I slid onto my knees and asked HaShem if I should go to the king and admonish him for his misdeed. But I heard no response.
I exhaled slowly, grateful that Adonai had not told me to confront David. This sin would remain hidden until Adonai chose to reveal it, yet one small detail gave me hope. In my vision, as the guard hurried down the palace stairs, I saw Ahithophel, the king’s chief counselor, pause in the courtyard to watch the guard rush by. With his brow crinkled, the counselor followed the guard to the gate as the man exited, then Ahithophel crossed his arms and leaned against a pillar, apparently eager to see for whom the guard had been so speedily dispatched.
I was not the only one who witnessed last night’s events at the palace. Servants had seen, and at least one guard knew what the king had done. Ahithophel, reported to be the wisest man in the king’s court, had been alerted that something might be amiss. None of those people were likely to confront the king about his unrighteous behavior, but neither were they likely to deny my vision should Adonai command me to reveal it.
I lifted my head and opened my eyes in time to see Ornah prop herself on one elbow and regard me with a speculative gaze.
Chapter Thirteen
Bathsheba
I ROSE BEFORE DAYBREAK, stumbled through darkness to the courtyard gate, and walked to the well in the gray gloom of a dawning day. After reaching the well, I leaned on the edge for support as my legs began to quiver. My thoughts kept drifting into a fuzzy haze, a mishmash of memories, sensations, and pain.
I gripped the stones beneath my palms and forbade myself to tremble. Nothing moved in the stillness but a wayward chicken, so no one was around to notice that I was dirty and terrified. That I was not myself.
Quietly I pulled the rope and drew water. When I had splashed the last traces of sand and grit from my face, I smoothed my hair with wet hands and walked home, firmly placing one foot in front of the other until I reached our courtyard. Then I slipped inside the house and pulled a pat of resting dough from my bread bowl.
I was desperately kneading it when Elisheba’s hand dropped onto my shoulder. The unexpected touch caused me to flinch and draw back in terror.
“Sorry.” Elisheba’s eyes widened. “And I’m sorry I fell asleep before you came in last night. I tried to stay awake, because I was desperate to know—how is our dear Uriah?”
I avoided her gaze. “He is well.”
“The king summoned you to say that?”
Fresh tears stung my eyes as I struggled for words. The king had not only forced me to lie with him; now I would have to lie to my dearest friend. “The king—” I punched the dough—“wanted to tell me that Uriah was a fine soldier.”
Elisheba said nothing, but from the corner of my eye I saw her cross her arms and lean against the wall, her appraising eye focused on me. The intensity of her gaze scalded my skin.
“I don’t mean to upset you,” she said, her voice low and controlled, “but the king does not send for a soldier’s wife to share such mundane news. So what did he really say?”
My hands clawed at the dough. How could I do this? But better, surely, for Elisheba to believe a hundred lies than to know one horrible truth.
“Apparently”—my voice sounded strangled to my own ears—“there was some sort of ambush outside Rabbah. Uriah risked his life to save others. His act was unusually brave, the king said, so he wanted me to know my husband was a hero. He said we should be proud of him.”
Panic flitted across Elisheba’s face. “Was Uriah hurt? Poor man, charging into the fray like that. If he was injured, he ought to come home and mend here—”
“He wasn’t hurt.” I gave her a tight smile. “He could have been, but he wasn’t.”
Elisheba clasped her hands. “May Adonai be praised. HaShem has sheltered our Uriah.”
“So it would seem.” I kept my attention on my bread, working the dough as if I had to beat it into submission.
“Did the king give you that new tunic?”
I clenched my jaw as memory filled my ears with the sound of tearing cloth. A scream rose at the back of my throat, but somehow I transformed it into words. “Yes. A gift.”
“It’s lovely.”
“Is it?”
“Of course. But you would look lovely in anything, child.”
I snatched a quick breath. “It really doesn’t suit me. I don’t think I want it.”
“Really?” Elisheba tilted her head. “All right, then. Give it to someone else.” She turned away, then hesitated. “You were out very late. Did it take so long for the king to give you this news?”
“One cannot simply walk into the palace and see the king.” Exasperation clipped my voice. “Others demand his attention, too. I had to wait.”
“Oh.” She spoke in a quiet, wounded tone. My sharp reply had hurt her, so again my conscience smote me.
“Elisheba, I am sorry.” I lifted my sticky hands and met her gaze straight on. “I didn’t sleep well last night. Please forgive me for being short with you. I am exhausted.”
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“Of course you are.” Elisheba stepped forward to squeeze my shoulders, then moved to the corner where Amaris slept. “How is our little bird faring today? I know she slept—even in my dreams I heard her snoring.”
As Elisheba woke Amaris and helped her roll her sleeping mat, I patted my dough into a rectangle and set it on the coals smoldering in our fire pit. I washed my hands in a basin and looked around, eager for something else to do. If I could stay busy with ordinary things, maybe I would be able to convince myself that nothing had happened. The king had stolen only a few hours of my life, so if I put my troubling thoughts aside, I ought to be able to resume living at the point where my ordinary life had been interrupted. I would fill our pitchers at the well while the air was still cool. I would speak to the other women and laugh at their stories. I would milk the goat and make cheese. I would take mature cheeses to the market and haggle with visitors to Jerusalem. In time, if I kept working and talking and haggling, I would forget all about my encounter with the king.
“Elisheba . . .” I pulled a scarf from a basket and wrapped it around my hair. “I am going to fetch water.”
“I’ll go for you,” she answered. “As soon as I help Amaris dress—”
“I would like some fresh air,” I assured her, lifting an empty pitcher. “I’ll be back soon.”
With the pitcher on my hip, I stepped outside and again followed the road to the well. How many times had I walked this path with a smile on my lips? Until last night I had generally been a happy bride. I’d experienced a few frustrations, of course, but I had celebrated my love for my husband with every bucket I pulled to the surface. I worked eagerly, happy to be serving my family, and smiled “me too” smiles at other women with husbands and families.
How could I face Uriah after last night? Would I ever be able to think of him without a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach?