Bathsheba, Reluctant Beauty

by Angela Hunt

  I reached the well, waited for another woman to finish filling her jar, then caught the bucket. Lowering it into the well, I stared down the length of the rope, and every detail came flooding back—the king’s scent, the oily feel of his beard against my cheek, the drops of perspiration that dampened the hair on his chest . . .

  I groaned and closed my eyes. No matter how sincerely I wanted to forget, I couldn’t think of Uriah with bruises on my wrists and the smell of the king’s perfume on my skin.

  “Well met, Bathsheba.” I lifted my head to see one of Elisheba’s friends approaching, her brow raised. “A new tunic? The color suits you very well.”

  Abruptly realizing that I hadn’t noticed the color, I glanced at my sleeve. The fabric was royal blue, a shade far too rich for my station. I gave the woman a polite smile and another lie. “My grandfather is most generous.”

  The woman bobbed her head in appreciation. “You should wear that color more often, though I’ve never seen anyone but the king’s women wear it.”

  I tried to smile again, but my lips wobbled precariously and my gorge rose. I turned to the side and vomited, then stood, panting and weak-kneed, as my companion stared with wide eyes. “Are you ill? Should I fetch Elisheba?”

  I pressed my hand to my forehead as fresh memories of the king’s burning gaze rose in my memory. “Please. Tell her to come quickly.”

  “I need a bath. Please.”

  Elisheba chuckled and helped me sit on a small stool by the front door. “You need to sleep; that’s why you are sick. But Amaris is at her friend’s house, so you’ll have lots of time for a nap.”

  “I don’t want a nap. I need a bath.” I looked at her, hoping she could read the desperation in my eyes. I didn’t want to spill my secret, but I needed to be clean, I needed to wash every trace of the king from my body.

  Elisheba’s brow wrinkled, and something moved in her eyes as she studied me. “All right, then. I’ll draw a bath, and soon you’ll feel as good as new. Let me fetch some water and fill the trough outside—”

  I caught her arm in a death grip. “Not there. Never again out there. I need . . . to be clean, but I must bathe inside the house . . . where no one can see.”

  “Where no one can—” Elisheba’s smile faded, and she nodded and eased my hand from her arm. “We’ll have you feeling better in no time,” she said, filling a basin with water. “Almost ready. There. Lift your arms now.” She pulled the blue tunic over my head and began to fold it.

  “Don’t.” I crossed my arms over my nakedness. “Throw it away. I never want to see it again.”

  A line appeared between Elisheba’s brows. She dropped the tunic and placed a hand on her hip. “Enough,” she commanded, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m going to give you a sponge bath, and you’re going to tell me what’s troubling you.”

  I buried my face in my hands. How could I tell her that I had lost control over my own life? That the king had stolen my dignity, even my sense of self? I didn’t know who I was anymore. Was I the esteemed daughter of Eliam and the virtuous wife of Uriah, or was I a street prostitute? My life had become a confused tangle of fears and insecurities.

  “Bathsheba.” Elisheba stepped closer and lowered her voice. “You can tell me anything. Did someone insult you on your way back from the palace? Did someone . . . accost you?”

  I burst into tears. I had hoped I would be able to keep my secret forever, but Elisheba knew me too well. And I knew her—she would not rest until she had the entire story. So now she would have the truth whether or not she wanted to hear it.

  “I will tell you, but you cannot look at me. Please, turn away and let me speak to the wall.”

  I could see Elisheba’s mind working behind her eyes. She looked at me with a perplexed expression, as if she’d formed a question but lacked the courage to ask it. Then she nodded and moved behind me, sliding the basin to my side.

  I drew a deep breath as she dipped a sponge into the water.

  “That guard,” I began, flinching beneath the cool touch of the sponge, “took me to see the king. I thought . . . I was afraid he had bad news about Uriah, so I hurried. If I’d known what would happen, I would have sat in the road and refused to take a single step.”

  A small strangled sound came from Elisheba’s throat, but she asked no questions. “Go on,” she whispered, swishing her sponge in the bowl.

  So I told her everything. I told her about my protests, and I told her how the king had answered and what he had done. As I hugged my knees and shivered beneath her gentle ministrations, I heard her tongue click against her teeth as she ran the sponge over bruises on my arms.

  “He did not otherwise hurt you?” she asked when I had finished. She stepped in front of me, and when I did not look up, she put her hand under my chin and lifted my head. “Did he strike you? Did he force you to do anything . . . unnatural?”

  I stared, bewildered, then made a face. “No, no. He promised not to hurt me if I didn’t resist.”

  Elisheba breathed out a sigh. “I have heard of worse things done to women,” she said, her voice heavy with dread. “Among the Philistines and other nations, women are often subjected to unspeakable practices.”

  “I cannot imagine anything worse—”

  “Then bless Adonai for His mercy, child, and know that you will survive this. My heart breaks because this happened to you. I would have given my life in order to prevent it. But now you must go forward. You should obey the king, remain silent, and try to forget about what happened. Our king is as much a man as any other, and though I do not condone what he did, you had no choice. You are not to blame for this.”

  “But if Uriah finds out—”

  “Uriah is not here, nor will he be for some time. So rest, daughter, and put it out of your mind. In time, Uriah will come home, you will create a family, and you will forget everything that happened in the palace. Give yourself time to heal, child.”

  Elisheba slid the basin forward, then bade me step into it. As I crossed my arms and shivered, she climbed onto the stool and poured a pitcher of water over me, living streams that should have made me ritually clean.

  But when I stepped out of the basin and dried myself, I realized the bath had not washed away the king’s sin. A leper could not have felt more unclean than I did at that moment.

  After I put on a tunic and curled up on my sleeping mat, Elisheba draped a blanket over me and urged me to rest. I didn’t believe I would ever forget what had happened, and something in me wondered if I would ever be able to welcome my husband’s caress without thinking of how the king had touched me.

  As I drifted into drowsiness, I remembered how much pleasure my mother derived from the prophecy that I would be a tob woman, and I wished the prophet had cursed me instead.

  But Elisheba knew more about life than I did. Hoping she was right, I finally slept.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nathan

  FOR DAYS I HEARD NOTHING FROM HASHEM. I fasted and prayed and went about my daily work with an ear cocked for Adonai’s voice, certain the Lord had a reason for showing me what the king had done. I went to the palace and mingled with other men in the king’s courtyard. I watched counselors and courtiers and priests when they spoke openly and when they whispered in dark corners. None of them displayed any outward concern about the king’s character, and after a while I wondered if they would even care if their anointed king fornicated with a woman who was not his wife.

  Adultery was a grievous sin in Israel, resulting in a death penalty for both the man and woman. As a married man and woman were meant to be faithful to each other, so Israel was meant to be faithful to HaShem.

  But we had not executed anyone for adultery in years, perhaps generations.

  One afternoon as I visited the palace, I spotted Ahithophel crossing the courtyard. My spine stiffened. If my vision could be trusted—and I had no reason to believe it could not—this righteous man either suspected or knew that the king had transgressed. What
, if anything, had he done about it?

  I stepped out of the shade where I had been standing and greeted the king’s counselor. “Well met, Ahithophel.”

  He hesitated, then nodded in return. “Good day, prophet. I trust you are well?”

  I gave him an honest answer. “I have been greatly troubled of late. I have difficulty sleeping, and when I do sleep, I wake to find my pillow watered with tears.”

  Ahithophel tilted his head slightly. “For whom do you weep?”

  “For the king. And for Israel.”

  The old man’s brows flickered. “Why would you weep for our king?”

  “I have had a vision.” I lowered my voice to reach the chief counselor’s ear alone. “I saw the king looking out from his rooftop balcony. He spied a young woman at a house below and sent for her—a woman who did not belong to him. For all I know, she may have been another man’s wife.”

  “And for all you know, she may have been a virgin the king plans to marry next month.” The old man showed his yellowed teeth in an expression that was not a smile. “Why have you approached me about this matter?” His eyes narrowed. “In this vision of yours, the woman lived near the palace?”

  “She did.”

  “Could you identify this woman? Did you see her face?”

  I lifted my gaze to meet the older man’s. “I did not.”

  “Ah. Well.” The counselor looked away and pressed his lips into a thin line. “I would not worry about the matter. The king has always had a keen appetite when it comes to beautiful women. Good day.”

  Without another word, he turned and walked away.

  I stared after him, speechless. In my vision, Ahithophel had been clearly suspicious of the king’s activities. He spoke to David nearly every day, so had he said anything about the king’s actions on that night? The counselor was known as a virtuous man, so why hadn’t he said something to David?

  Perhaps he had, and the king had repented. If so, why had Adonai allowed me to glimpse the king’s lust? The Lord did not reveal hidden things for His own amusement. He expected something of me, but what?

  Perhaps Ahithophel had determined that the king intended no harm by sending a messenger to the woman at that late hour. But only a fool would come to that conclusion, and the king’s counselor was no fool.

  If Ahithophel had been suspicious, if he had witnessed the arrival of an innocent woman intended for the king’s pleasure, and if he had said nothing to the king, my mind could form only one conclusion: perhaps the counselor was hoarding his knowledge, holding it close to his breast, either out of love for David or out of personal ambition.

  Which was it? I waited, hoping Adonai would grant me some insight, but the Spirit of Adonai did not answer.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Bathsheba

  THE TRUTH ARRIVED, not as an exhilarating burst of mental illumination but as a sliver of understanding that connected to a moment of revelation and an inescapable feeling of guilt. Willingly or not, I had enticed the king to commit the act that haunted my sleep and filled me with disgust. Because I was a tob woman, I had to bear the blame and the shame for everything that happened.

  My emotions vacillated from one extreme to the other after that fateful night. For Amaris’s sake, and for Elisheba’s, I tried to pretend nothing had happened and I had not been changed. But in the midst of my daily activities I would close my eyes and see the patterned canopy over the king’s couch. I would wake feeling nauseous with memory, so my appetite waned. Often in the course of a day I would inhale a scent I had breathed on that rooftop—a honeysuckle vine, or a perfumed oil—and my stomach would churn.

  I cried easily. I wanted to sleep longer than usual, and little annoyances infuriated me to the point that I once picked up Elisheba’s favorite oil lamp and flung it against the wall, shattering it.

  Though Amaris gaped at my uncharacteristic display of temper, Elisheba did not rebuke me, but picked up the broken pottery and urged me to lie down. I had never spent so much time sleeping, but what else could I do with the rest of my life?

  As the time for my monthly courses drew near, I dreaded the thought of my ritual bath. Elisheba would not want to move the heavy mikvah into the house, but I would never again be able to bathe in the back garden. The goat might not care if the king spied from above, but in the past month I hadn’t even been able to go out and milk her. Amaris had taken over the chore after Elisheba said I missed Uriah too much to spend time in the courtyard, where we used to watch the stars together.

  Though my bruises had faded, my wounds remained. Exacerbating them was a growing fear that I would not be able to greet my husband without giving away my secret. How could I let him hold me without feeling the king’s hands on my arms? How could I let him look at me without remembering the king’s scorching stare? My future looked hopeless, and I dreaded the day I would see Uriah again. How could I welcome him, soiled and shamed as I was?

  Days passed, and yet my courses did not flow. I told myself that my emotional upset had confused my body. I thought I would eventually return to normal, but until then I would continue to sleep like a dead woman and sicken at the slightest memory of the king.

  After seven weeks had passed, Elisheba sent Amaris out to milk the goat, then she caught my arm. She had been watching me with wary eyes, and with a firm voice she bade me sit.

  “You have not bled this month,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “I fear you are with child.”

  For the briefest instant, my heart expanded with exhilaration. I’d been praying for a baby, and Adonai had finally answered.

  But Elisheba’s sober expression reminded me of what I had momentarily forgotten. I wanted Uriah’s baby, and this child wouldn’t be his. I had been bleeding when he departed, so when my husband learned about this pregnancy, he would have every right to turn me out or have me stoned for adultery. Serious consequences, but more awful than death was the realization that my beloved Uriah would believe I had willingly gone to another man’s bed.

  “Elisheba, what shall I do?” The words broke from my lips in an agonized cry. “Uriah will know, and the news will kill him.”

  Elisheba pressed her lips together and dipped her head in a decisive nod. “I have been thinking about this, and I believe you have only one recourse. You did not willingly commit this sin against your husband; the blame belongs to another. So you must send word to that person and tell him what has happened. If he possesses even a shred of righteousness, he will do the right thing.”

  “But what is the right thing? Will he ask Uriah to divorce me? I don’t want Uriah to know about this. I love him. I don’t want to hurt him. I want to have his babies.”

  Elisheba sucked at the inside of her cheek for a minute, her brows working over her eyes. “I don’t know what the king will do. But the blame is his, so he should shoulder this responsibility. You must send word to him at once.”

  “I’m to blame.” I paced in front of her, clenching and unclenching my hands. “I should not have been bathing when the king was outside.”

  “How were you to know he was on the roof?”

  “If we’d placed the trough in the front courtyard—”

  “Then some other man might have seen you. Where else were you supposed to put the water trough, in the house? You were bathing inside your own courtyard. You were not exhibiting yourself.”

  “But I must have done something. I am a tob woman—”

  “Stop.” Elisheba grabbed my hands and held them as if she could still my frantic thoughts. “Do not do this. You are innocent; he is guilty. You are a beautiful woman, but he is a king who should follow Adonai’s Law. Do not take his sin upon yourself.”

  I wanted to believe her, but the rock of guilt in the pit of my stomach had not eroded with the passing days. “But Uriah is also innocent, and he will suffer for this. He will believe I was unfaithful. He will think I didn’t love him, that I wasn’t willing to wait for him—”

  “Not if the king confesses
the truth.” Elisheba reached out and smoothed my tear-stained cheek. “I don’t know what possessed our king in this moment of folly, but your father always said that David truly fears the Lord. So trust the king to do the right thing, child. Trust your husband to know how much you love him. And trust in Adonai. His ways are far above our ways.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. I wanted to trust, but how could I be sure I wouldn’t be cast off or forsaken? The only completely trustworthy person I knew was Elisheba.

  Slowly, I met her gaze. “Will you come with me? If I go to the palace?”

  “I will, child.”

  After a long moment in which I fought for self-control, I squeezed Elisheba’s hands, plucked my cloak from the hook by the door, and called to Amaris in the back courtyard, “We are going out, sister. We’ll return soon.”

  With Elisheba by my side, I walked to the palace and waited outside the gate until I saw the guard who had escorted me to the rooftop. After catching his attention, I pulled him to the side of the road and gave him a message for the king. “Tell no one else,” I finished, glancing around to be sure no one watched us. “And tell the king I’ll be waiting for his reply.”

  The man glanced from me to Elisheba, whose face had gone fierce with protective love, then he left us.

  Without the surge of courage that had propelled me to the palace, my knees went weak. I clung to Elisheba’s arm and prayed she was right about the king’s virtue. Though I couldn’t see any way to salvage the situation with my honor and dignity intact, I would be content to safeguard my husband’s love. If the king would summon Uriah and accept the blame for this pregnancy, Uriah might be able to forgive his king and accept this child as his own.

  And in time, perhaps I could do likewise.

  The next day I wandered restlessly through the house, my nerves as tight as harp strings. Every time I heard a voice in the street I hastened to the window, but hours passed with no sign of the guard who’d carried my message to the king. What if he had ignored my request? What if the king had ignored my message? How long should I wait before I took some other action?