Bathsheba, Reluctant Beauty

by Angela Hunt

  “That is the appointed sign,” I told the king, eyeing him steadily. “The ram’s horn has been blown, and even now your people are shouting, ‘Absalom has been crowned king in Hebron.’”

  The piercing blast of the shofar seemed to stir the king from his complacency. He lifted his head, closed his eyes for a moment, and then rose from his chair. With an energy I had not seen him display in years, he strode across the dining hall shouting orders. “We must flee at once!” he said to the military men who stood guard at the door. “Hurry! If we leave Jerusalem before Absalom arrives, both we and the city will be spared from disaster.”

  Bathsheba, Solomon, and I followed the king to his throne room, where men from his personal guard had gathered at the sound of the shofar. Joab also stood there, his face tense and anxious, and he spoke for the others, saying they would do whatever David wanted them to do—even stay and fight, if necessary, to defend the city.

  But David had no heart for war against his handsome son. “No, we must leave,” he said, absently looking around for members of his household. “We must all go.”

  “All?” a servant asked.

  “All but . . .” Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, the king seemed to sort through a mental list of the people who depended on him. “All but ten of my concubines. Leave them behind to look after the house.”

  The servants responded with quick obedience, and within the hour a caravan of warriors, servants, and members of the royal family streamed out of the palace, carrying baskets packed with food, clothing, and whatever else they could find. Since the king did not know whom to trust—the realization that Ahithophel had joined Absalom both shocked and hurt David—he did not muster soldiers from Israel’s army but allowed the foreign troops of his bodyguard to accompany him. Six hundred Philistines, Kerethites, and Pelethites filed out of their barracks and strapped on their swords. They loaded donkeys with supplies and kept order as the king’s household fled the palace and walked away from Jerusalem.

  As we neared my house, the last before a wide stretch of wilderness, I approached the king and asked if he wanted my wife to bring water. He cast me a look of gratitude and nodded, so the sad travelers halted while Ornah drew water from our well. My wife and daughters stared at David in abject horror. Though surprised to find the king at their door, they were astounded to see him bent and broken, with thinning hair, a gray beard, and wearing a defeated expression.

  Most of the travelers remained in line, but Bathsheba left Solomon with his brothers and came forward to help Ornah at the well. Ornah poured while Bathsheba held a pitcher, then Bathsheba carried water to the thirsty people in line. When one of the guards protested that the king’s wife should not do common work, Bathsheba gave the man a wry smile and said that hauling water was not new to her.

  I was standing near the king when David turned to Ittai, a leader of the men from Gath. “Why are you coming with us?” he asked, his voice brimming with uncertainty. “Go back, stay with the king, for you are a guest in Israel. You arrived only recently, and why should I force you to wander with us? I don’t even know where we will go. Go back and take your kinsmen with you, and may Adonai show you His unfailing love and faithfulness.”

  I flinched when David referred to Absalom as “the king.” Had he completely given up? Absalom might have had himself proclaimed king, but until Adonai proclaimed it as well, I would never refer to the upstart by that title.

  Apparently Ittai agreed with me. The warrior thrust out his chest and answered David, “I vow by Adonai and by your own life that I will go wherever my lord the king goes, no matter what happens—whether it means death or life.”

  And so David left Jerusalem in the company of women, children, servants, and foreigners. At the rear of the procession, Zadok led a priestly contingent of Levites, who carried the Ark of the Covenant. But when David spied the Ark, he told Zadok to take it back to the Tabernacle. “If I find favor in Adonai’s sight, He will bring me back and let me again see the Ark and the place where it is kept. But if He says, ‘I am displeased with you,’ then here I am. Let Adonai do to me whatever seems good to Him.”

  Though David sent the priests away, he was not above using them for political purposes. I for one was glad to see that the king had not forgotten the lessons he had learned in warfare. Clearly he remembered the value of a good spy.

  As Zadok turned to leave, David caught the priest’s sleeve. “Look,” he told the man, “you and Abiathar should return quietly to the city with your son Ahimaaz and Abiathar’s son, Jonathan. I will stop at the shallows of the Jordan River and wait there for a report from you.”

  The priestly contingent turned and walked back to Jerusalem, with Zadok and Abiathar carrying the Ark back to the Tabernacle. They would remain in Jerusalem to wait for Absalom and his army.

  Meanwhile, those of us who followed David felt our hearts break as the aging king set out for the Mount of Olives. Weeping as he went, his shoulders hunched in defeat, the king covered his head with his prayer shawl and walked with bare feet over the dusty road. The men and women from the settlements we passed wept as well, horrified and aggrieved to see the pride of all Israel, the king who had unified our nation, brought so low.

  By the son he had loved above all others.

  I followed David, of course. Leaving my family to wait at home, I remained with the king, traveling a few steps behind Bathsheba, Solomon, and Elisheba, the old woman. And as we walked, my thoughts centered on the prophecy I had shared with the king so many years before. Adonai had promised to discipline David with blows, but I had never imagined a blow as hard as this one.

  David’s glorious kingdom lay in shambles at his feet, but if he had remained within the city, Jerusalem might have been destroyed by sword and fire. And yet Adonai had promised him an eternal dynasty. . . .

  At a moment like this, Ornah would have asked me how I managed to cling to my faith.

  After crossing the Kidron Valley on the eastern side of Jerusalem, David began a long, slow climb up the Mount of Olives. He moved woodenly, like a man whose heart is broken, so it was easy for a mounted messenger to catch him and confirm that Ahithophel, the king’s chief counselor, had aligned himself with Absalom.

  I stood close enough to hear David’s brief prayer: “Turn the counsel of Ahithophel into foolishness, O Lord.”

  As David walked, he poured out his heart in a spontaneous psalm:

  Adonai, how many enemies I have!

  How countless are those attacking me;

  how countless those who say of me,

  “There is no salvation for him in God.”

  But you, Adonai, are a shield for me;

  you are my glory, you lift my head high.

  With my voice I call out to Adonai,

  and he answers me from his holy hill.

  I lie down and sleep, then wake up again,

  because Adonai sustains me.

  I am not afraid of the tens of thousands

  set against me on every side.

  Rise up, Adonai!

  Save me, my God!

  For you slap all my enemies in the face,

  you smash the teeth of the wicked.

  Victory comes from Adonai;

  may your blessing rest on your people.

  When we reached the summit, we encountered Hushai, who had been a loyal counselor to the king. Ordinarily a well-dressed and commanding figure, Hushai wore a torn garment, and he had poured dirt over his head and beard. He, too, was mourning a king dethroned. But David seemed to take courage from the sight of a counselor who had not deserted him.

  Moments after greeting Hushai, David suggested that the man clean himself up and return to Jerusalem. “If you cross over the river with me, you will be a burden to me,” David gently explained. “But if you return to Jerusalem and tell Absalom you will be his loyal servant, you can overturn any counsel Ahithophel gives to the young man. Won’t Zadok and Abiathar the priests be there with you? Whatever you hear from
the king’s house, tell Zadok and Abiathar. They will tell their two sons, Ahimaaz and Jonathan, and they will come and tell me whatever you have heard.”

  The king did not have to persuade Hushai, who promptly rose, gave the king his solemn vow, and took the path that led down the Mount of Olives. He was a younger man and swift of foot, and I had every reason to believe he would soon appear in Absalom’s throne room looking every bit like an advisor prepared to transfer his loyalties.

  Watching him go, I had to smile. David had asked Adonai to thwart Ahithophel, and a moment later we spied Hushai, the perfect man to serve as an answer to David’s prayer. Sometimes, I reflected, HaShem worked His will through the service of faithful men.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Bathsheba

  NOT KNOWING IF WE WERE BEING PURSUED, we dared not tarry long on the Mount of Olives. We set out again, traversing the opposite slope, and in the distance we spotted a caravan of donkeys led by a man with several servants. One of the king’s soldiers rode ahead to determine whether the man was friend or foe, and in a short time we had an answer. The man was Ziba, the servant of Jonathan’s son Mephibosheth. On those saddled donkeys Ziba had loaded two hundred loaves of bread, a hundred fluffy cakes, pounds of fruit, and a large jug of wine. He was a most welcome sight, as we were exhausted from hunger, travel, and heartbreak.

  When David asked what the provisions were for, Ziba prostrated himself before the king. “These donkeys are for the king’s household to ride on, the bread and the summer fruit are for the lads to eat, and the wine for the exhausted to drink in the wilderness.”

  David looked around for Mephibosheth. When he did not see the young man, he asked Ziba about his master.

  Ziba hung his head. “My master is remaining in Jerusalem. I heard him say, ‘Today the house of Israel will return my father’s kingdom to me.’”

  I covered my mouth when I heard this, for despite what Grandfather had said about David helping Mephibosheth only because he wanted to keep his enemy close, I could not imagine anyone repaying the king’s kindness with such brazen disloyalty. David must have had the same thought, for he clasped Ziba’s shoulder and said, “Today, everything of Mephibosheth’s has become yours.”

  The servant prostrated himself yet again. “May I find favor in your eyes, my lord the king.”

  I sat on a rock, my head spinning with the day’s bizarre events. Men I would have considered forever loyal had turned on us, including my own grandfather. Worse yet was the realization that Grandfather had known about Absalom’s plans for some time. He had been involved in a conspiracy of treason, and why? He could not believe that prideful Absalom would be a better ruler than Adonai’s anointed king!

  After eating and drinking to fuel our weary bodies, we walked on, desperate to find a place where we could set up a defensible camp. I insisted that Abigail ride one of the donkeys and I walked beside her, knowing that each jarring step caused her pain. Her young handmaid had disappeared, probably losing herself in the crowd so she would not have to witness her mistress’s suffering.

  People poured out of their settlements as we passed by, some of them weeping, others cursing. A man called Shimei cursed David, calling him a “bloodstained fiend of hell” and claiming that the king’s sorrow was punishment from the Lord for spilling the blood of Saul’s house. “The Lord is paying you back for all the bloodshed in Saul’s clan,” Shimei ranted. “You stole his throne, and now the Lord has given it to your son Absalom. At last you will taste some of your own medicine, for you are a murderer!”

  Better than anyone, I knew my husband was guilty of murder, but I also knew he had been forgiven. But forgiveness did not eliminate the consequences of bloodshed, not in our family, nor in the kingdom of Israel. David had killed scores of men in his struggles against Saul, and when it came to spilled blood, people had long memories.

  When Abishai, the leader of the Thirty, asked for permission to lop off Shimei’s head, David gave him a weary smile and said, “If the Lord has told him to curse me, who are you to stop him? My own son is trying to kill me. Doesn’t this relative of Saul have even more reason to do so?” He stopped walking and used his sleeve to mop his brow. “Leave him alone and let him curse, for the Lord has told him to do it. And perhaps the Lord will see that I am being wronged and will bless me because of these curses today.”

  So we kept walking, accompanied by the curses and stones Shimei and his clan threw in our direction. I looked over at David, my husband and king, and wondered if he truly believed that Adonai had led this man and so many others to curse him. Curses, like blessings, were powerful when issued in Adonai’s name.

  We did not stop again until we reached the banks of the Jordan River.

  We were resting near the Jordan when two men approached on foot, breathless and drenched with sweat. Abishai stopped them at the edge of our encampment, questioned them, and then promptly escorted them into the royal tent, where David, Solomon, Joab, Abigail, and I had sought shelter from the sun.

  David recognized the two young men, Ahimaaz and Jonathan, sons of the priests Zadok and Abiathar. They had received a report from Hushai. As soon as I saw the messengers, I knew that Absalom had taken his father’s city and his throne.

  “We were spotted leaving the house where we were stationed,” Jonathan said, breathlessly explaining their delay to the king. “We got as far as Bahurim before we realized we were being pursued, so a woman there hid us in her well. When Absalom’s man asked where we had gone, she sent them in the wrong direction, which allowed us to escape without notice.”

  David’s eyes flashed, and in that moment his countenance filled with the spirit of a younger man. In his fighting days he had been as clever and slippery as these two.

  “And what is the state of affairs in Jerusalem?” he asked.

  Ahimaaz stepped forward. “If it please my lord and king, the young Absalom asked advice of two counselors, Ahithophel and Hushai. Ahithophel advised setting out in pursuit of you tonight, while you and the people with you are weary and weak. He promised he himself would lead the army. He said he would so frighten the people that they would desert, so he would have to kill no one but you.”

  Despite the heat, a tide of gooseflesh rippled up my arms and neck. Ahimaaz did not glance in my direction as he repeated my grandfather’s words, and neither did David. But Solomon looked at me with questioning eyes. How could I explain his great-grandfather’s bloody offer?

  “But,” Jonathan added, “the king’s friend Hushai advised Absalom to wait until he had raised an army from every tribe of Israel. He said Absalom should have an army as numerous as the sand on the seashore, and that Absalom should personally lead the troops, and that they should kill everyone in the king’s party and destroy any town that might give sanctuary to the king and his household.”

  I shivered again, for Hushai’s advice had been far bloodier than Grandfather’s. Kill everyone? Even innocent women and children?

  David looked from Ahimaaz to Jonathan, his brows knitting. “And what did Absalom decide?”

  Jonathan glanced at his companion before answering. “My lord and king, Absalom and his men decided to wait and take Hushai’s advice. But you should cross the Jordan tonight in case he changes his mind.”

  David exchanged a look with Joab before giving his reply: “We will cross immediately and set up our camp at Mahanaim.”

  Mahanaim proved to be an oasis in the desert. We crossed the Jordan in the middle of the night—a task not without perils of its own, especially when the king’s household included the young, the sick, and the old—and walked until we reached Mahanaim, a fortified city. Friends of the king warmly welcomed us: Shobi, from Rabbah, the city where Uriah had died; Makir, from Lodebar; and Barzillai from Rogelim. They took one look at our wet, weary group and urged us to come through the city gates, where we could rest in safety. “You must all be very hungry, tired, and thirsty after your long march through the wilderness,” Barzillai said, extending his
hand. “Please, come inside and be comforted.”

  I clutched Solomon’s hand and entered the city, then stared at the supplies they had hastily assembled for us—sleeping mats, cooking pots, serving bowls, wheat and barley, flour and roasted grain, beans, lentils, honey, butter, sheep, goats, and cheese. They brought servants to help us establish a camp, and pack animals to help us transport additional supplies for our military men.

  At some point in the moonless night, we slept, stretching out in whatever empty space we could find. I lay near Solomon so I could keep an eye on him, and I saw that Joab stood watch over the king. Good. With Joab standing guard, I knew I would be able to sleep.

  I doubted that David would sleep at all.

  The next morning, while we women set about the tasks of feeding, clothing, and supplying our refugees, David assembled his commanders and focused on the work of reclaiming his kingdom. He divided his foreign troops into three groups, naming Joab, Abishai, and Ittai as the company commanders, and then announced he would strap on his sword and venture out with the army.

  “No, you won’t,” Joab objected, echoing the concerns of the other two commanders. “If we are overcome, if we have to run, it won’t matter because they are looking for you. If they find you, the battle is over. You are worth ten thousand of us, so you must stay in town where you will be safe.”

  Sitting in my quiet corner, I watched David reluctantly accept this hard truth. Something came to life within him at the thought of sallying forth with his men, and for a brief moment I could see inside his heart. I saw confidence there, a quick spark of excitement, and then I saw that spark flicker and die.

  “If you think that’s the best plan,” he said, once again wearing the face of an aging, exhausted king. “I will agree.”

  He stood aside as his men collected and strapped on their weapons; he watched them divide into companies and fill the open area inside the walls of Mahanaim. Before he sent the warriors out, he called the three commanders to stand before him, speaking loudly enough for every soldier to hear. “For my sake,” he said, his voice trembling more like a father’s than a king’s, “deal gently with young Absalom when you find him.”