by Angela Hunt
Rage rose within me, flushing my face and heating my skin. I had stood at David’s side when Absalom tried to take the throne, and I watched my husband’s heart break. Truth to tell, David had not been the same since. Though he had returned to power, he had never stopped grieving over Absalom’s brazen rebellion, and nothing I said seemed to comfort him.
I turned to the prophet. “Do you think Adonijah plans to attack the palace?”
Nathan shook his head. “He may emulate some of Absalom’s tactics, but he will not make the mistake of attacking the king. He will wait until David dies, and then he will seize what is nearly his already. My lady, if you will save your life and your son’s life, you must take action at once. You must go to the king and have him declare Solomon his heir. You cannot wait.”
I pressed my hand to my forehead as my thoughts swirled in a haze of questions. Absalom’s actions had been reprehensible, and so were Adonijah’s, but I did not want to talk to David about the inevitability of his death. Even broaching the subject felt abhorrent.
What if my concern angered him? What if he had forgotten his long-ago promise and now favored Adonijah? I had not seen David in weeks, and I had no idea how he would receive my concerns.
“Are you sure we must take action before . . .” I allowed the thought to remain unspoken. “After all, if the king’s mighty men are for Solomon—”
“And therein lies the problem, my lady. Joab, commander of the army, is for Adonijah. The king must declare his choice, and he must do it today. He must do it in a way that leaves no room for doubt. Only then will your son be assured the throne. Only then will you both be safe.”
I clasped my hands and stared at the paving stones beneath my feet. What should I do? With my grandfather gone, I had few allies in the palace. Even after all these years, the powerful men who swayed the king could not speak my name without thinking of the shameful circumstances that brought me to the king’s household. They would not hear my plea.
I looked up at Nathan. “What do I do?”
Slowly, he knelt on the stones before me. “You go immediately to the king. You must ask why Adonijah has become king when he promised that your son would sit on the throne. Then, while you are still talking with David, I will come in and confirm your words.”
I considered the prophet’s idea, my heart racing, then reached out and gripped his hand. “I will do it,” I said, standing. “As soon as—”
“You need to do it now,” Nathan interrupted. “Adonijah and his allies are feasting at this hour. Do not delay, my lady. I am here to support you, so do it immediately.”
I stared at the prophet for a long moment. I had told my little grandson that Adonai made kings, and yet it appeared that Adonai wanted me to take a hand in placing Solomon on the throne. Could a mere woman play a role in bringing the will of HaShem to pass? My grandfather would have scoffed at the idea, and my father, as well. But I had been praying, begging Adonai to fulfill His word . . .
And the Lord sent Nathan, who told me what must be done.
“I am doing this only because I believe it is Adonai’s will,” I told the prophet. Then I lifted my chin and led the way out of the garden.
I found David in his bedchamber, propped on pillows as Abishag cleared away the bowl and tray she had used to feed him. I greeted the girl with a nod and knelt beside the bed. My husband’s cheekbones looked like tent poles under taut canvas, and his lips had thinned to pale blue lines in his beard. David appeared to be sleeping, but the fingers of his right hand twitched as if he were playing an invisible harp.
“My lord and king, live forever,” I said, my heart breaking at the sight of my frail husband. “Your wife, Bathsheba, begs to speak to you.”
David stirred, lifting his head to peer at me. His lined face brightened as he smiled. “My beautiful Bathsheba. Rise and speak freely.”
I sighed in relief, then placed a stool near the bed. “My lord, I have come on a matter of some urgency.”
“Speak, lady. I am listening.”
I sat and stretched my arms toward him, fighting tears. “My lord, you made a vow before the Lord your God when you said to me, ‘Your son Solomon will surely be the next king and will sit on my throne.’ But instead, Adonijah has made himself king, and my lord the king does not even know about it. Adonijah has sacrificed many cattle, fattened calves, and sheep, and he has invited all the king’s sons to attend the celebration. He also invited Abiathar the priest, and Joab, the commander of the army. But he did not invite your servant Solomon. And now, my lord the king, all Israel is waiting for you to announce who will become king after you. If you do not act, my son Solomon and I will be treated as criminals as soon as my lord the king has died.”
“What’s this?” David stretched his gaunt arm toward me. “What are you saying?”
At that moment Nathan stepped into the room and prostrated himself on the carpet. Overcome with emotion, I stood and backed away, more than willing to let the prophet carry the conversation forward.
“Nathan?” David’s voice, though weak, held a note of surprise. “Come you to support Bathsheba?”
Nathan rose. “My lord the king, have you decided that Adonijah will be the next king and that he will sit on your throne? Today he has sacrificed many cattle, fattened calves, and sheep, and he has invited all the king’s sons to attend the celebration. He also invited the commanders of the army and Abiathar the priest. They are feasting and drinking with him and shouting, ‘Long live King Adonijah!’ But he did not invite me or Zadok the priest or Benaiah or your servant Solomon. Has my lord the king really done this without letting any of his officials know who should be the next king?”
David spoke again, his voice stronger than before: “Bring Bathsheba to me.”
I stepped out of the shadows and moved into his field of vision.
“As surely as the Lord who has rescued me from every danger lives”—David lifted his hand toward heaven—“your son Solomon will be the next king and will sit on my throne this very day, just as I vowed to you before the Lord, the God of Israel.”
Overcome with gratitude and relief, I knelt on the carpet and pressed my face to the floor. “Let my lord King David live forever!” Never had I spoken more heartfelt words.
Something in my voice must have struck the dying man.
“Bathsheba—” his voice broke—“are you still there?”
I sat on the stool by his bed. “Of course, my lord.”
He shook his head, then patted the blanket by his side. “Come closer.”
Never had I sat so close to him with other people in the room, but I set aside my self-consciousness and sat on the bed, then leaned forward so our faces were only a hand’s breadth apart.
“There you are.” His compelling brown eyes found and held mine. “Tell me, wife—in all our years together, have you ever been able to love me?”
The question caught me off guard. A king’s wife came when summoned, departed when dismissed, and freely bestowed false smiles and words of flattery. In all our years together, I had never once told David that I loved him. A king’s wife did not need to love; she only needed to obey.
Laughter bubbled up from my throat as I found his trembling hand and held it steady. “After so many years, why do you speak of such things? Is it not enough that we have both loved the son who will inherit your kingdom?”
“I know what people say,” David went on, ignoring my question. “They say that I do not easily open my heart to anyone but Adonai, and for the most part, they are right. But I have opened my heart to you, Bathsheba, and loved you more than the others.”
“My king.” I bit my lip, unsure how to respond. “I have always been grateful for your kindness—”
“I loved you most,” he continued, his voice trembling, “because you forgave the most.”
I watched, stunned and perplexed, as a tear slipped from the corner of his eye and rolled into the gray fringe of his hair. “I loved you . . . because you grieved ov
er our baby when you could have hated him. I loved you because you loved Solomon. I loved the look on your face when I sang songs of praise to Adonai. I loved your kindness to my bitter Michal. I loved your gentleness with Tamar. And I knew . . . I knew I would love you forever when I saw your tender care of Abigail. You are more than a tob woman, Bathsheba. You are Adonai’s blessing to me.”
His eyelids fluttered and closed, and the hand within mine relaxed.
“Is he . . . ?” I asked.
“He naps.” Abishag shifted her gaze from the king’s face to mine. “He tires easily when he has visitors.”
Aware of the many watchful eyes in the room, I struggled to maintain control of my emotions. I had to think about Solomon; I had to fulfill the king’s command to place my son on the throne.
But beneath the surface of my composure, I could feel a hidden spring trying to break through. I loved this man. The feeling was not like what I felt for Uriah; it was deeper and more powerful. I had simply never recognized it for what it was.
Gently I slid my hand from the king’s, then stood and turned. Nathan remained in the room, watching with a small smile on his face. I smoothed the wrinkles from my tunic and stepped toward the doorway.
The prophet caught my sleeve. “He meant it, you know.”
“What?”
“I don’t know that he has loved any of his other wives, but he loves you, Bathsheba. Just as Samuel prophesied.”
“What are you saying?”
“I was there.” Nathan moved to the door, and I followed, caught by his reference to the prophet whose words had shaped my early life. “I was only an apprentice when your parents brought you to the Tabernacle. But I saw Samuel look at you, and I heard his prophecy: ‘This child shall grow to be a tob woman. She will be mother to a great man in Israel, and the heart of her husband will incline toward her alone.’” Nathan’s smile turned to a chuckle. “I memorized his words. In my youth I hoped I would be the husband in question, but realized my error soon enough.”
Overcome, I stared at the prophet.
“Know this, my lady—no pain exists without purpose, no grief without comfort. You have been more than David’s wife; you have been his consolation, his joy, and his one love. Your forgiveness redeemed him. Don’t ever forget that. Now go,” he said, abruptly changing his tone. “I will stay with the king and assist with Solomon’s coronation. You must summon your son and bring him to the palace. We haven’t a moment to waste.”
Spurred by our urgent reality, I left the king and hurried away to find Solomon.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Nathan
AFTER BATHSHEBA LEFT THE KING’S CHAMBER, I woke the king and asked what must be done to crown Solomon. David summoned Zadok the priest and Benaiah to stand with me in his presence. Then he gave us direct and explicit instructions: “Take my son Solomon and my officials to the Gihon Spring. Solomon is to ride on my own mule. There Zadok the priest and Nathan the prophet are to anoint him king over Israel. Blow the ram’s horn and shout, ‘Long live King Solomon!’ Then escort him back here, and he will sit on my throne. He will succeed me as king, for I have appointed him to be ruler over Israel and Judah.”
“Amen!” Benaiah replied. “May Adonai, the God of my lord the king, decree that it happen. And may Adonai be with Solomon as He has been with you, my lord the king, and may He make Solomon’s reign even greater than yours.”
So the three of us, accompanied by the king’s bodyguard, put Bathsheba’s son on the king’s mule and led him over the streets of Jerusalem, through the gate, and to the Gihon Spring. There Zadok took the flask of olive oil from the sacred tent and anointed twenty-nine-year-old Solomon. We sounded the ram’s horn, and all the people with us shouted, “Long live King Solomon!”
The crowd followed Solomon back into Jerusalem, playing flutes and shouting hosannas. The celebration was so joyous and noisy that the earth shook with the sound.
I smiled, knowing Bathsheba would hear the celebration from within the palace walls. Perhaps she was with David now, holding his hand as they smiled in relief that Adonai’s will—and the king’s—had been carried out.
Adonijah and his fellows would hear the sound too, and their reaction would determine their futures. If they stood and fought, we would have another bloody revolt to quell, but at least it would be confined to Jerusalem. If they scattered and accepted David’s decree, perhaps Jerusalem would indeed be a city of peace.
A few hours later, I learned that Adonijah’s followers had run like a herd of startled deer. Adonijah himself had been so frightened by the thought of his younger brother’s vengeance that he ran to the sacred tent of the Tabernacle and seized the horns of the altar, a traditional place of sanctuary. Clinging to the horns with all his strength, he begged anyone who would listen to carry a message to the new king: “Let King Solomon swear today that he will not kill me!”
When Solomon heard his brother’s request, he sagely replied, “If he proves himself to be loyal, not a hair on his head will be touched. But if he makes trouble, he will die.”
Solomon sent for his brother. The royal guards had to peel the upstart prince from the altar. Then Adonijah walked through a thick, expectant silence into the throne room and bowed respectfully before his brother the king.
Solomon’s reply was simple and terse: “Go home.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Bathsheba
ON ONE OF HIS LAST DAYS, David sent for Solomon. Solomon asked that Elisheba and I join him, so the three of us met in the ailing king’s bedchamber.
“My son, I wanted to build a Temple to honor the name of the Lord my God,” David said, reclining against his pillows. “But the Lord said to me, ‘You have killed many men in the battles you have fought. And since you have shed so much blood in my sight, you will not be the one to build a Temple to honor my name. But you will have a son who will be a man of peace. I will give him peace with his enemies in all the surrounding lands. His name will be Solomon, and I will give peace and quiet to Israel during his reign. He is the one who will build a Temple to honor my name. He will be my son, and I will be his father. And I will secure the throne of his kingdom over Israel forever.’”
Standing in the back of the king’s bedchamber, I watched the weight of David’s words settle on Solomon’s broad shoulders. My son had been given a great responsibility and a great blessing, for David’s kingdom had known only fleeting periods of peace.
“Now, my son,” David continued, “may Adonai be with you and give you success as you follow His directions in building the Temple of Adonai. And may the Lord give you wisdom and understanding, that you may obey the Law of the Lord your God as you rule over Israel. For you will be successful if you carefully obey the decrees and regulations the Lord gave to Israel through Moses. Be strong and courageous; do not be afraid or lose heart.”
Solomon nodded, then found his voice. “I will, Father.”
Something that looked like a smile twitched in and out of David’s gray beard. “I have worked hard to provide materials for building the Temple of the Lord—nearly four thousand tons of gold, forty thousand tons of silver, and more iron and bronze than can be weighed. I have also gathered timber and stone for the walls, though you may need to add more. You have a large number of skilled stonemasons and carpenters and craftsmen of every kind. You have expert goldsmiths and silversmiths and workers of bronze and iron. Now begin the work, and may the Lord be with you!”
David then had a scribe transcribe an edict, ordering all the leaders of Israel to assist Solomon in the project. When the scribe had finished, David lay back on his pillows, placed his hands in his lap, and slowly exhaled. “Solomon?” he asked, not lifting his head.
“I am here, Father.”
“Stand, please. Come where I can see you.”
Solomon rose and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over his father’s shrunken frame. David blinked, seeming to focus his vision, then lifted an age-spotted hand and placed it on th
e crown of Solomon’s head.
“The Lord your God is with you,” David declared. “He has given you peace with the surrounding nations. He has handed them over to me, and they are now subject to Adonai and His people. Now seek the Lord your God with all your heart and soul. Build the sanctuary of the Lord God so that you can bring the Ark of the Lord’s Covenant and the holy vessels of God into the Temple built to honor the Lord’s name.”
“I will, Father.”
David sighed again and lowered his hand to his chest. “Thank you, my son.”
Watching David bless Solomon assured me that at long last David had learned something about being a father. The overlooked, unseen shepherd boy had finally learned to see and trust his son.
I buried my face in Elisheba’s shoulder and wept in a spontaneous overflow of gratitude and love.
With Solomon safely installed on the throne, my concern shifted to my dying husband. Having successfully passed the kingdom into the hands of the man Adonai had chosen, David approached the end of his days. On some afternoons I sat with him, wanting to keep him company.
One day, after he had finished scratching out a verse on parchment, I stood and went to his side. Motioning for Abishag to remain in her place, I removed the tray, pen, and parchment, then lifted the blanket and slid into the space next to him. Lying close to him, my head propped on my hand, my breath brushing his face, I studied the man who had been my husband and king.
My gaze rested on his wide forehead, the bearded cheeks and chin, the lips that had so often caressed mine. As I watched him rest in deep and peaceful slumber, the bitter memories of the past fled away. Long ago I had forgiven him. In that moment I wanted to forget everything but his love, his friendship, and his willingness to defend our son. I had never felt for David what I felt for Uriah, but my feelings for David far overwhelmed my adolescent yearnings.