by Angela Hunt
My hand moved under the blanket and came to rest against the tender flesh of his chest. I sighed and rested my cheek against his now-bony shoulder, my sorrows and joys blending seamlessly in the myriad intricacies of love.
The next day, David sent for Solomon, and as he often did, Solomon invited me to come with him. Together we went to the king’s bedchamber and knelt on the carpet by the side of the bed.
As David struggled to sit upright, Abishag arranged pillows to support his head. “Solomon, my son,” David began, “I am going where everyone on earth must someday go. Take courage and be a man. Observe the requirements of the Lord your God and follow His ways. Keep the decrees, commands, and regulations written in the Law of Moses so you will be successful in all you do and wherever you go. If you do this, the Lord will keep the promise He made to me. He told me, ‘If your descendants live as they should and follow me faithfully with all their heart and soul, one of them will always sit on the throne of Israel.’”
While David spoke, I stood and quietly slipped into the shadows. This moment existed for David and his son, and I had no part in it.
“There is something else,” David continued, wheezing. “You know what Joab did to me when he murdered my army commanders Abner and Amasa. He pretended it was an act of war, but the murders were committed in a time of peace, staining his belt and sandals with innocent blood. Do with him what you think best, but don’t let him go to his grave in peace.
“Be kind to the sons of Barzillai of Gilead. Make them permanent guests at your table, for they took care of me when I fled from your brother Absalom.
“And remember Shimei, the man from Bahurim in Benjamin. He cursed me with a terrible curse as I was fleeing to Mahanaim. When he came to meet me at the Jordan River, I swore by the Lord that I would not kill him. But that oath does not make him innocent. You are a wise man, and you will know how to arrange a bloody death for him.”
I stared, shocked and dismayed, as David delivered his final charge to Solomon. We had lived through so much bloodshed that I’d hoped David’s thirst for war had been slaked. But he wanted peace for his son, and even in his final moments he was determined to achieve justice and remove unfaithful men.
David drew a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort. “This is the speech of David, the son of Jesse, the speech of the man who has been raised up, the one anointed by the God of Jacob, the sweet singer of Israel. The Spirit of Adonai spoke through me, His word was on my tongue. The God of Israel spoke; the Rock of Israel said to me, ‘A ruler of people must be upright, ruling in the fear of God; like the morning light at sunrise on a cloudless day that makes the grass on the earth sparkle after a rain.’
“For my house stands firm with God. He made an everlasting covenant with me. It is in order, fully assured, that He will bring to full growth all my salvation and every desire. But the ungodly are like thorn bushes to be pushed aside, every one of them. They cannot be taken in one’s hand; to touch them one uses a pitchfork or spear shaft, and then only to burn them where they lie.”
He might have gone on, but David’s next breath ended in a bout of coughing. When he had finished, he lay back and remained quiet.
Solomon stood and reached for his father’s hand. Curious, I stepped into the light and saw that David’s eyes had closed. He rested against his pillow, one hand in his son’s, the other limp at his side.
When I heard the sound of Solomon’s sobs, I realized that David, our shepherd king and my royal husband, had gone to the place where our infant son waited. Where he would find Samuel, his teacher, and Jonathan, his best friend. And where one day he would find me.
A few days after David’s funeral, I was surprised to find Adonijah waiting for me in the palace garden. I blinked when he approached and bowed, then lifted a brow. What did this shifty, scheming prince want now?
“Do you come with honorable intentions?” I asked, forcing a smile.
“Yes.” His mouth twisted in a way that reminded me of Absalom’s charming grin. “I come in peace, my lady. In fact, I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Can’t you ask your own mother?”
He smiled as he shook his head. “I have a favor to ask the king, and who better to represent me than you?”
I folded my hands. “What is it?”
“Please speak to King Solomon on my behalf, for I know he will grant anything you request. Ask him to let me marry Abishag, the girl from Shunem.”
I stared, too startled by the request to offer any objection. Was he insane? To claim a king’s wife or concubine, virgin or not, was to claim the throne. If by some folly Solomon allowed his brother to marry the girl, Adonijah might not claim the throne immediately, but he would do it. At some opportune moment he would point out that he had David’s wife, so surely he was the son who ought to have inherited the throne.
I tilted my head and studied the young man before me. Handsome, yes, but definitely not the brightest of the king’s many sons. Or, if he was not as thick as a plank, he must have believed I was.
“All right,” I told him. “I will carry your request to the king.”
My thoughts burned as I hurried to the throne room. Despite David’s resolute action, Adonijah had not been able to bury his ambition. Haggith’s son had proven to be a thorn in David’s side, and I would not let him needle Solomon. I would pass on Adonijah’s request, and I would trust Solomon to take the right action.
A dozen counselors bowed as I entered the king’s hall and moved immediately to the open area before my son’s throne. Solomon rose from his seat and bowed before me, a gesture that brought unexpected tears to my eyes. When he sat again, he asked a servant to bring a throne for me, as well.
Completely taken aback, I timidly took the chair by his right side and looked over the crowd assembled for the king’s attention. Men in armor, merchants in fine apparel, priests in their woven white tunics—in all my years I had never seen the throne room from this elevated perspective.
“What is it, my mother?” Solomon asked, keeping his voice low as he looked at me. “You know I won’t refuse any request.”
I gave him a guileless smile. “My king, I would be pleased if you would let your brother Adonijah marry Abishag, the girl from Shunem.”
In a flash, Solomon realized the motivation and the threat behind the request. “How can you possibly ask me to give Abishag to Adonijah?” His brows rushed together. “You might as well ask me to give him the kingdom! You know he is my older brother, and he has Abiathar the priest and Joab on his side.”
“I know, son.” I allowed my gaze to leave his face and move over the crowd, which certainly included several men who quietly supported Adonijah. “I am only passing on your brother’s petition.”
Solomon stared at me for a moment more, then understanding lit his eyes.
He stood, his face flaming, and lifted a fist in midair. “May God strike me and even kill me if Adonijah has not sealed his fate with this request. The Lord has confirmed me and placed me on the throne of my father, David. He has established my dynasty as He promised. So as surely as the Lord lives, Adonijah will die this very day.”
I pressed my lips together, knowing that after this, none of David’s other sons would have the courage to challenge Solomon for the throne.
Solomon wasted no time carrying out the last of his father’s instructions. He told Abiathar the traitorous priest to go back to his home in Anathoth. “You deserve to die for your treason,” he said, “but I will not kill you because you carried the Ark of the Sovereign Lord for David my father and shared all his hardships. But you will no longer serve as priest of the Lord at the Tabernacle.” Zadok the priest replaced Abiathar.
Because David’s commander Joab had joined Adonijah’s rebellion, Solomon dispatched Benaiah to execute him. The wily commander also ran to the sacred tent of the Tabernacle and clung to the horns of the altar, but Solomon ordered Benaiah to kill him anyway to remove the guilt of Joab’s senseless murders
from David’s family. Benaiah was then named commander of the army.
As for Shimei, the man who had foolishly cursed David on his way to Mahanaim, Solomon told him, “Build a house here in Jerusalem and live in it safely. But the day you step outside the city, you will die and your blood will be on your own head.”
For two years Shimei lived in his house, but when two of his slaves ran away, he saddled his donkey and traveled to Gath to find them. When he returned, Solomon had him executed.
Shlomo, my precious son, had inherited my peaceful nature, but he also possessed his father’s iron will. And though the ruthless requirements of kingship often made me flinch, in Solomon’s resolute actions I saw a strength and courage I had never possessed. Truly he was the best of me and the best of David, wrought together in order to fulfill Adonai’s will for His people Israel.
Epilogue
Bathsheba
MORE THAN TWENTY YEARS HAVE PASSED since David’s death, but I have never forgotten the prophet’s reassuring words. Nor have I forgotten that David paid dearly for his sins, losing four children: our baby, Amnon, Absalom, and Tamar.
In my youth I was a tob woman. I am a tob woman still, but one must look deep into my eyes to see the beauty and strength that once made me desirable. My sons have seen it, as have their wives.
David came to see the tob woman within, and in doing so, taught me how to love him.
I am now an old woman of seventy years. I have laughed in a small house and wept in a palace. I have loved two men and lost them both. But throughout the winding length of my life, I have been pulled and directed by words that sprang from prophets’ lips after being breathed by the Ruach HaKodesh.
Adonai created me a tob woman . . . and I am content.
Discussion Questions
The story of David and Bathsheba has probably been told thousands of times. How is this story different from other versions you’ve heard? How is it similar?
At one point Nathan thinks, Surely Adonai had not given His promise in order to lull David into complacency. A complacent man would eventually neglect the Lord because he would depend upon HaShem’s promise and not HaShem. Many who claim to be Christians today have fallen into this same trap. They place their faith in something they did for God, whether it’s joining the church or being baptized or making a donation, instead of placing their faith in God himself. In your view, what is the difference?
What do you think of Absalom? Is he a misunderstood and neglected son or a scheming opportunist with royal ambitions?
Did Bathsheba love David? If you were in her position, would you have been able to love him?
What did David mean when he said he loved Bathsheba most because she forgave the most?
What struck you most about the time period of the story? How would this situation have played out in contemporary times?
What, if anything, did you admire about Bathsheba? What about her personality did you find less than admirable?
Has a prophecy—or some words uttered by someone you respected—influenced the course of your life? Who said them, and how have those words affected you?
This story would not be complete without prophets, who still exist today. Most preachers, for instance, have the gift or the calling of prophecy in that they speak God’s truth to people, and sometimes that truth can be hard to hear. Do you think most pastors are exercising the gift of prophecy today, or are they saying things most people want to hear?
History tells us that Solomon was the greatest king in the history of the world, the wisest and the wealthiest. After his death, however, the nation of Israel split down its fault line, dividing into Judah and Israel. Does this historical fact surprise you? What contemporary examples exist of nations or groups that seem to coexist better when they are separated?
The author has said that she takes great pains not to contradict the biblical record. With that in mind, did anything in Bathsheba: Reluctant Beauty surprise you?
Beauty is a theme in this series—how it can influence the course of a life. In Esther: Royal Beauty, the first book of the series, beauty places a Jewish girl on a pagan throne and gives her the power to save her people. In Bathsheba, beauty causes a girl to be raped by a king and then forced into his harem. In what ways did beauty harm these women, and in what ways did beauty become one of their strengths?
Author’s Note
I’M WELL AWARE that this novel might raise as many questions as it answers, so I wanted to take a page or two to explain why events in this story unfolded the way they did.
First, I have taken pains not to purposely contradict anything in the Bible. If it happened a certain way in the Scripture, I wrote the events as the Bible said they happened. But because biblical writers only give us the “big picture” of events, as a novelist, I feel free to fill in the canvas with logical details, feelings, conversations, and settings.
When I first began to write this story, I tweeted a few comments about my progress and almost instantly became aware of a prejudice against Bathsheba. One man tweeted a reply to the effect of, “Boy, she really did a number on David,” and I was stunned when I read it. How in the world had Bathsheba become the aggressor? Are we so enthralled with the man “after God’s own heart” that we cannot see that he was as fallible as any other human?
I mentioned my work-in-progress on my blog and sparked an interesting conversation in which even women remarked that Bathsheba must have played some role in what was considered a “seduction” of the king. After all, she was taking a bath outdoors, and perhaps she intended to tempt David.
But homes in ancient Jerusalem did not have indoor plumbing. The word mikvah means “large container of water” and came to be associated with the ritual bath women had to take after their menstrual cycle. Where would a family put this mikvah? Out in the courtyard, of course. Bathsheba’s bathing outside was not unusual; most women in Jerusalem would have bathed outdoors unless they watered their livestock inside the house.
David had an excellent view of Bathsheba (and everyone else), because not only was the palace located at a higher elevation than the rest of the city, he was also on the rooftop. Perhaps he went there to survey his kingdom; perhaps he wanted to enjoy the sunset. In any case, he was on the roof at sunset, and sunset marked the end of one Hebrew day and the beginning of another. It is therefore logical and normal that Bathsheba or any woman would have been bathing outdoors around sunset at the end of her menstrual cycle.
I have also considered the point that Bathsheba’s experience couldn’t qualify as rape because she had options. Deuteronomy 22:23–26 asserts that if a woman is raped out in the country, she is always considered innocent, for it can be assumed that she screamed and no one was around to come to her defense. If a woman is raped in the city, however, and does not scream, then she was judged guilty of adultery.
That passage was written in the days before Israel’s kings, and the establishment of Israel as a kingdom changed many aspects of everyday life. The king held the power of life and death over his subjects, so I do not think any woman assaulted by the king would endanger her life by screaming. His power and authority were a metaphorical gun at her head, and his use of force was a threat not only to her life but to her reputation.
To be fair, I asked myself, could Bathsheba have been in love with David from the start? The Bible tells us very little about what she thought or felt, and she speaks in only two recorded instances (2 Samuel 11:5 and 1 Kings 1). So in order to gauge her feelings about the men in her life, I considered the parable Nathan told David. The poor man and his “ewe lamb” represented Uriah and Bathsheba, and from the parable it’s clear that the poor man and the ewe lamb shared a tender relationship. The violence in the story springs solely from the rich man, while the poor man and his lamb are completely innocent.
That parable, therefore, is the biblical basis for my portrayal of Bathsheba and Uriah’s relationship.
Why do I often refer to God as HaShem? HaShem literally means t
he name in Hebrew, and it is used instead of the word we would translate Jehovah. Many Jews still use HaShem to refer to God, because His name is considered too holy to speak or write.
Did Samuel utter a prophecy about Bathsheba? That prophecy is a fictional invention, but the prophets prophesied many things, and Scripture records only a few of them.
Did Nathan predict all the trials that would befall David’s house? That prophecy is found in 2 Samuel 12.
Did Uriah know what David had done to his wife? We cannot know for certain. Some people in the palace definitely knew, for David used palace messengers to find out who she was and then to fetch her to the rooftop, so it’s entirely possible Uriah knew his wife had been ill-used by the king. But one thing is clear—whether or not Uriah knew, he was a man of honor, so he was determined to do his duty even if his king and master sent him to his death. I chose to exercise this option, because the story is far more dramatic if Uriah knew and walked willingly—sacrificially—into the trap David set for him.
Did Michal really raise her older sister Merab’s sons? Second Samuel 6:23 tells us that Michal remained childless all her life (after she mocked David’s dancing during the Ark’s arrival to Jerusalem). Yet in 2 Samuel 21:8–9, the Masoretic Text (and the King James Bible) says that Michal had five sons who were handed over to the Gibeonites. Most likely the substitution of Michal for Merab was a copyist’s error, but I chose to have Michal bring up her deceased sister’s sons. (Biblical inerrancy refers to the fact that the Bible is without error in the original texts. Copyists have made errors over the years, and many Bibles will point those out in margin notes.)
Did David really sit up on his deathbed and charge Solomon with taking care of his enemies? Yes. Somehow I am reminded of Marlon Brando in that scene.
Did Absalom really cut his hair only once a year? Did the trimmings really weigh five pounds? Yes, and yes (2 Samuel 14:26). Was his hair really the hair of Adam? That’s a Jewish legend. Did he really get his hair caught in an oak (terebinth) tree? Yes.