Phaltiel said nothing. I had been combing out my hair; now I set aside my wooden comb and turned to him. He looked troubled, and I rose and went to him. “You know it is nothing to me. And David and Judah are far away.”
“Nothing is far away when men fight for kingdoms,” Phaltiel said, and put his arms around me. “So keep close to the house, Michal, and when you go to the village take some of the menservants with you.”
“With my veil well pulled down, too, lest my face drive men mad with lust?” I meant it as a jest, to make him laugh, but he did not. “Phaltiel, what is wrong?”
“Perhaps only that I am an old man besotted with a young wife,” he said, and kissed my brow. “You will do as I say, even if you think me a fool. King Saul is dead, but you are still the daughter of Saul.”
I could not see that King Saul’s daughter had anything to do with kings and armies. Oh, I had been a king’s daughter once; now I was a woman in her husband’s house, important only in his eyes. But that importance was all I asked for now, and so I kissed Phaltiel, and denied that he was old, or foolish, and promised I would do as he wished.
It did no good in the end, of course. Phaltiel was a wise man; he must have known that it would not. But even a wise man may have foolish hopes. Phaltiel hoped to keep me safe.
But I was one of Saul’s children, and there was now no safety for us anywhere in the land.
Ishbaal was king in Israel, David was king in Judah. So matters stood, even-balanced, after the battle at Gilboa.
But David soon tipped the balance in his favor. Hebron was far to the south—too far for King David. And so he found a city that was neither north nor south, and took it for his own.
Jerusalem.
Jerusalem had belonged always to the Jebusites; it could not be taken from them. So men had always said. For not only did the city crown a rocky hill high above a fertile plain, but it had fresh water always, for it was blessed with a secret well. Jerusalem sat complacent in the midst of Israel and Judah, for a babe could defend it and no host could take it.
But David found a way. He found the well.
And so David’s men, led by his war-chief Joab, crept up the well-shaft by night and took the city. David lost not one man in the taking; he walked triumphant through the great gate of Jerusalem the next day and claimed the city as his own. Yahweh had delivered Jerusalem into his hand; here, so David said, he would build his king’s house.
It was the greatest tale since David had slain Goliath, or since King Saul had been slain upon the slopes of Mount Gilboa. David and Jerusalem—it was all men talked of when they came through our village. A true king, they called David. The beloved of Yahweh.
Now Jerusalem was King David’s city—and Jerusalem guarded the ways both north and south, east and west, from the mountains to the sea.
But David was still king only in Judah. In Israel Ishbaal had Abner, who had been my father’s war-chief, to stand at his back. With Abner, Ishbaal had what was left of King Saul’s army. The army was loyal to Abner now, not to Ishbaal.
So when the tale ran round that Ishbaal had quarreled with Abner—and over a woman, so men said—I laughed. I could not believe that Abner would ever look hot at any woman—or that any man would be such a fool as Ishbaal would be to deny Abner anything he asked.
But I was wrong. Ishbaal had been just such a fool, and had reviled Abner publicly.
Perhaps it was true that madness ran in the blood of Saul. I could think of no other reason for Ishbaal to treat Abner like a dog, when it was Abner who had made him king, and who could unmake him again with a word to the army. And over what? Abner asking to take my father’s concubine Rizpah into his own house!
A common enough thing; Saul had been Abner’s own cousin after all. But Ishbaal had called it treason and betrayal; had accused Abner of wishing to claim the last king’s crown by claiming the last king’s woman. Folly piled upon folly, like stones piled high to build a wall of anger between good neighbors. When had Abner been other than faithful?
Yes, I had laughed when first I heard the tale of Ishbaal’s quarrel with Abner. But I did not laugh the day that I looked out my front door and saw soldiers standing in the road, and Abner standing at my gate.
Abner was no fool, and he was a careful man. He had many men at his back when he came to Phaltiel’s house to take me away. I came to the gate to speak with Abner, as he asked; I saw no reason, at first, why I should not. It would have made no difference, of course, if I had refused, save that things would have gone harder than they did.
So I went to the gate. I was surprised; he must have brought a full fifty men. I was not sure we could feed and house so many, even for one night. But I greeted him, and offered him all that was his due as a guest. And I thought how little Abner had altered since the day I had last seen him, when he had come to my tower prison to tell me I was to marry Phaltiel. But Abner had been a man grown while I had been only a child; of course he seemed changeless to my eyes.
“You are Michal, daughter of Saul?” He sounded unsure, which was odd in Abner. But he had seen me last when I was fourteen, and I had changed much in the ten years since.
“I am Michal, wife of Phaltiel,” I said. “Be welcome in his house, Abner. I will send Caleb to fetch Phaltiel from the fields.”
Caleb had come running and now stood under my arm, his eyes all wide for the sight of well-armed and armored men. He was past twelve, growing fast, and was straight and tall for his age, nearly as tall as I. He was a good boy, and a good son to me. Now, of course, he did not wish to heed me, and protested. “Oh, Mother, why can not a servant go? I can help you here!”
Abner looked at him as a man looks at a stone set in his path. “Your son, Princess Michal?”
There was nothing in Abner’s words to frighten me. Yet my skin grew cold, and I seemed to stand before a deep pit into which I would fall if my words were wrong. I knew this was foolishness; I had never liked Abner overmuch, and so let my dislike rule me.
I looked into Caleb’s eager eyes, and laughed. “I am not so old as that! This is Phaltiel’s son, and he is usually obedient to his stepmother. Caleb, go and fetch your father as I bid you!” My voice came out flint-sharp, and Caleb ran, startled.
Now Abner and I faced each other across the soft hot dust of the path. “You have changed, daughter of Saul.”
“You have not. What do you want of me, war-chief of Ishbaal?”
“War-chief of David,” he said. I stared, and Abner smiled with his mouth, but not his eyes. “Ishbaal is a fool and worse than a fool. David is the man for Israel as well as Judah.”
“If you can say that, then David must be the anointed of the Lord indeed. But this is nothing to do with me.”
“He is the man the prophet Samuel chose—did you know that, Princess?”
“Yes.” I thought of a tower room, and David’s voice low in the dark.
“I can bring him Gilead, and Jezreel, and Ephraim, and Benjamin, and all the armed men of Israel. You can bring him the blood of Saul, who was king before him. Between us we can set the seal of Yahweh over all the land from Dan to Beersheba. David wants you back, and I have come to take you to him.”
It seemed to me that a long time passed before I spoke. “No,” I said.
“You are his wife, Princess,” Abner said, and I found that the title I once had cherished now made ill hearing.
“That marriage was set aside long ago,” I said. “I have another husband—and David has other wives.”
“You are his first wife. He would see you again and honor you before all the people.”
“Tell him it is too late,” I said, and turned away.
Abner caught my arm to make me stay. “For kings it is never too late. Be wise, Michal. Come willingly, and smile upon him, and David will set you up as queen over Israel and Judah both.”
“No,” I said again, and twisted out of his hands and pulled my veil close. But I already knew I would have no choice. A man who will take a ‘
no’ and turn away smiling does not come with fifty armed men to ask his favor.
And then there was an arm about my shoulders, and strength to lean upon. Caleb must have run like a fox, and Phaltiel too, who never went in haste.
“I see we have many guests kept standing at our gate.” Phaltiel’s words were unhurried, but as he held me I could feel the way his heart beat against his chest. “Michal, go into the house and see that all is prepared for them.”
“No need,” Abner said. “We have come only for the wife of King David.”
“She is not here,” said Phaltiel.
Abner stepped close and spoke low. “You are called a wise man, Phaltiel. You know what King David wishes, and what he will do. Help him, and he will reward you. Hinder him—” Abner stopped, as if he had said enough.
“The way of kings is always clear to those with eyes to see,” Phaltiel said. “Samuel warned the people long ago what harvest a king would bring to the land, but they would not listen. Now the reaping begins.”
“Then we understand one another, as wise men do. Give us Michal, Phaltiel, and we will leave your house in peace.”
“Michal goes or stays as she wills. What is your will, Michal?”
“I am Phaltiel’s wife, and have been many years.” I closed my hand over Phaltiel’s; although the day was hot, his fingers were cold under mine. “I do not wish to see David again. He is nothing to me.”
“There is your answer, Abner. She will not go.”
“We all know that she will.” Abner did not speak as a man angered; he patiently instructed stubborn children. “Women are fools, but men should not rejoice in folly. I remember when she swore she would die without David—you see that she has not. She will forget you as easily. Now tell her women to pack whatever she would take with her. We will wait.” Abner was not unkind, when kindness cost him nothing.
Phaltiel turned away from him, so that his body hid me from Abner’s eyes. He put my veil back from my face. “Well, Michal?”
I looked up at him, and for the first time in many years truly saw the lines by his eyes and mouth, and the grey in his dark hair. He was a good man growing old, who deserved peace. I could not bear to bring trouble to his house. And in the road stood fifty strong men with clubs and spears.
“They will take me anyway,” I said, and held my head high. “But do not worry, husband—I swear I shall not betray you with David.”
Phaltiel smiled. “You are still so young, Michal. Do not swear to me, and do not be afraid. Go and tell your maids to pack what you would have.”
Abner had brought a litter to carry me back to David; a thing carved of heavy wood and painted blue and gold. It was worthy of a queen; all the women of Gallim, and the men too, ran to the side of the road and stared as we passed by. My face grew hot as I thought of what they all would say of me now. I was glad of the crimson leather curtains that hid me from my neighbors’ wide eyes.
Phaltiel walked beside the litter as we went along the road through the village of Gallim. He stayed beside me until we had reached the top of the long hill that led from our valley to the world beyond. There Abner told him that he must leave me.
“Set her aside, for David, King of Judah, says she is no longer your wife. Say farewell as you please, and then go back home and forget her.”
Phaltiel did not answer, but put back the leather curtains and lifted me out of the litter to stand beside him on the road. We stood almost on the spot where I first had looked down the valley to Phaltiel’s house, when I had come here as his unhappy bride.
I put my arms around him and clung, and would have wept, but Phaltiel bade me dry my eyes. “You have no reason to fear. Let David say what he likes, you are my wife, and I do not think he will lay his hands on you.”
“He does not want me. He wants to make a show with King Saul’s daughter.”
Phaltiel looked at me for the space of a dozen heartbeats, while I heard how my words must have sounded in his ears. Bitter words, said by a woman who found them bitter still. Then he sighed and held me close. “Be calm,” he said. “Be wise. And do not break your heart over this. It will pass. See David again, and then send to me and say whether Michal is still the wife of Phaltiel.”
“And if I am?” I said.
“Then I will come, and bring you home again. Even King David is not above the Law; he cannot keep a man’s wife against his will and hers.”
And then Phaltiel kissed me, there on the road before Abner and all the soldiers. That was how we said good-bye.
CHAPTER 7
“So David dwelt in the fort, and called it the city of David.”
—II Samuel 5:9
It had been long since I traveled far, and never had I done so in great state. I learned now how a gilded litter swayed and dipped; how crimson leather curtains cut off light and air. I would rather have walked in the sun and the dust. And I told Abner so.
“Let me walk,” I said when we at last stopped to rest. I was so hot and giddy I feared I would be ill. “I am a farmer’s wife, and used to work—I can keep your pace.”
“You are a queen now,” Abner said. “David’s queen does not walk in the dust for all to gaze upon.”
“Oh, so high! My father’s wives walked to the river with the other women—yes, and did the washing, too. So do not be so foolish, Abner. I would rather walk.”
“You will ride,” Abner said, and nothing I could say would move him from that.
And so I rode in the swaying queen’s litter, lying upon embroidered and tasseled cushions. The colors were bright as butterfly wings, the cloth so smooth it caught on my fingers when I stroked it. I looked at the pulled threads now marring the fine pattern; threads caught and broken by my touch. Then I looked at my hands.
I had always tended them well enough, rubbing goose fat on them in the winter. But even so they were roughened by woman’s work, by spinning and sewing and weaving. A woman’s hands. Not a queen’s. I looked at my housewife’s hands, and at the queen’s cushions, and suddenly I knew all would be well.
David had not seen me in ten years; he did not know how I had changed—and that I was truly happy with Phaltiel. When last David had seen me I had been sick with love of him; I was cured of that illness now. I had been cured long since. David had never come for me, or sent word; well, Jonathan had always said David must have his reasons. But I no longer cared what those reasons were.
David had last seen an overproud little princess; King Saul’s daughter. That girl was forever gone, and only Phaltiel’s wife remained. King David would not want Phaltiel’s wife.
And so I smiled and stroked the embroidered cushion—carefully, so that I would break no more threads. Yes, I had changed with the turning years; David must have been changed by time as much as I. Phaltiel was right, I had only to be calm, and wise. I had only to wait, and talk once more with David.
We would meet one last time, and perhaps we could speak of Jonathan, and I would tell David that I heard his songs even in the village of Gallim. And I would tell him of how I now loved Phaltiel. Yes, David and I would talk, and laugh at how foolish I had been when I was young.
And then all would be well. David would send me home, and we would part as friends.
It was a comforting thought to hold as talisman against the jolting of the litter and the closeness of the dim air trapped by the leather curtains. I think I even thought that it was true.
And so I was brought as a queen through the land. When we went by a farmstead, or through a village, women and children, and even many men, ran to watch wide-eyed as we passed. Such a show was a new thing in our land.
A man ran ahead to cry out that all should “Make way for the war-chief Abner and Queen Michal, make way for King David’s men.” When first I heard that I thought of how my father King Saul had walked with his men as a comrade, and of how David had dwelt with his in caves in the wilderness, and I laughed. It seemed that Abner kept greater state for David than David did.
So
I thought until I saw Jerusalem.
Abner stopped the men at the crest of the ridge north of the city and held back the curtains himself so that I might see. “There,” Abner said. “There is Jerusalem. King David’s city. The city where you will be queen.”
The twin walls of Jerusalem circled the city like bracelets on a bride. Behind them the city flaunted itself upon its hills; protected by such guardians without it could afford to be careless within. Even so far away the city’s riches flashed and caught the eye—pillars green and crimson and blue, flowers bright upon roof tops, market awnings striped white and yellow.
“That is the king’s house,” said Abner. “There, on the far hill, beyond the second wall.”
I did not answer Abner, but I looked. The king’s house stretched my eyes; I had never seen anything like it. Walls white and gold in the sun, galleries with columns of purple and scarlet—so much I could see through the dust and distance. That, and the way the dwelling crowned its hill and surveyed all the shining city below like a queen.
My father had lived all his life in the house his father had given him as a wedding-gift. When he needed more room, he had built a new courtyard, a new tower. Saul’s house had been like any man’s, even when he had been a king for many years.
It was only two years since the battle at Mount Gilboa; two years that David had been called king in Judah. What had David become, that he built himself such a house?
“You see before you King David’s city, you can guess his power. What do you think now, Princess?” Abner smiled, a snake sure of its bird.
I looked at him, and looked again across the roofs of Jerusalem to where the king’s house waited for me on the highest hill. “I think,” I said at last, “that King David has a great house—and that he spends too much on paint and gilt.”
It was not what Abner wished to hear, so he pretended he had not and gave the order to move on. It was a small victory, without meaning—but I now had need of even small comforts, and so it pleased me a little. And Abner did not speak to me again, which pleased me more.
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