I tried to weep too, to find ease, but I could not. And Zhurleen hovered like a hawk, seeking to drag Caleb from my arms. So I put Caleb from me and stroked his wet cheeks. “Tell me, my darling, when this happened. What day was it?”
It had been two days ago. Two days after Nathan had spoken to King David, and King David had agreed that he had been wrong, and that I might go home to Phaltiel.
“Caleb,” I said, and held him close against my body; he was hot, and still dusty from hard travel.
“And so I came to tell you, Mother, and—and to bring you home.” Caleb shoved his chin forward. “That is why I am here. My brothers say you will not come, that you would rather live with the king, but I know that is not true, and so I came by myself!” He looked at me, pleading. “It is not true, is it?”
“Tell him the right truth, O Queen,” said Zhurleen softly. “Be wise, and speak carefully. The boy came all this way alone to find you—it is only because I had gone out to the bird-market and chanced to pass by while he argued at the king’s gate that he is safe here now. I told you I risked much—but not as much as he did.”
She put a hand upon Caleb’s shoulder as if to draw him away; Caleb shook Zhurleen’s hand off and stared at me. I looked at Zhurleen, and I knew at last what I should have known the moment I had seen Abner at the gate with his fifty armed men: that never again could I know peace, except at King David’s bidding.
“Come with me,” Caleb demanded. “I will take you away, Mother. I will protect you—I do not care what Ezra says—he is a coward and no man! You are our father’s wife, we must take care of you!”
He tugged at my hand, as he had long ago when he was still only a babe, and I only a young girl playing mother. His fingers clung to mine as they had when he was small. But Caleb was no longer a little boy; he was almost thirteen, almost as tall as I; some might see him as a man. Some might see him as a threat.
Suddenly Caleb’s fingers seemed to clutch my heart as well. For a moment I stood frozen still with fear, as if I had almost trodden upon a viper. Clear in my head I heard Phaltiel’s voice counseling me to lie quiet in his house—“—and do not remind the king that you still breathe.” Do not remind the king … .
“Mother!” Another tug at my hand, a plucking at my sleeve. Come, Mother, come and see, you must look—
I put my arms tight around Caleb, who was once my own boy. A son to me. David had so many sons. Why must he deny me mine?
“O Queen, you must make haste now. He must not be found here—go, boy, and take care. Here, you may carry this—” Zhurleen unclasped a necklace, twisted it hard between her fingers, and held it out to Caleb. “Tell them you are taking it to the goldsmith’s for mending, if you are stopped and questioned. Tell them the Lady Zhurleen sends it.”
Caleb glared at her with the fierce sullen anger I remembered from our first days together, when I had only just come to dwell in Phaltiel’s house. “I will not go! She is my father’s widow and it is my duty to tend her! I will slay anyone who tries to stop me!”
Zhurleen looked from me to Caleb, and back again. “Are you both mad? If you care for him at all, O Queen, you must send him away, and now. Say farewell, quickly!”
She was right; I knew she was right. So I took Caleb’s face between my hands, and kissed him, and told him he must go. He did not wish to leave me; he was only a boy still, and so thought right must win over all.
“No,” he said. “I will protect you—Father would want me to, and it is the law.”
“Come away, boy!” Zhurleen begged. “It is over, and this does no good to you or to the queen. Come, now.”
Caleb set his mouth, stubborn as a badger. As stubborn as Princess Michal had once been, when she was almost thirteen, and still thought the world would spin obedient to her wishes.
And so I did what I must. I stepped back, away from Caleb, and spoke. “You must go now, Caleb. She is right; it is over now, and I am the queen. If you wish to please me, you will go.”
Caleb stared at me, eyes blank as stones. “Do you mean,” he asked, “that you want to stay here—with him?” His voice wavered, begged me to deny it.
I would not; I must not.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I wish to stay here. Now do as the Lady Zhurleen bids you, Caleb! Go home, and tell Miriam--”
“I will tell her nothing! My brothers were right, you wish to be the king’s harlot because he gives you jewels! I hate you!” Caleb’s voice rose high and broke. He turned and ran, away from me, toward the gate.
His words tore my heart like saw-blades; still worse was the pain and betrayal in his eyes. I could not bear it.
“Caleb!” I started after him, but Zhurleen barred my way.
“No,” she said. “Let him go, Michal. Let him go free of love for you, if you would keep him safe.”
I stopped, then, and stood silent, watching as Zhurleen padded swiftly after Caleb. Her flounced skirt swung wide in her haste, and her bare belled feet made harsh music against the paving-stones.
Phaltiel was dead and would never come now to put his arms around me and take me home. Phaltiel was dead, no man knew how or why, and his loving wife dwelt in fine gowns and rich gems in the king’s house and did not shed one tear for him. I could not cry; the blow had driven too deep.
But mourning there must be, to ease my husband’s spirit, even though my eyes were dry sand and my heart a stone for silence.
The bracelets from my arms made little splashing noises as they dropped into the shining fountain. The gold falling from my hair made no sound at all; false leaves glinted and spun on the water’s surface as I dragged my fingers through my hair, ripping free the narrow twisted braids. My fingers caught, yanked; I welcomed the little hurt.
Phaltiel was dead, dead—and he had never heard my message. He had died knowing only that I had sent no word; that I had chosen the king’s house over his.
My courtyard was smooth-swept stone; there was no dust for my face. But I had nails, long and well-tended, as befit a queen’s soft hands. I could rip my fine gown to rags, and my skin to blood. And I did, until my maids came running up to me crying out in horror and hung upon my arms to make me stop.
“Leave me. My husband is dead, and I must mourn for him.”
They all looked at me, and then sideways at each other, and then all spoke at once. “No, no, the king is well—he sits in the great hall even now—come, come to the women’s gallery and you may see him with your own eyes—”
“Be silent!” I pressed my hands over my ears, but it did not help. They chirped and chattered at me until the noise rang inside my head as well as out. More slanting looks, some knowing and some of pity, and then many vows to be silent as a mouse’s shadow if only I would come inside with them.
It was easier to go than to stay, and so I went.
In my rooms there was another uproar, for I would not let them wash or comb or dress me, and called for ashes from the kitchen hearth. “Now, I tell you! Go—go at once!”
They stared at me, round-mouthed as a flock of ewe-lambs, and did not move until I threw a lamp at them. I did not fling it in hot rage; I wanted them to go, and the lamp was handy to my hand. The clay lamp cracked to pieces against the painted lintel; oil spread, marring the pattern of lotus flowers.
The maids ran away, after that, and my room was quiet for a time. And then David came to me.
“Why, Michal, what is this? Look, the sun is bright and the birds sing for joy—come, do not sit alone on such a day.” David would have raised me up, but I made myself a heavy burden.
“My husband is dead. Let me be, that I may mourn him in peace.”
“No, Michal, I live. See, here I am before you, well and whole.” David knelt before me, and took my hands. “Only look, and be comforted.”
“You know I speak of Phaltiel. He is dead. Did you think no one would tell me?”
There was silence before David spoke. “If that is so, I am sorry for it. I am told Phaltiel was a good man. B
ut a man’s death—even a good man’s death—is no reason for the queen of my house and heart to claw her face and rend her garments.”
He stroked my face, tracing the scratches I had gouged into my cheeks. “You cannot grieve like this for every man slain by robbers on the road—or struck down by illness. And Phaltiel was an old man, after all.”
“Phaltiel was my husband. You swore you would send me back to him!”
“I swore to send Nathan with your message, and that promise I kept. All Jerusalem saw me keep my word. But who is to say that Phaltiel would have wished you back?”
“He would,” I said. “He would. He loved me.”
David set his hand upon my hair. “I did what you asked of me, Michal. Now you see it is Yahweh’s will that you stay with me. Come, now, and let your maids tend you.”
His voice was smooth and soft as warm butter; his hands were gentle and kind. His eyes showed nothing, neither joy nor triumph. But I knew. Phaltiel had been slain by a thief indeed—a royal thief, who would own what Phaltiel possessed, and had killed him for it. For me.
“My bride-prices are high.” I drew away, slowly, and rose to my feet. “Once it was a hundred foreskins taken from the Philistines. This time it was my husband’s life.”
David stayed on his knees and looked up at me with eyes like pools in the salt desert, bright surface hiding deep poison. “You rave, Michal. Perhaps madness does run in the blood of Saul. Do not fear; no one will harm you.”
“Now I understand—Nathan was only the second messenger from the king. Who was the first, the one who ran before Nathan in secret to strike Phaltiel down?”
David did not move. “This is not wise, Michal. This is no way for a queen to act.” His voice told nothing at all, as if I had never spoken of King David and murder within one breath.
“It is the way for a widow to act. I have a widow’s rights, now, and a widow’s duties. Leave me in peace with them.”
“Enough of this folly.” David arose, now, and came to put an arm around my shoulders, and would not let me move away. “If Phaltiel is dead, as you say, then Yahweh’s will is clear—you are my wife, and the queen. I will not have the people see you weeping and wailing for another man. Come, now, you have been content enough here all this month past—be content now.”
I said nothing, and David stroked me, caressing now he thought he had won. “You are too fair, beloved, to use yourself so.” The day was hot, and his hands slid damp on my skin. He was smiling, now.
Even his eyes smiled, his beautiful eyes in his beautiful face. Phaltiel’s eyes had been beautiful once, before he had lain two days as pleasure for the jackals and the crows.
“I will send your maids to you again, Michal, and now you will let them bathe you, and anoint you, and dress you as befits David’s queen.”
King David, the sun for beauty—I would have marred that beauty if I could, but David held me close and hard and I could not move. So I smiled, and spat in his face.
“Give me a dress befitting David’s harlot,” I said, thinking of Caleb’s last words to me, “and I will wear that.”
Most men, guilty or not, would have broken my bones in payment for those words. But David was always smooth as sand and water, swallowing up what was meant to hurt and keeping it buried to repay later. He lifted one of my loosened braids and wiped his face with my hair.
“Your father was a king, Michal—and he was a madman as well. All the land knows that. Now your women tell me you talk wildly, and demand odd things. So be calm, or you will be queen of silence, and see no one who will excite you to these strange fits.”
He did not say more than that; he did not need to say more. The bargain was as plain as any carved in the market clay-boards. The king’s house was large, and held many, many rooms within its walls, and not all of them were spacious, painted things. If I were not docile and obedient now, I would leave the light and the air and the companionship of my women, and be kept alone in the darkness known to soothe the mad. And all men would bless David’s charity in keeping his poor mad wife locked safe away, when other men would have put her aside and cared nothing for her.
I was still young; I might live so twenty years, or thirty—I trembled, and sour liquid welled up and burned in my mouth.
“You see? You are tired, you must rest,” said David, as if my comfort were his only care and delight under the sky.
“Yes,” I said, and did not look at him. “Yes, I am tired. I will rest.”
“Good. I will send your maids.” He kissed my forehead, and made me lift my head. “Be content and happy, and you may ask anything of me and I will grant it. Now smile for me, Michal—our people like to see their king and queen smiling. Smile.”
I made some movement with my mouth; the scratches I had scored in my cheeks for Phaltiel stung and cracked.
“There, you see? It is easy and simple. I will come to you tonight, Michal, and you will smile for me then. You are lovely as lilies when you smile.”
CHAPTER 12
“Is there yet any that is left of the house of Saul … ?”
—II Samuel 9:1
After David had gone I went up the shallow steps to my balcony, to the air and the sun’s light. My body was stiff, and hard to move; I knew now how my bones would feel when I was old.
My mind also would not obey. My thoughts pulled always back to one thing, like a wheel dragged into the deep rut made by others in the summer earth. And that thing was not Phaltiel’s death, but David’s eyes when he had spoken of it.
I stood in the hot light, stared unseeing across the heat-shimmered roofs of Jerusalem. He would come to me tonight, David had said. Did he think I would lie willing?
No, I told myself. I will not. Never.
So said my heart. But my rebellious mind knew better. If David came to me I would lie with him; yes, lie as if I loved him dear. I would be as meek and docile as a pet lamb, as he had told me I must be, lest I be called mad.
But I was not mad; my mind was clear as well-water now that I no longer must look into David’s eyes. Now I saw the path I might tread to safety, and to David’s undoing.
Nathan, I thought, and stared out and past the city walls to the road that led over the hills to Gallim. Nathan the prophet, the upholder of Yahweh’s Law.
In our land, a prophet held in his hands more power than a king. Had not Samuel raised my father high, only to bring him down to dust and give his kingdom to another? To David—
Oh, yes, I would speak to Nathan. And when Nathan had heard what I now would tell him, David would have no power over me. Yahweh’s king was not held above Yahweh’s Law; Yahweh’s Law did not condone lustful murder. Phaltiel would be avenged.
But first I must wait yet again, wait for Nathan to return from Gallim. When he did, surely he must come to me, to tell the sad news.
First I must live through the days, and the nights. I thought of David, and of the coming night, and clenched my fingers hard on the burning stones of the balcony wall. I swore to myself that I would lie beneath David meek and obedient; that David would not know I was other than that.
That night David demanded smiles, and kisses, and caresses, as if nothing but love had ever been spoken between us. I was wise, and remembered my vow. I smiled, and kissed him, and did all as he would have it done.
I was rewarded; I felt nothing, and gave nothing. And I thought of nothing, not even of Phaltiel.
When it was over, David lay beside me and stroked my hair, and smiled upon me, and promised me whatever I wished for pleasing him so.
“You see, Michal? You are mine, and mine alone—your body tells me so. There is no other woman like you for pride and passion. Yahweh has blessed our union with joy, and it will bear royal fruit.”
No, I thought. I am mine, and mine alone, and Yahweh. has blessed me. For I knew now that I could endure and wait; David could not touch me. David would take the surface, and think me loving. He would not know I gave only shadow.
He would ne
ver know, until I stood before him with Nathan at my side and accused him of his crime before all the people. Nothing would bring Phaltiel back from the land of ghosts and shadows, not even justice. But justice would mean Phaltiel slept there in peace.
“Do not look so solemn—see, I will give anything for a smile from your lips,” said David, begging me like a true lover. “Come, now, ask and it shall be granted, if only you will grant me a smile. Let me show you how I love you, queen of my heart.”
“You have shown me already,” I told him. My voice was steady, gentle as a dove’s. “And there is nothing I want more than what you have just given me.”
And then I smiled at David, just as he had asked. It was easy to smile, then. It was only later, when David had gone at last, that I wept, and could not stop.
I was calm, as David had ordered that I be, as I waited for Nathan to return to Jerusalem. I asked for nothing, I wished to see no one. By day I sat upon my balcony and watched the road to the city; by night I wept into my pillow so that no one would hear.
Four days after Caleb had come to me to tell me that his father was dead, Nathan returned to the city. I suppose he thought there was no need for haste with the news he carried. And as I had known he would, Nathan came. David himself brought the prophet to me.
It was close to midday; I had been staring out over the city since dawn, watching through the hours as the sunlight changed and shadows slid over the walls and houses like oil. I rose to my feet when I saw the two men standing there, David tall and beautiful, Nathan round and plain.
“I bear unhappy news,” Nathan said, and his eyes were kind. He was not one who took joy in bad tidings.
“I know your news already,” I told him. “Phaltiel lies dead.”
Nathan stared at my words. “That is true, but how can you know that, daughter?”
David answered before me. “You know her father King Saul once fell down and prophesied. Perhaps that is how Michal knows what she has neither heard nor seen.”
Queenmaker: A Novel of King David's Queen Page 14