There was so much I had always wished to tell Zhurleen, if only I were ever granted speech with her. And now all I could think of to say was, “So now you are a Moabite?”
“Was not great David’s grandfather’s mother a Moabite woman?” She smiled again. Her hair was no longer crimson curls down her back; it was braided, neat and simple, and covered with a blue veil.
“Ruth,” I said. “Her name was Ruth.”
“Yes, the wife of Boaz. Well, what is good enough for the king is good enough for me. Besides, Moab is greater now than Philistia—and a far safer land to be from!”
“Zhurleen—”
“I am Zilpah now We all change, O Queen.”
“I have not changed,” I said, and thought I spoke the truth. “I have never forgotten you and your kindness.”
“Nor did I forget you—no, no, I never thought you had asked the king to sell me, so do not look so at me. Whatever faults you may have, you are not small-hearted.”
“Perhaps not. But I am a fool and a coward.” It was sweet to speak plainly to one who would believe what I said.
“And if you are, what is that? Has wisdom and courage brought King David happiness? But you—you are happy now, are you not?”
“I have a boy to care for, and a sister to love. Yes, I am happy.”
“I am glad—and gladder still that you have learned again to be happy.”
I smiled. “It was a hard lesson, but I have learned it. And I am queen besides; I can do much for you!” I could have Zhurleen once again at my side, with her laughter and her wisdom. She would serve me, as she had once sworn she would—Bathsheba would love Zhurleen as I did—
“Can you? I would kiss you if I dared, Michal—so often the great ones have short memories for favors! But if you would do much for me, leave me in peace with my husband.”
The sun’s harsh white light beat upon my head; the stones beneath my feet were hard and fire-hot. For a dozen heartbeats I could not move. I do not think I breathed. Perhaps I made a sound, for Zhurleen touched my arm, quick and light, with her fingertips.
“No, I do not mean to be cruel. You think of the old days—and that is kind of you. But the old days are gone, and the new will be as we make them.”
“Another lesson?” My blood beat as hard as if I had just stepped back from a ravine’s edge, unseen until the breath before.
“Who am I to teach the queen? Who knows better than the queen that we all learn, and change, if we live—why see, even I have learned what you once tried to teach me—that a good man is better than a wealthy one. Of course, a good wealthy man is still best of all!”
“Are you happy, then? I—I would have you be happy, Zhurleen. You were kind to me, and more than once. I have always remembered that—I never forgot you, never.”
“Oh, I knew that, when I heard that you took in the king’s harlot Bathsheba—no, do not frown at me, for I say only what everyone said at the time.”
“And what do they say now?”
“Why, that the Lady Bathsheba is a good mother to a fine son, and must be a worthy woman if the queen loves her so well.” Zhurleen tilted her head and looked at me cat-wise. “And it is said that Queen Michal loves the Prince Solomon as if he were her own.
“Yes,” I said. “But he is not mine, save by love. I shall never have a child of my own body, Zhurleen. Not once, in all these years—and now I am too old.”
“Do you doubt your god Yahweh’s powers, then? Did he not give the worthy Sarah a child when she was all but dead of old age?”
“I know how my prayers have been answered.” Once I had demanded David of Yahweh; well, and so I had David. Then I had demanded vengeance of Yahweh; the stone had been set into my hand that would bring down David—and Bathsheba. “There is nothing I now dare ask, lest it be granted.”
“Then whose son is to be king after great David? Men already ask—and now Prince Amnon is dead, which is a great sorrow, and Prince Absalom—”
“Is not dead, which is also a great sorrow.”
“Ah,” said Zhurleen, and lowered her lashes. “The prince who slays his brothers—and the little sister—I remember her; she was a pretty child. Modest and loving—not like her brother Absalom. Now, if King David had only wed Princess Tamar to Prince Amnon—that is the way to found a dynasty of kings! And Prince Amnon was well-loved.”
“Yes,” I said. “Too well loved. That is why Absalom slew him.”
Zhurleen shrugged; her veil rippled. “Men say the king should choose an heir. Men say it is a thousand sorrows that Queen Michal is childless.”
Later I knew that was the moment I first took the step that led from past to future. It was a simple thing; a few words only. I raised my hand to my hair, touched the silver cord that bound my braids smooth to my head.
“I think of Prince Solomon as my true son. He calls me ‘Mother’—do men say that?”
“Not yet,” said Zhurleen. “But they will.” And we smiled at each other across the clay water-jug. Then she lifted the jug to rest upon her round hip. “Now I must go, and so must you. And I shall make all the good-wives jealous with tales of how I spoke with you, and you were all that was gracious to me, as if I were your good friend. Perhaps I shall even say I knew you long ago—then no one will truly heed a word I tell them!”
“Wait—” I did not know what I could say, save that I did not wish to see Zhurleen go. “You must come to me, you must let me help you. You once helped me; I have never forgotten that—”
“If you would be kind to me, then do not know me,” Zhurleen said. “I am no longer the palace woman; I have a husband, now, and a child—a little daughter to raise to wisdom. I thank you—oh, a thousand times! But it would be no kindness to do me honor now.”
And so I watched her go: a respectable matron with a child to tend and a man to cook for. A woman with a veil upon her head and a full water-jug upon her hip. A woman like all the others.
Like all others who were happy and content. And so it did not matter that her hair was woven now with grey; that her bracelets and anklets were only of brass, and not of silver and gold. Zhurleen still walked like a cat well-pleased with herself. Like a cat who lands always upon her feet, no matter how far the fall. Her hips swayed; the stout cloth of her gown shifted restlessly with each step she took.
That was the last I saw of her: a hand balancing a water-jug as it rose and fell to the easy lift of her hip; a sky-blue veil. Below the edge of her veil the tasseled ends of Zhurleen’s braids slowly danced, like leaves in the wind.
Later I told over the jewelry I had brought secret out of Jerusalem. Bracelets, and necklaces too; true gold. Untarnished, unchanging, like Zhurleen’s good heart.
I wished to do something for her, to give what I had to make her life easy. This gold would buy much—
Yes, envy and malice and spite—and robbers in the night! Zhurleen’s voice was clear and laughing as if she stood before me. I must have learned wisdom from her, after all.
Zhurleen was happy. If I wished her well, I would not meddle in her life.
But I wished to do something for her; she had done much for me and it had cost her dear. I knew that, no matter how light she spoke of it.
And so, in the end, I called Narkis to me and gave the jewelry into her keeping. “For the good women of this city,” I told her. “Take it and have the goldsmith melt it down; each woman in the lower town is to have one piece—so big. Or two, if there is enough gold. Each woman, mind. Not one is to be left out.”
In the end, the war was lost and won in one battle. For Absalom had heeded Hushai’s advice, and so Absalom waited. Waited when all his other men pressed him to attack King David at once, while David was on the march with all his household.
“Let the old man tire himself out,” was Hushai’s counsel. “Attack later, when his men are weary, and all can see he fails.”
Hushai’s words were heeded; Absalom waited. And as the summer waned, so did the eagerness of Absalom’s men. Many
who had come for battle and glory went home again; some came to King David’s camp instead.
And so, as David had planned, Absalom did not bring his host against David’s until the summer ended. Until Joab was ready.
With the king and all the king’s household sealed safe in Mahanaim, Joab took the king’s army further north, to the forest of Ephraim. Absalom’s army finally came forth from Jerusalem; I was told later that it made a fine show.
But battles are not won by fine shows, but by fine deeds; not by bluster, but by cunning. King David’s men were seasoned warriors, not young men dreaming of glory. And when the two armies met, Joab enticed Absalom’s soldiers into the tangled, pathless forest.
And once into the forest they were lost, and all Absalom’s ambitions with them.
Joab’s men had scouted the woods; they hunted Absalom’s men deep into the trees, and slew many. Many more were lost to the forest itself, escaping men’s swords only to fall prey to lions or bears.
Absalom saw how the battle went against him, and fled. He was not one to stay and die with his loyal men. Perhaps he thought he could reach David and plead for his life once more.
Joab knew better than to give Absalom that chance. Joab marked when Absalom fled, and followed, and forced him into an oak grove where the branches grew thick and laced too close for Absalom to break through before Joab caught him up. As David had told me, Joab knew his job. Joab struck hard and true, and brought Absalom safely to the grave.
Runners brought the news swift to Mahanaim: Rejoice, King David’s men have won a great victory! Forty times forty of the enemy lie dead upon the roads, and forty times forty more in the forest. Praise for the warriors, and twice praise for Joab, who avenged the king’s honor!
David stood tall in the midst of the singing shouting people; the two men who had run all the way from the battlefield to bring the king first word knelt smiling at his feet.
“What news?” asked King David. “What news of my son Absalom?”
“He is dead, lord. Joab slew him in the wood. Praise be to Yahweh, the traitor Absalom is dead, and many of his men with him. A great victory, lord!”
David stared down at them and then put his hands over his face. “Oh, my son, my son!” And then he turned and walked back through all the jubilant people, back into his house.
There was a strange silence; the men who had run so far and so fast to bring him word rose slowly to their feet, looking like dogs that had been kicked.
What kings make, kings break. Who had said that? It did not matter; something must be done, and quickly. I could not let David risk the crown that would be Solomon’s. So I stepped forward and clapped my hands, and called out as loudly as I could, “Rejoice, for Yahweh has brought us a great victory this day! Rejoice, for King David is king once more!”
It worked, for a time. There was dancing and singing and much rejoicing as David’s men returned and were claimed by those who loved them. Most came safely back from that battle in the forest of Ephraim.
It was Absalom’s men who lay cold beneath the clear night sky.
But David would not come down and show himself to the people; David would not rejoice. David kept within a small room and would do nothing but wail and moan for his lost son Absalom.
And soon the rejoicing grew quieter, and then ceased, and men walked low-voiced and sullen. Well, and who could blame them, with all their glory tarnished and the king for whom they had fought so well treating them like dogs?
I thought David had gone mad, and I told him so. “You are David—would you be Saul? Go to your men and smile upon their victory before it is too late!”
Even my harsh words did not stop his tears. Now I think he was weeping not so much for Absalom, as for David. Perhaps he knew then that the glorious youth that had been his was now lost to him, lost with Absalom, who had been David come again. That David was gone forever. Was that why he wept, and would not be comforted?
I do not know what would have happened if Joab had not come when he did. For David would not heed me, or Nathan, or any of his counselors. He would only wail and mourn for Absalom, until the soldiers who had returned expecting praise began to look mutinous. No man likes his great deeds flung back in his face as if they were dirt.
But at the end of the second day Joab returned from the battlefield. And when he came and saw what was happening, he spoke to David such words that David never after forgave him.
“In Yahweh’s name, David, what is this noise? They can hear you in the marketplace! Wailing like a woman, and over what? A false son who would have killed you if he could!”
“You have slain my son, my beloved son.” David turned away slowly, as if he were already old.
Bathsheba put her arms around him. “My lord, my lord, you have other sons—loving sons!” It did no good; David brushed her aside as if she were nothing.
Joab stood there and stared at David. Then he looked at me, and I knew that I must once more ally myself with Joab. Blind hate does not summon futures.
“Speak sense into his ears, Joab,” I said. “He will listen to no one, and will not even speak to his brave soldiers. Oh, be silent, Bathsheba! He will not listen to you, or me, or anyone else. But Absalom is dead now, and I am tired of being dragged from Dan to Beersheba. I wish to return home to Jerusalem.”
“Leave me,” cried David. “All of you—leave me to my grief.”
“No, by Yahweh!” Joab drew his sword and flung it down to crash upon the stones of the floor. “Do you see this sword, David? It has fought for you and killed for you, and kept you on that pretty gilded throne and called ‘my lord king’! It has just won you back your crown and saved your life, and the lives of all your wives and sons and daughters too—and all you do is whimper because a worthless boy is dead. The Lady Bathsheba is right—you have other sons, and better, too!”
David held up his hand, but Joab would not be stopped now.
“Do your men mean nothing? They have followed you and fought for you when all others ran after Absalom. Well, now I see we should all have stayed at home in peace and let Absalom have his way, since you’ve been shouting to the housetops that if he were alive and we all lay dead you’d be pleased!” Joab strode forward and grabbed David’s arm. “Are you as mad as King Saul? Will you throw away a year’s hard fighting now? Come now and talk to your soldiers like a man and a king, or I swear not one man will be at your back by the morning!”
King David looked at Joab for a dozen heartbeats; I counted them. Then David turned and walked out. He did not speak to Joab, but I do not think that Joab cared.
When David had gone, I bent and picked up Joab’s sword in both my hands. I held the weapon out to Joab, and he took it.
“Absalom, his son!” said Joab, and spat upon the floor.
I looked on Joab and smiled. “He can sing about it—later,” I said.
That night King David gave a feast to welcome his brave men and to celebrate their victory over the traitor Absalom. Bathsheba and I stood on the rooftop and watched great fires light the plain beyond the city wall.
“Rejoice,” I said. “Rejoice, for now we return to Jerusalem.”
“Yes, to Jerusalem and peace.” Bathsheba sighed. “I am glad—I am so very tired of war!”
“The war is over,” I said. “But the battle has just begun.”
“Battle?” Bathsheba looked puzzled and worried; I laughed and hugged her close to my heart.
“Oh, do not worry, my love—in my battle no blood will be shed.”
But I was wrong; the war was not over. Blood stains deep, and never fades away.
CHAPTER 26
“Nevertheless the king’s word prevailed … .
—I Chronicles 21:4
Women tire easily of war; men do not. What men were tiring of in that year was kingship. Long ago our people had asked for a king, and were warned what a king would be to them. Now they had learned for themselves what a king was. But it was too late now to go back; kings do not
hand power away once they have grasped it.
Absalom’s rebellion had failed, but his acts had given others courage. David’s one kingdom had been made by joining two, Israel and Judah. Israel had been the stronger, but King David came from Judah, and so Judah was favored. Now Israel said that King David of Judah was nothing and less than nothing to the men of Israel, and rose up against David.
“I do not understand how they can dare,” Bathsheba said, when we heard the news. “It is what all say, Michal—how can they dare raise their hands against the king? And when he has just won a great victory—why are they such fools—and ungrateful, too, for only think of what the king has done for them—”
So Bathsheba chattered on, while I sat and kept my face an ivory mask. How dare they indeed?
For Israel had only its tents; King David had his walled cities. Israel had its levies to summon up; King David had his army ready-summoned, waiting.
How dare they? I thought I knew, for I knew how David moved his playing-pieces. And I thought I knew how deep Absalom had cut David’s heart. Now all would be punished for Absalom’s rebellious folly.
And so I asked, when next I saw David. “All men ask a thing, great king.”
“And what is that, my queen?” David liked to play such games; I let him win them.
“It is a riddle,” I said, and touched his harp where it hung upon the wall. Another new one; a lion of gold guarded taut harp- strings, its beryl eyes unwinking.
“A gift,” David said, his eyes as bright as the golden lion’s. “From the king of Asshur.”
“A kingly gift for a harper king. You should play more, David.”
“A king has little time for such things.” But he took down the lion-harp and ran his fingers across the strings. “I must tune this; music should not jar the ear. Now tell me your riddle.”
Queenmaker: A Novel of King David's Queen Page 30