I smiled. “It is this: ‘How dare they?”’
“A strange riddle, my queen.”
“Not so strange, O King. Your people are not fools.”
“Some are.” David plucked at the harp-strings, and frowned. “Fools, and worse. Traitors against Yahweh’s anointed. But I will know them, and root them out. My kingdom goes whole and safe to my son.” And David looked at me slantwise across the gilded harp.
So I was right; the men of Israel had been lured into a trap. See David, weak and cruel king. Rise against him, O Israel—and be crushed. Traitors, yes—but Israel’s men would not have risen had they not been lured. There was no need to ask why; Israel had been Saul’s kingdom, brother to Judah. A quarrelsome brother; now it would be nothing.
I was wiser than all the men of Israel; before my eyes David spread net and lure in vain. I did not ask ‘which son, O King?’ I only smiled, and listened as King David played harsh music on an untuned harp.
In the time it took the Israelites to talk and to agree and to summon their men, King David’s army marched upon them. The king’s army was seasoned and all well armed. The rebels were beaten back in a single battle.
The leader of the rebels fled to a city at the end of Israel. It did him no good; Joab and the army followed and camped outside the city walls. Joab demanded the traitor’s head, and got it. That was the end of the war that David himself had started. King David had won—or so he thought.
For the year of Absalom’s death was a year of blood, and it stained David forever. Too many men had risen against him and proved they loved him not. I think it was that knowledge, rather than a king’s cold logic, that drove David to his next slaughter.
My sister Merab’s sons. They, and my father’s two sons by his concubine Rizpah, were slaughtered before the gates of Gibeah, the city where my father had once lived as king. Their bodies were hung upon the city wall, food for crows. David had a reason, of course; he called me to him so that he might tell it to me himself. “I weep for them, Michal—see, tears stand in my eyes even now. A king’s lot is harsh, and Yahweh’s will harsher—” And he held me in his arms and wept into my hair.
I stood cold in his arms. “Was it Yahweh’s voice that gave the order, David?”
“Ah, my queen, you still do not understand. They were traitors; I know it is hard for you to believe. But they were not boys, Michal, but men. And the men of Israel rallied to them—”
David spoke on and on into my ear, but I heard instead words he had spoken long ago. ‘—I swore that King Saul and his house would take no harm from my hands—’
And now all that was left of the House of Saul was Jonathan’s crippled son Meribaal. And Michal, King David’s queen.
My eyes were dry; I felt nothing then. Pain would come later. David fell to his knees before me and wept upon my hands; I looked on, heartless as an idol.
David’s tears were real enough. But they were not for Saul’s sons or grandsons. They are for himself.
David wept for David. I understood that much, even then. Now I know that David was never again the same, after that year.
That year that some men loved him not.
That year was also a year of changes. King David had always had an army; Joab commanded that. But now David formed a palace guard, all foreigners; command of the guard was given to a man called Benaiah. And Benaiah took his orders only from the king himself.
Joab did not like this, of course. Well, Joab had worked hard enough for his place, after all, and come to it over the bodies of many good men. I spent much time that year watching the king’s great court; I stood hidden behind the grille above the king’s throne when Joab protested.
“There can be only one commander of the host, David. I lead your army, and have these dozen years! Who is this man? He has never served with me.”
David smiled; I could sense it. “He has served me, Joab. And you are still commander of the host; these men are only guards for the palace.”
“What need has the palace for guards? It’s in the middle of Jerusalem! And cannot my men guard a palace, my men who have slain your enemies in their thousands?”
“Your warriors are too valuable to waste idling about the court,” David told him, and would hear no more from Joab. “Benaiah commands the palace guard; the king decrees it.”
I watched Joab’s face, and thought if Benaiah were wise he would never let Joab too near his back. And I thought, too, that if David no longer trusted Joab, then David was a fool to let Joab know it and live.
Joab was given a present of the king’s own cloak, all fine blue wool embroidered with scarlet. A great honor for Joab: the king’s own cloak, embroidered by the queen’s own hands. David gave all the army an extra wine ration and a special feast of fine meats to prove in what regard he held his good men.
And Benaiah’s guard stood in the gateways and walked the rooftops of the king’s palace.
David sat quiet in Jerusalem until the next planting. And then he called for Joab and told him the king had a new use for the army. Joab was to take his soldiers and count all the people of the kingdom, from Dan to Beersheba, and was to take care to number all the able-bodied men.
“Now we shall know how many dwell in my land, and where they dwell. I will know who can spare sons to the king’s army, and who cannot. And I will know who pays their tithes and taxes, and who does not.”
“Numbering the people goes against the Law,” Joab told him.
“The king is the Law.”
“Do the priests know that?”
But Joab did not care greatly about priestly laws; what King David ordered, that Joab did, now as always.
Others cared more. Many of the people feared Yahweh’s wrath, and this fear was fostered by the priests, who feared King David’s power. The Law had lain in the priests’ hands in the days before a king sat upon a throne in Jerusalem. But since the time that Solomon had been born, men had heeded the priests and prophets less, and the king more.
As the king had given the priests more honor, the king had taken more power. And now, at last, even the priests could see the net in which they had been snared. A net woven of gold, and fine meats, and sweet words.
“A great sin, the priests are calling it; I had it from Eglah, who had it from her handmaid Leah, whose cousin Tirzah heard it at the silver-smith’s.”
“To count all the people—the greatest crime a man can commit against Yahweh—the high priest Abiathar said so in the main gate today. I heard him myself.”
“Shall the people be numbered? Does not the Law say to us, number the sheep, and the goats, but not the people?”
“But does not the king make the laws?”
This was all the talk in the women’s quarters of the palace. The king had climbed high and conquered much; would he now be brought down to crash upon the rocks waiting below? No one truly thought he would slip and fall, and so to think of it was exciting. This year was dull, after the last.
I sat in my own courtyard, and listened to all who came by. And when I was asked what I thought, I only smiled. I did not think that Yahweh would care more for this sin of David’s than for any other.
But Nathan cared. Nathan saw his own chance to regain what he had let slip through his fingers long ago. He was wrong; it was too late. King David no longer needed the prophet Nathan.
But Queen Michal did. King David spurned Nathan as now worthless; Nathan had long since served David’s purposes. But Nathan was still prophet. In the land beyond Jerusalem’s thick walls, Nathan’s word still weighed heavy, and was cherished.
So on the day that I sat behind the throne and saw David toss aside this old weapon, I reached out my hand and caught it up. I had thought it would be a hard thing; I was wrong. It was simple as spinning thread.
It was one of the days that King David sat in judgment and any man might stand before him. As Nathan had done before, the prophet came to the open court and foretold doom for the king, did he not bow his head to Yahweh
’s will—and that of the priests.
“For you sin against Yahweh! His people must not be numbered—so says the Law. It is a wicked thing, and you will be punished for it if you do not repent.”
And men shuffled, and murmured to one another—but as if they grew restless, and not as if they feared Yahweh’s wrath. Perhaps Nathan had come too often to this well; much he had prophesied had not come to pass. For all the prophet’s talk of destruction and vengeance, David still sat upon the throne in Jerusalem and ruled over all the land from Dan to Beersheba.
But David spoke to Nathan kindly enough. “My regard for Yahweh’s Law is known to all the people. May I be struck down as I speak if I do anything against the Law.” He paused, as if inviting the lightning bolts. “I have thought long upon this, Nathan—yes, and prayed to Yahweh, too. A king is as a shepherd to his people; he cares for them and guides them as a shepherd his flock. How can he guard them against evil if he does not know the least lamb among them?”
“Yahweh’s people are not to be reckoned and counted over, as coins hoarded by a miser!”
“Are not the people more precious than coins? Should they not be cherished, each as a rare gem in Yahweh’s treasure?”
“Yahweh is not mocked, lord king! There will be great harm from this evil deed!” Nathan drew himself up and thumped the floor hard with his staff—the staff that once had been the prophet Samuel’s. The staff that David himself had given into Nathan’s hands.
But Nathan was always too short and round for that fine gesture to be impressive. If he had not been a prophet, I think men would have laughed, then.
No one laughed, but David’s voice said he smiled. “Yahweh’s will be done, Nathan. But it will not be done if men are kept waiting for the king’s justice. I will come and speak with Abiathar and Zadok when the court is over, and see what can be done to set their minds at rest. Now, will that content you?”
David spoke as one indulgent to an old man’s folly. Nathan did not like the king’s tone, but he kept his dignity.
“It is not I who must be content, but Yahweh.” Nathan did not give David another chance to make him look foolish, but turned away and walked slowly out of the king’s great court.
And I went swiftly to find a servant to bring the prophet Nathan to me. “Tell him in the queen’s garden, and at once, if he will so honor me.”
For I knew what I had seen, and I knew the time to grasp Nathan was now. Now, before Nathan brooded upon his wrongs, and emulated great Samuel—and walked away from the king in anger to anoint a new king in secret to bring down the old.
Of course Nathan came to me. Well, to hear a summons from the queen, who never summoned him? Any man would answer, in such a case; a man smarting from the king’s dismissal would answer twice as quickly.
Nathan found me sitting by the fountain in my garden; I rose and knelt before him and begged for his blessing.
“Does the queen think an old man’s blessing still has any worth?”
“Age brings wisdom. Give me your blessing, Nathan, and I will tell you why I asked you to come to me.”
So he laid his hands upon my head and spoke the words. I do not know if his blessing aided me, but Nathan felt the better for it. No man likes to be made old and foolish in men’s eyes. David had not been clever, there. Nathan was prophet still; if David’s luck did not run true, men would remember that. And Nathan would remember David’s mocking smooth words.
When Nathan had done, I rose and led him over to the carved bench beside the fountain. Water danced in the sunlight and sang against the marble basin—a good place to sit and talk. Six paces away nothing could be heard but fountain-song.
“Well, and what does the queen want with me?” Nathan was ready to be pleased, now. Zhurleen was right; it was easy to please any man. ‘Only give him what he wants, and it is never much! Then you may take all he has and he will love you for it … .’
I smiled, and gave Nathan what would please him: respect. “Nathan is wise, and kind, and I am much troubled in my mind on a matter.”
Nathan took my hand and patted it. “Tell me, daughter. Any aid I can give, that you shall have.”
“You are good, Nathan—and I have not always been kind to you. When King David took me from my husband Phaltiel and brought me here—you remember?” Yes, remember when I asked your aid, and my husband Phaltiel was found dead by the roadside. And remember when I accused King David, and you did not believe me. Remember that, Nathan.
Nathan remembered; I saw it in his face. “Queen Michal, once—
I shook my head. “Do not say it; the fault was mine. Grief shaped my words too harshly.” Whatever evil Nathan was now willing to believe of David must never be spoken. For King David must stay safe upon his gilded throne, so that Solomon might sit there after him.
There was a pause; we both listened to water fall on water. Then Nathan said, “You are a good daughter of Yahweh, O Queen. Tell me what troubles you. This time I will listen.”
“It concerns a great matter, Nathan. The king, and his mind in a certain thing. He has grown strange, since Prince Absalom’s death—have you seen it? Almost I think I see my father King Saul in him. A darkness in his eyes.”
“Samuel once warned the people what a king would be to them. Now they see the truth of Samuel’s words.” Nathan sounded more pleased than grieved.
“And when I see King David begin to act as King Saul did, I am afraid. What will become of us all if King David goes the way of King Saul?”
Nathan shook his head, and sighed. “That is in the hand of Yahweh.”
I bowed my head. “Has Yahweh turned his face from David, Nathan?”
The only sound was the water playing through the fountain. At last Nathan spoke, grudging the words.
“I do not know. He has sinned most grievously against the Law, yet Yahweh has not chastised him. Yahweh forgives him much.” Plainly Nathan thought Yahweh forgave David too much. “Is that what troubled the queen’s mind?”
I looked straight at Nathan and spoke plain. “No. What troubles the queen’s mind is not this king, but the next.”
“Adonijah is the oldest prince still living—”
I looked past the fountain. The sun shone white upon the lilies where once Amnon and Tamar had lain.
“Yes,” I said. “But is Adonijah to be king, after David? Tell me, Nathan—is that how King David was chosen, and King Saul? Does Prince Adonijah find favor in the sight of Yahweh?”
Nathan looked at me, and his eyes were shrewd as an old fox’s choosing a hen to carry away. “And who finds favor in the sight of Queen Michal? Prince Solomon? He is only a boy.”
“Solomon will not be a boy forever, as David will not be king forever.”
“Perhaps there have been too many kings in this land already.”
I laughed. “Perhaps there have, but where there have been two, there will be a third. Now see, Nathan—I have thought much on this, and for a long time. A king need not scourge his people; David is right—the king should be the people’s shepherd. But I think David himself has forgotten how to tend sheep.” And I laughed again, inviting Nathan to laugh with me at David’s folly.
When Nathan sobered, he patted my hand again. “The king has always called you a clever woman, and he is right, daughter. You are wise as Deborah herself. Have you spoken to the king of this?”
“No, and I do not wish to.”
“But he will give you anything you ask; he has said so many times.”
“Not this,” I said. “Not so soon after Absalom. David trusts no one now—not even Joab.”
“What is it you ask of me, then? That I ask the king to name Solomon? I do not think the king will listen to me now.” Hard words to say; prophets are prideful men. Only Nathan would have been honest enough to admit such a thing. I could not imagine Samuel ever speaking so.
“I ask nothing, save that you think on this matter—and ask yourself who among David’s sons would best be named king after him. That
is all.” I smiled, and touched Nathan’s hand. “And that you speak with Prince Solomon, if you will. His mother and I would have him learn what you alone can teach.”
“And would have me learn his virtues?” Nathan clasped his staff and hauled himself to his feet.
“Of course; it will spare you a mother’s listing of them! They are many, I assure you!”
Nathan stood straight and round before me, all dignity again. “Since you ask it, O Queen, I will think carefully on this matter. But I can promise nothing. All happens as Yahweh wills.”
It was a good beginning; I was content with that. And so I bade Nathan farewell, and watched him walk away from me. The prophet moved lighter now, as if walking were easier than it had been an hour before.
And then I sat and stared long at the dancing fountain. But I was no prophet or seer to gaze upon the future in crystal. All I saw was water falling clear through clear bright air.
“I talked with Nathan today; we spoke of Solomon. No, do not try to look at me, the comb will tangle in your hair.” I liked to comb Bathsheba’s hair in the evenings. It flowed about her like dark water; its thick waves caught the comb if I were not careful.
Bathsheba sat obedient. “What did you say—what did Nathan say of him? Will Nathan help us?”
“Perhaps,” I said. “He will speak with Solomon, which is all I asked of him today.”
“And tomorrow?” Bathsheba began to tilt her head back, recalled my warning, and stopped.
“Tomorrow, we shall see.”
“Nathan will be pleased with him?”
“Of course; who could not be pleased with Solomon?”
Bathsheba was silent a moment as I combed. “Adonijah?”
“Perhaps,” I said, and thought of Prince Adonijah. Absalom’s full brother, and now the eldest prince. “But I do not think, my love, that the wishes of Absalom’s brother will weigh heavy for a time.”
Queenmaker: A Novel of King David's Queen Page 31