The Secret Book of Kings

by Yochi Brandes

  Even then, in that sublime moment, people were already telling wicked stories of the young king’s great beauty and stature, behind which, they claimed, hid a weak, insecure leader. The stories were spread mostly by the Judeans, who had trouble accepting the crowning of a king from the tribes of Rachel. “Leah was the eldest,” they whispered bitterly, “and Judah was her favorite son. The king should come from our tribe, not from Benjamin, the youngest of Jacob’s sons.”

  Father paid no attention to these stories. “Let them talk,” he said dismissively. “The Judeans have always tried to undermine leaders from the line of Rachel. They even tried to question Joshua’s position by spreading false tales about Moses appointing the head of their tribe, Caleb son of Jephunneh, to be his successor. Little good it did them. The stories of Caleb turned to dust in his own lifetime, while all the tribes still to this day tell the stories of the heroic Joshua, conqueror of the land.”

  But Samuel knew that stories were powerful weapons, and he wasted no time in assembling the detractors in Hebron, which was the capital of Judah at the time, before the founding of Jerusalem. “The nation of Israel has always opposed the twisted idea of primogeniture!” thundered the old prophet. “It has always been thus. Isaac overtook Ishmael, Jacob defeated Esau, Joseph ruled over his older brothers, and Ephraim rose above Manasseh. So too Rachel, the younger sister, was the chosen wife, Jacob’s most beloved. She is the matriarch of our greatest leaders: Joshua, Ehud, Deborah, Barak, Gideon, Jephthah, and even me. That’s the way it always has been, and that’s the way it always will be.”

  The Judeans, thus chastised, tried to bring up Moses, a descendant of Leah, but Samuel replied with scorn that Moses was a Levite, and the Levites, as everyone knew, stood outside the tribal divisions. Moreover, Moses was further proof of Samuel’s point—he was the youngest child in his family and was chosen to be the leader over Aaron and Miriam.

  “You’re a firstborn son!” someone in the crowd shouted. “Why did God choose you?”

  “I am a priest,” came the decisive reply. “Priests are required to be firstborns. That is the sacred law of the temples.”

  “Kings must also be firstborns,” boldly protested the tribal elder who believed himself to be entitled to the throne.

  Samuel’s face darkened with fury. “Judah was not the firstborn,” he thundered.

  “But he was the son of the older sister,” replied the tribal elder. “Jacob cursed his three oldest sons, but he called our forefather a lion cub and granted him eternal rule.”

  “Only a prideful tribe calls itself a lion,” said Samuel. “The God of Israel prefers humility. That is why He dispossesses firstborns and chooses their younger siblings over them. Go home, children of Judah, and accept the yoke of the new king. He may be from Benjamin, the youngest of the tribes, but there is no one on earth as good.”

  And indeed, Father turned out to be a brave and wise king, leaving no doubt that his humility was a result not of weakness or insecurity, but of a pure heart. Under his leadership, the divided tribes of Israel became a strong, united nation that cast its shadow over every other people in the land, with the exception of the Philistines, who relied upon the iron weapons they had brought with them from the lands of the sea. Even so, the Judeans were not impressed by the young king’s startling success and went on spreading their false tales with persistence and determination. Abner wanted to make laws banning such slander and to hunt down their sources, but Father preferred to ignore them and keep working for the good of the nation. “Reality will make these stories turn into dust,” he said confidently. “That’s the way it is—the truth always wins out.”

  Many years passed before he realized his error and came to understand that stories are more powerful than truth. Many more years passed before I, the last remaining descendent of the House of Saul, realized that this war was a war like any other, and that the stories of Judah could be fought only with counter-stories of our own.

  Three

  I fell in love at first sight with the two men of my life. To this day I have never deciphered that mysterious force that, in a single fleeting glance, transforms a stranger into an object of longing and yearning.

  The first time I fell in love, it was at a parade to honor my brother Jonathan. The crowds had gathered in Gibeah from all over the country to show their gratitude for the great victory at Mikmash and to hear the master storytellers describe how the brave-hearted prince had invaded the Philistine camp with the aid only of his shield bearer. The people couldn’t get enough of the hilarious depictions of the panicked soldiers of the apparently invincible army, fooled into believing that thousands of fighters had invaded their camp, fleeing for their lives in a wild stampede and leaving their legendary iron weapons behind. Not since the war against Nahash the Ammonite had the army of Israel won such a glorious victory.

  Merab and I sat to either side of Mother on the dais and waved to the enthralled masses. For the occasion, the seamstresses had made each of us a silk dress in a different color, and the goldsmiths had cast exquisite golden crowns with matching gemstones. My dress and crown were sky blue, and I felt more beautiful than I ever had before. The cheering of the crowd when I appeared on the dais proved that I had made the right decision in taking my sister’s advice. That morning, when the dress had been brought to my room, I’d been dazzled by its beauty but declared that I would wear something less glamorous. I was afraid that when the parade was over Father would admonish me for my ostentatiousness, but Merab convinced me that we were dressing up to honor Jonathan and that even a modest man like Father would understand that this time it was the right thing for the women of the palace to appear in all their splendor so as to delight the people on the great day of their beloved crown prince.

  “Saul has slain his thousands, and Jonathan his tens of thousands,” sang the dancing girls, as they beat their drums and twisted their lithe young bodies. Abner tried to silence the girls, but Father glowed with joy. He stood proud, a head taller than anyone else, and joined in the song with giddy laughter.

  “Saul has slain his thousands, and Jonathan his tens of thousands,” the crowd sang with hoarse voices, cheering enthusiastically for the crown prince, who was leading the parade.

  I looked up to wave at him, but the sun blinded me, so I shifted my gaze to the other end of the parade. That’s where I saw him, sitting erect on his horse.

  The sunlight etched thin shadows across his face, accentuating his cheekbones. A spring breeze toyed with his long hair, which swayed gently from side to side as if in a dance of seduction. I felt my heart pounding, as though it were trying to burst out of my blue dress. And just as would happen to me a year later when I fell in love again, I was overcome by the scent of lilies.

  “What’s wrong?” Merab asked in surprise.

  “Nothing.” I wiped my forehead with my trembling hand and looked back toward Jonathan.

  In the weeks that followed I had visions of him during the day and dreams of his caresses at night. I decided that it made no difference who his father was, what pedigree he had, or what tribe he belonged to—I wanted him, and I would have him. I would never give up my right to love the nameless soldier, even if it turned out he came from a lowly tribe, a descendant of Bilhah or Zilpah. I swore to myself that I would follow my heart despite the fact that I’m a girl. I don’t care that I might shock the people. Let them stop singing their praises of my beauty. Let them turn me into a cautionary tale about a woman who crosses the line and doesn’t know her place. Love is not the exclusive domain of men. Granted, the ancient Hebrew stories passed down from father to son describe only the love of our patriarchs, but we women tell different stories. Not only Isaac and Jacob knew love. Rebecca and Rachel knew it as well, and even Leah.

  Many weeks went by before I dared confess my love to Merab. I was worried that she would be appalled and would try to convince me to let go of this puppy love and wait patiently for our father to give me away, as was the custom. To my surp
rise, she fell upon my neck with kisses and confessed her own secret love for a young officer named Adriel the Meholathite, whom she first had seen, in a very similar fashion, in one of the victory marches. They had been meeting in secret, with the help of our older brother, ever since.

  “So Jonathan knows?” I asked, amazed.

  “Knows?” Merab laughed. “Without his help, we would never be able to meet. He isn’t only our messenger; he also makes up creative cover stories for us. A month ago, for example, he convinced Mother to let me ride with him to the battlefield to boost the spirits of the soldiers before the battle.”

  “I remember that,” I interrupted. “I asked her to let me go with you and she—”

  “Said you were too young,” Merab finished my sentence. “That’s what Jonathan told her. But the truth is that we were worried about your powers of detection.”

  “How presumptuous,” I muttered.

  “It was thanks to that presumptuousness that I was able to spend time alone with my Adriel,” Merab said with delight.

  “Do you think that Jonathan would be willing to help me, too?” I asked with trepidation.

  “Why not?”

  “Your beloved is a Meholathite, of the tribe of Manasseh. I don’t know how Jonathan would react if he found out that my beloved is not from one of the tribes of Rachel.”

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself. Let’s find out who he is first, and then we’ll see if his tribe is an issue.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “You can count on Adriel. He knows almost all the soldiers. Tell me exactly where the young horseman who stole your heart was riding and I’m sure we can track him down for you.”

  And sure enough, in a matter of days I received the information I’d been pining for: Paltiel son of Laish, from the town of Gallim in the land of Benjamin, a warrior of great renown who had even received a commendation for bravery from our father. Could the news be any better?

  “Now let’s see if he will have you,” Merab teased me affectionately. “Just because you’re the Most Beautiful Princess in the World doesn’t necessarily mean that absolutely any man would fall for you. Adriel is willing to be your matchmaker, just as Jonathan was mine.”

  “I don’t need a matchmaker.”

  “Then how…”

  “Did Rachel need a matchmaker to get Jacob to kiss her by the well?”

  Merab furrowed her brow in confusion. “What are you planning to do?”

  “To bring him to me at the well.”

  Her eyes widened. “How?”

  “I’m sure he can read.” I tried to maintain a jaunty tone. “Do you think Adriel would be willing to pass him a letter from me?”

  * * *

  Ever since I first heard the stories of our matriarchs, I had decided that my own first meeting with my beloved would take place by the well. I yearned to be like our matriarch Rachel, who had gone to the well simply to water her sheep and was kissed by the mysterious wanderer who then worked fourteen years to have her. Or like Zipporah the Midianite, who girded herself up to fight for the right to draw water from the well but received unexpected help from an Egyptian man, who was then invited to dine at her father’s table and asked him for her hand. And even like Rebecca, the most assertive of our matriarchs, who was cunning enough to figure out how to impress the servant by the well so much that he brought her back with him to the man who would become her husband in Canaan.

  I composed a tempestuous letter that vividly described that special moment at the victory march and the feelings that had been stirring within me ever since. At first I liked the letter, but when I read it a second time I decided it was unbecoming of an independent, boundary-breaking princess who was daring enough to follow her own heart, so I replaced it with a concise letter instructing him to meet me the next night by the old well at the edge of the fig orchard.

  The next day, I hurried to the well with my heart racing but was disappointed to find only Adriel the Meholathite there. Without a word, he handed me a sealed letter. I broke the wax seal with trembling fingers. The short message slowly came into focus: “As a soldier in the king’s army, I am obligated to follow his orders and his alone.”

  Adriel crossed his arms and smirked. “If you want to demonstrate your royal power, you’d be better off finding someone else. I don’t know Paltiel personally, but he doesn’t seem like the type to get excited by an attempt to court him that’s phrased like an order to a servant.”

  “Who gave you permission to read my letter?”

  “I didn’t need to read it. It was enough to see Paltiel’s expression to know what it said.”

  I knew that any further conversation would betray the turmoil I was in, so I pursed my lips and ran back to the palace. Merab understood right away that something had gone awry at the meeting at the well. I told her everything. Rather than mocking my stupidity, she tried to explain how a soldier in the king’s army would feel upon receiving an unexpected letter from the king’s daughter trying to court him.

  “Men like to feel important. If you decide to fall in love with a commoner, you are going to have to give up your regal airs.”

  She grabbed my hand and dragged me back to the well. Adriel was still there. He took her in his arms. I watched them silently. I was happy for my sister, but I couldn’t help but envy her sure and solid love.

  “I’ll be your matchmaker,” Adriel told me.

  “I don’t need a matchmaker,” I replied in a fit of rage.

  “Even our matriarch Rebecca had one.”

  “I want to be like Rachel.” I tried to smile through my tears.

  “You don’t want that,” Merab said, laughing. “Rebecca had a much easier life.”

  “I still want to be like Rachel.”

  But when I received the happy news a few days later, I didn’t think anymore of the matriarchs, only of the chiseled face of the man I believed would be my one and only love.

  * * *

  The fig trees give off the perfume of early summer. I sit upon the lip of the well and await him. So young, I’m only fourteen years old, but I know that this waiting is making me a woman.

  The sound of the crunching of leaves marks his approach. I close my eyes. This is the moment. No turning back. I sit up straight, waves of nausea cutting through my stomach, the ground burning beneath my feet.

  He does not bow.

  “Greetings.”

  His clear voice makes me shudder. My entire being contracts in his presence.

  I open my eyes. His beauty pains me. His hair runs down his shoulders; his cheekbones stand out from his face. His soft velvety eyes glint with a teasing shyness, serious and amused all at once.

  “I am Paltiel son of Laish.”

  His direct gaze pierces my heart. Tears sting my eyes.

  “And I am Michal daughter of Saul.”

  Four

  My second love came upon me a year later. One look, chills down my neck, a cold sweat, heart fluttering, dry mouth, the scent of lilies—and I was lovesick once again.

  Merab recognized the scale of the disaster right away. “You like him,” she lamented.

  I tried to deny it, but she regarded my moist forehead sadly and looked down at my trembling hands. “Poor Paltiel.” She sighed. “He loves you so much.”

  But Jonathan glowed with joy. “He’s irresistible. Everyone who sees him falls in love with him. Even Father.”

  “I haven’t,” said Merab.

  “You don’t feel his charm?” Jonathan asked in astonishment.

  “I do,” she said, “and it scares me.”

  * * *

  Paltiel was off training for the upcoming great battle against the Philistines and would send me heart-wrenching letters from the field. I read them vacantly, trying to recapture the passion I had felt for him until recently. I managed to get my body to tremble, my stomach to tighten, and my breath to catch, but I knew that it all was but a pale shadow of the storm that threatened to consume me now. I t
ried to fight the strange attraction with all my might. Let me go! I cried out to it. I love Paltiel, only Paltiel. One cannot love two men. But it merely laughed at my defeat. Can’t you? It felt like a taunt. Can’t you? Then why can a man love more than one woman? Who decided that a woman can only love one man?

  I couldn’t stop thinking about his fingers plucking the strings of his harp, his erect posture, the firm line of his jaw, which stood in stark contrast to the youthful roundness of his red cheeks, his curly hair shot through with licks of fire, and, most of all, the look in his eyes. I’d never seen such eyes before.

  I did everything I could to avoid him, but again and again I found myself wandering around the entrance to the throne room when I knew he would be coming to see Father. He would bow to me with a proud confidence that made me feel as if I were bowing to him. I would give him a chilly nod and feel my blood boiling in my veins. Through the locked door I would hear the enchanting sounds produced by his skilled fingers. I didn’t want to pull away, but I knew that I mustn’t be seen like this. I would go to my room, lie in my bed, and feel my flesh languishing in pain. My ribs would tighten below my breasts and chew away at my heart. I knew I’d been defeated.