The Secret Book of Kings

by Yochi Brandes

  “You’re right,” said Rizpah. “I knew right away that Absalom was behind the rape story, but I couldn’t figure out how he could have convinced his sister Tamar to do that for him. That’s how I arrived at Ahithophel. Only a mind like his could have conceived of such a brilliant plan, in which everyone involved is certain that he or she will be its biggest beneficiary, but it is actually the one standing behind the scenes who takes home the entire pot—Solomon, of course.”

  “How?” Micah shouted. He felt frustrated that he was always the one who collected all the facts, but it was his grandfather’s clever widow who was able to spin them together into riveting tales of intrigue.

  Rizpah’s eyes sparkled. Nothing could be more exciting for her than getting inside the heads of Ahithophel and Bathsheba. “Let’s start at the beginning. Solomon is the youngest son. Who is his main rival?”

  “Amnon,” we replied all together.

  “Bathsheba and Ahithophel have to get rid of Amnon. They can wait patiently for Solomon to grow up and do it himself, with their help, of course. But when you have a rival, it’s preferable to send someone else to take care of him, and it would be even better if the person you send has a motive to harm your rival, because then no one would suspect you. That’s precisely what Bathsheba and Ahithophel did. They looked for another prince who would want Amnon out of the way. Kileab, the second son, isn’t right for the job. He doesn’t aspire to inherit the throne, and even if he did, his mother, Abigail, would have put a stop to it. That’s how Absalom, the third son, was chosen. He is ambitious, selfish, and, most importantly, good looking. His beauty draws the nation to him, which makes him believe that he should be the crown prince. Now, all that is left is to convince Absalom that Ahithophel has his best interest at heart and wants to help him clear Amnon out of his way. The rape story is a very good way to do that because the king would surely disinherit a rapist, and even if not, what could be more justified than a brother killing his sister’s rapist? No one would accuse him of murder. On the contrary, the nation would only think more highly of him. I can already imagine the songs his adoring maidens would sing for him.”

  “And what does Tamar have to gain?” asked Micah.

  “If Amnon takes the throne, she will be nothing but a distant princess, whereas the coronation of Absalom would ensure her status as sister to the king. Never fear, the sister of the crown prince isn’t likely to remain alone and desolate.”

  “Do you think Absalom is going to murder Amnon?” I asked in a high-pitched voice.

  Rizpah looked at me with surprise. “I see that you care.”

  “I don’t like murder,” I mumbled in embarrassment.

  She smiled affectionately. “I’m sorry to say it, Michal, but the answer is yes. Unless David declares that his eldest son will not inherit the throne, Absalom will murder him. Again, it’s only a question of time.”

  “But Absalom would be murdering Amnon to become king himself, so what do Ahithophel and Bathsheba gain? Instead of having to get rid of Amnon, now they will have to get rid of Absalom.”

  I can’t remember who asked that question, but we all nodded in agreement. It was clear to all of us that if Rizpah didn’t have a satisfactory response, her fascinating analysis would go down the drain.

  But her explanation came easily and quickly. “It’s much easier to get rid of a prince who isn’t the firstborn, and it’s even easier to get rid of a prince who has murdered his brother, even if he was justified in doing it and was adored by the nation after he did. Ultimately, the nation would rather see a peace-loving king on the throne whose hands are clean of blood.”

  “And how do you think Ahithophel and Bathsheba plan to get rid of Absalom?” Micah asked curiously.

  “We’ll see,” Rizpah answered cheerfully. “It won’t be dull around here.”

  * * *

  This time, Rizpah’s forecast was proven right somewhat later than expected. By then, we were all certain she’d been mistaken and that Absalom was either unable or unwilling to kill his brother. But two years later, in the midst of the shearing festival, Absalom’s agents slit Amnon’s thick neck, leaving him to wallow in his own blood. It took place in the land of Ephraim, far from the king’s watchful eyes.

  “Absalom is patient,” Rizpah said admiringly when Micah brought us the news of the murder. “An outstanding quality for someone who wants to be a king.”

  “How did David react?” I asked Micah.

  Everyone stared at me. I tried to pretend that I didn’t actually care, but I knew they didn’t believe me.

  “He was glad,” Micah replied, not hiding his pleasure at our surprise. “At first a messenger came to the palace and told David that Absalom had murdered all the princes. The king almost died of sorrow. He fell off his throne like a dry tree trunk, and he jerked and coughed and drooled on his beard. It was not a pleasant sight.”

  I shut my eyes at this description. I couldn’t imagine David in such a state.

  “But shortly thereafter a second messenger arrived,” Micah continued, “and told the king that only Amnon had been murdered. Instead of crying over his dead son, the king rejoiced over the living ones.”

  We looked to Rizpah for an explanation. “Ahithophel thinks of every detail,” she said, impressed. “He found a way to portray Amnon’s death as a trivial matter so as to ensure that David would not execute Absalom.”

  “But Ahithophel wants Absalom out of the way,” Nebat said, puzzled.

  “Not so quickly, though,” Rizpah explained. “If Absalom is taken out at this stage in the game, an accomplished and worthy son might take his place and serve as a much more challenging rival.”

  “It’s even more sophisticated than that,” Micah began to say, then he lost confidence and grew quiet.

  I encouraged him to keep going and hoped that Rizpah would listen to what he had to say. I knew her opinion mattered to him more than mine did. He considered us both to be his mothers, but Rizpah was his favorite one. Sometimes I would try to recall how young men usually related to their mothers. I loved the strong bond we had with the boys, but it also concerned me. I knew they were overly dependent on us, and I would ask myself whether their dependence was still within the realm of reason, or if their imprisonment in the palace was preventing them from becoming men. The only examples I had ever seen up close were my brothers, but Mother was a quiet, introverted woman who always remained in Father’s great shadow. Rizpah and I were so different from her that it was impossible to make a comparison. All the time we had lived in Father’s palace, Rizpah had also been quiet and introverted, but ever since we escaped Gibeah she’d become a formidable woman. I had changed, too. I was once a blazing bonfire, but all the tragedies that landed on me extinguished it, leaving me only a few embers to sustain my love for my only son, Nebat, for my soul sister, Rizpah, and for the seven boys.

  “Ahithophel wanted Absalom to be compared to Simeon and Levi,” Micah said, looking intently at Rizpah. “Such a comparison puts him in a positive light. When the first messenger informed the king that Absalom had murdered his sons, everyone would have naturally thought of Simeon and Levi, who avenged themselves not only upon the man who had raped their sister, but also upon his entire family and city. When the second messenger arrived and said that Absalom had only killed his sister’s rapist, the ministers told the king that Absalom was a righteous man and deserved no punishment. David decided to banish him to the home of his grandfather, Talmai, King of Geshur, and there were some voices of protest against even that light punishment.”

  “The righteous murderer,” Rizpah laughed, and she praised Micah for his fine distinctions.

  “Now all that’s left is to see how and when Ahithophel and Bathsheba are going to drive this righteous man away from the throne,” Nebat said with a smile.

  “I’ll warn you in due time,” Rizpah declared. “I’ve gotten into the heads of Ahithophel and Bathsheba; they can no longer surprise me.”

  * * *


  Rizpah was wrong. None of us foresaw Absalom’s rebellion. We all watched him with great interest after his return from Geshur following three years of exile, and we were impressed by the techniques he used to gain the love of the nation. But we never imagined that Ahithophel and Bathsheba would try to speed everything up and overthrow David instead of patiently awaiting his death. Only after the rebellion started did Micah bring us the one piece of information we had been missing, without which Rizpah hadn’t been able to put together all the pieces of the puzzle.

  The missing piece was named Adonijah.

  Now that his firstborn son was dead, David had decided he was free to choose a crown prince based on merit, rather than birth order. The choice was easy: Adonijah son of Haggith. David knew that no one was worthier.

  Indeed, Adonijah was a very worthy son. He’d inherited his mother’s kindness and gentleness, and from his father he’d received not only red hair and pretty eyes, but also wisdom and a sharp mind. He was even ambitious and very charming. He lacked only one thing: cunning. Adonijah was an honest man.

  “Too honest,” Rizpah sighed after the rebellion was put down and David had proclaimed Adonijah crown prince. “He won’t be able to handle Bathsheba’s deviousness.”

  I recalled what she’d said back then two years later, as Adonijah’s body, full of stab wounds, was taken from the altar, and the queen mother’s scribes hurried to spread the rumor that he had asked to have the king’s widow for himself, thus declaring himself a rebel against the crown. But all this happened after the calamity, and by that time there was no one left to be impressed by the fulfillment of my soul sister’s prophecy.

  * * *

  Ahithophel tried to persuade David to choose Absalom. He knew it would be much easier to get rid of a crown prince who had been convicted of his brother’s murder than one who was entirely unsullied. David’s choice remained firm, but he agreed temporarily to postpone Adonijah’s proclamation ceremony. Ahithophel wasted no time and quickly taught Absalom how to win the love of the nation. When I first heard about his methods, I thought they resembled those of David, which I’d seen up close when I had accompanied him on his journeys among the people. But it quickly became clear to me that the son had surpassed his father. Absalom didn’t have David’s charm, but his spectacular beauty made up for it. While the other princes traveled outside the palace in two-horse chariots, Absalom would appear in all his glory in an eight-horse chariot of gold, with some fifty people running ahead of him. It was a sight to behold. His long hair fluttered in the wind, and he knew how to move his perfect body to the beat of the horses’ hooves. When he would wave his arms, the crowds would catch their breaths. When he smiled at them, their hearts melted with love. It was impossible to look away. But he was not content with the wonders of his body on the chariot. He also knew how to charm people inside the palace. When litigants left the king’s courthouse, they would meet a handsome prince at the gate who took an interest in them, asking to hear what city and tribe they were from and what judgment the king had given them. The flattered litigants would describe how their trials had gone, and the prince would express his displeasure at the way they had been wronged and would tell them sadly that, had he been the judge, their demands would have been met. But the technique that won the adulation of the nation more than any other was his refusal to allow them to bow to him, or in other words, kisses instead of curtsies. When people would walk through the palace gate and try to bow to him, he would grab them with his muscular hands, pull them in, and exuberantly give them a kiss on their foreheads.

  “The nation wants Absalom,” Ahithophel told the king.

  David waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t care what the nation wants. I know what it needs. The nation of Israel needs a king like Adonijah. Soon I will officially proclaim him crown prince.”

  David couldn’t imagine the intensity of the nation’s love for Absalom, and even worse, he couldn’t imagine how intensely the nation had come to hate him.

  We couldn’t imagine it either. We’d been imprisoned in the palace for so many years that we had little idea of what was going on outside. Micah managed to gather stories from within the palace, but it never occurred to him that on the outside the nation hated David. When we received the first bits of information about the scale of the rebellion, we were certain they must be wrong. We were willing to believe that the people of Benjamin resented David, and maybe the people of Jabesh Gilead as well, but the entire nation? Even Judeans? It couldn’t be. Why would the people of Israel hate their successful king, one who had conquered all the neighboring lands on their behalf and expanded the territory of their kingdom to a size that not even Joshua had dreamed of?

  “They call him ‘Man of Blood,’” Micah reported with pleasure. “The people of Israel have had enough of the Sons of Zeruiah’s reign of terror.”

  “They long for King Saul,” Rizpah added hopefully. “They want a king more like him.”

  “Is Absalom anything like Grandfather?” cried Nebat.

  “In the way he looks,” said Rizpah. “Absalom is tall and handsome. He reminds the people of the king they long for.”

  Her words angered me. “Absalom is the complete opposite of Father. Everyone remembers King Saul’s humility. Even David’s scribes can’t dispute it. In contrast, Absalom has fifty people running ahead of him and weighs his hair on a scale. The people of Israel might hate David, but don’t delude yourselves into thinking they miss our father and grandfather.”

  * * *

  When news of the rebellion reached David, he believed his army would be able to easily defeat the rebels, but the messenger who came to the palace left him no hope.

  “The hearts of the men of Israel are with Absalom!” cried the messenger. “The rebel army has managed to invade Jerusalem.”

  The frightened king ordered his slaves to prepare the chariot, but the shouting of the rebels was so close that he knew there was no time to spare, and he fled on foot. All his men fled with him. He ordered that ten of his wives be left behind to tend to his palace.

  “Only a coward of a husband flees for his life and leaves his wives behind as guards,” Rizpah spat with disgust when it became clear to us that we were not alone in the palace.

  When the rebels burst in, we were startled at the sight of Micah’s terrified expression. We realized he must have been remembering the invasion of the palace in Gibeah, which had left him crippled, and we tried to reassure him, telling him that Absalom had no reason to harm us. We honestly believed this. Even Rizpah didn’t foresee Ahithophel’s satanic plan.

  Absalom’s soldiers entered our home and ordered Rizpah and me to accompany them to the roof of the palace. The boys tried to inquire about the reason for this strange order, but in response the soldiers drew their swords and dragged us out by force. Nebat fell upon the soldier who had grabbed me and began to punch him, but the other soldiers pushed him to the ground and kicked him all over. I grabbed onto their legs and cried that we would go with them peacefully. They led us up the stairs to the roof. David’s ten wives were standing there. They were naked. The palace courtyard and all the surrounding streets were filled with crowds of people, looking up. Some of them were rhythmically cheering, “Long live Absalom, King of Israel!” but most of them were standing silently.

  The soldiers ordered us to undress. My hands were frozen. I couldn’t feel my body. I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself I was in a nightmare and that soon I would wake up at home with the eight boys. One soldier grabbed the hem of my dress and raised his sword. Rizpah’s voice stopped him before he had a chance to tear it off of me.

  “We are not the king’s wives,” she said.

  As always, she was the first one to regain her composure.

  Just then, Absalom walked out onto the roof, Ahithophel at his side. The crowds down below cheered even louder, and Absalom smiled at them, waving his perfect arms.

  “Your Majesty,” Rizpah said calmly.

  Absalo
m turned to face her. His face took on a puzzled look. It appeared to me that Ahithophel was also surprised to see us.

  “We are not David’s wives,” Rizpah went on. “I am Rizpah daughter of Aiah, widow of King Saul, and this is Michal, Saul’s daughter, the wife of Paltiel son of Laish.”

  Absalom and Ahithophel exchanged looks.

  “Release them,” Ahithophel ordered the soldiers.

  On our way downstairs we heard from above us the screaming of the women being raped on the roof. Only then did I allow myself to cry. Rizpah cried, too.

  * * *

  “David continued up the Mount of Olives, weeping as he went, weeping as he went; his head was covered and he was barefoot.”

  Micah heard this quote, word for word, from Absalom’s men, who roamed the palace with the pride of victors.

  “Measure for measure,” I interrupted him. Rizpah looked up. She knew it wasn’t my usual practice to speak ill of David. “Just like Paltiel,” I choked. “He was also weeping as he went, the whole way from Gallim to Bahurim.”

  After Absalom was defeated, the king’s scribes admitted that during his flight David had run into a distant relative of Saul’s by the name of Shimei, who had thrown stones at him, yelling, “Get out, get out, you man of blood, you scoundrel! God has repaid you for all the blood you shed in the household of Saul, in whose place you have reigned. Because you are a man of blood!”

  But the truth was much worse. Shimei was the supreme judge of the council of tribal courts and a descendant of Ehud son of Gera, who had long ago saved Israel from the Moabites. And he wasn’t the only one brazen enough to openly express his glee. Throughout the king’s journey, crowds of people gathered along his path, celebrating his downfall. Had it not been for Joab son of Zeruiah and his men, who protected David at great risk to themselves, he would have met his death at the hands of the masses. Joab’s reign of terror had suppressed any hint of protest, which had led David to believe that his people loved him and were grateful for his conquests; he was stunned by their animosity toward him.