by Mary Burns
My room was on the third level of the house but backed against and built into part of the hillside, so I believe I descended for about half that height. The staircase went straight down, and as I made my way, I tried to think what was below my part of the house and where the stairway would come out. Were there other hidden doors along the way, leading into other rooms, or was mine the only one? I looked carefully at the wall of rock as I passed down, but saw nothing that seemed like a door. Finally, I got to the bottom, a very narrow space where the staircase essentially ended against a flat wall of stucco and rock. High above my head was an opening, about six inches long and a hand-span high, the source of the fresh air.
I could hear noises on the other side of the wall. Holding my breath, I listened closely. Low voices, belonging to men, and some grunting sounds accompanying thumps of heavy things, sacks of grain perhaps? Of course, the storerooms! Jars of oil and honeycomb, cured olives and dried fruits and root vegetables, all this would meet my eye if I were to push open the door that now showed itself dimly to me, a thin slice of light along one side about a foot long near the top. There probably were boxes and sacks and jars all piled up against the wall, obscuring the door. I told myself no one in our household probably knew anything about it. Except Michal, but then, she had no need of this hidden staircase anymore—her midnight liaison days were well behind her, or so I imagined.
I turned and slowly climbed the stone staircase back to the top, where the door was indeed still ajar, and I was safely back in my own chamber again. The door didn’t seem to close as tightly as when I had opened it, but I ascribed it to age and weathering. I pulled the rug back into place, satisfied with my little adventure and content to think of it no more.
* * *
To prepare for the great day when the Ark would be brought to the city, my father had requested a new song, and as he often did, he asked my assistance and Nathan’s in composing it and planning for it to be performed. I was regularly writing the words as well as the instructions for these songs, such as which instruments were to be played and at what points in the song, so it could be re-created in the years ahead. When my father is gone . . . but I tried not to think of that. No one other than the three of us, of course, knew that I composed the songs. We had agreed that Nathan would take the credit, though I must admit I found it increasingly difficult to remain anonymous.
This new song was very joyful and uplifting, and Nathan had suggested that cymbals and trumpets be added to one particular part, to accompany the triumphal procession at the great gates of the city. My father was delighted, and I readily worked on forming the words of the song, which went like this:
The Song of The Triumphant Ark of the Crossing Over
* * *
Late one night, I was in my room, writing as usual. It was full summer now, and there was still a faint wash of light in the western sky, but many stars were already visible. It was the last night before the new moon, and the household was an orderly chaos of preparation. We would all be setting out for KirjathJearim early in the day, while it was still cool. I laid my head down, pillowed on my arms at my table, thinking I would rest my eyes for just a moment, and I must have fallen asleep because when I awoke at a sudden noise, the night was full dark and my lamp was almost extinguished.
I lifted my head, like a fox in her lair, and knew someone was in the room with me.
“You shall not cry out,” a voice—Uzzah’s voice—spoke softly. I whirled in my chair and rose to see him standing not three feet from me. I made a lunge for the door but he leapt forward and covered my mouth with his hand, dragging me and forcing me back into the chair. He held me fast with one arm clenched around my neck from behind, and I felt the tip of a knife blade at my throat.
“I will not hurt you, cousin,” he said. “But you must promise not to cry out or scream. If you cause others to come to your room, I shall say that you bewitched me and made me your slave, so that you could have a lover always at your beck and call.” His voice was intimate in my ear, caressing. He pulled back the knife a few inches, and motioned with it to the table, covered over with my scrolls and writing instruments. “And all of that,” he said, “will convince anyone that you are not the innocent girl you seem to be.”
The knifepoint returned.
“Promise to keep still,” he said. I nodded slowly, and slowly he withdrew the blade and stepped around to face me.
“What do you want?” I don’t know how I managed to speak at all, until I called upon a deep anger instead of fear. I even tossed my head as I said it. “And how did you get in?”
He laughed softly. “Oh, a little cat showed me the way.”
Michal! Her jealousy of me knew no bounds.
“What do you want?” I said again.
“What all men want when they gaze upon the daughter of the king,” he said. “And which only I will have.”
Cold fear struck me again, but I had to brave it out.
“What, do you mean to lie with me?” I spoke the words harshly and with utter contempt, to show him I was not a helpless, ignorant girl, afraid of the power and strength of men. “Do you think this is something I fear?” I shifted my tone, mimicking Michal in her seductive mood. “Do you think this is something I am, shall we say, unacquainted with?” I allowed myself a small smile, and trained my eyes on his. Every inch of me wanted to tremble and shake, but I willed myself to hold still and face him.
An uncertain look passed over his face. I pushed my advantage.
“So it was a virgin you were expecting, eh? Well,” and I tried to laugh, though it came out a little high-pitched, “sorry to disappoint you, cousin.”
Something changed in his face, but I couldn’t read it. He threw the knife to the floor, grabbed my arms, and pulled me out of the chair. He kissed me ferociously. I pushed him with all my might and pulled at his hair and scratched his face to make him stop. He let me go suddenly and stepped back, grinning.
“I think you’re lying,” he said, and he reached for me again. I broke free and ran for the door, but he grabbed me around the waist and dragged me to the bed, where he threw me down on it, then climbed on top of me.
“We’ll see, little cousin, won’t we, whether you know the game or not!” He started pawing at my robe, pulling it down from my shoulders, and kissing my neck and breasts.
And then he suddenly stopped.
Holding down my shoulders with both hands, he drew his head back and watched my face. My heart was beating so hard I thought it would burst and I would die right there. A crafty look came into his eyes, and he spoke again.
“No,” he said, as if mulling over an idea. “No, not yet. I think there’s something else that might, shall we say, put off this little test for a while?” He laughed softly. “What do you think, cousin? Do you want to hear what I have in mind?”
He let the full weight of his body press against mine until I could not breathe. “Yes,” I gasped out. “Yes, I want to hear it.”
He eased off me a bit, and I took a long, shuddering breath. “As much as I would like to taste of your tender flesh,” he said, his eyes gleaming, “there is something else you have that I think I’d like even more.”
Abruptly, he sat up, and pulled me with him off the bed. He shoved me toward the table and once again forced me back into the chair. I gathered the folds of my robe together to cover myself.
“There,” he said, pointing to the scrolls on the table. “That is what I want. I have heard there is unspeakable power in a written word, a very singular and unique word. I want you to write down for me the Name of God.”
My head was spinning from the violence of his assault, and I was struck dumb by his request. I just looked at him, open-mouthed, astonished that he would ask such a thing.
“What?” he demanded. “Too good for me? You think such a one as I should not have such power in my grasp?” He struck me across the face, and again, and a third time, until my cheeks stung and my head reeled from the blows.
“If you don’t do this, I will make sure that everyone—the elders and the priests and all the people—knows what you are, you witch, and what you do here! Daughter of the King you may be, and that may save your life, but you will never write again. They’ll marry you off to some peasant in the country to be rid of you.” He pressed his face close to mine. “Write it now; write it down for me!”
I reached for my pen and a small piece of linen that I had prepared earlier in the day. My hand was shaking so much it was difficult to write.
“You don’t know how to read,” I said in a whisper. “How can the symbols of HaShem give you any power?”
“Never mind what I shall do with it,” he said. “Just write it down.”
Slowly, with great dread in my heart, and praying earnestly to be forgiven, I wrote four letters on the piece of paper.
He snatched the scrap from my hand when I put my pen down, and conning it over closely, seemed satisfied that I had written what he wanted.
“Don’t forget,” he said, clutching the back of my neck until it hurt. “You will say nothing of this to anyone, will you, cousin?” He laughed softly then, and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Perhaps I’ll be back another night to discern the exact degree of your acquaintance with certain night-time activities, eh?”
He released my neck and I heard him retreat with swift steps. I closed my eyes and shuddered, and when I opened them, only the swaying rug on the wall told where he had gone. Though it probably made no difference at this point, I dragged the table over to the wall and shoved it tightly against the rug. Then I crept into my bed and wept until I fell asleep, curled tightly under the covers.
Chapter 23
“You are to make me an ark of acacia wood, two and a half
cubits long, one and a half cubits wide, one and a half
cubits high. You are to plate it, inside and out, with pure
gold, and decorate it all round with a gold moulding.”
Exodus 25:10-12
My maid Alaya came to rouse me early in the morning to get ready for the procession to Kirjath-Jearim, and though she exclaimed with concern about the disordered room, and looked closely at my face, I would not satisfy her anxious questions.
There was very little time to waste, and I knew my father would be impatient to be going. It was six miles to the place where the Ark was kept, and though the royal and priestly participants would be in wagons or on horseback on the way there, we would likely be going at a foot-pace on the way back. The inhabitants of Jerusalem would be lining the road between Kirjath-Jearim and the city, ready to wave palm branches and sing as the Ark passed by and then follow it into Jerusalem. As my father intended to offer sacrifices upon arrival, and then invite everyone to a great feast, this would surely be a more than day-long event.
In my present shattered state, it took every ounce of willpower simply to rise from the bed and wash my face. Indeed, I winced as I splashed water on my eyes and cheeks, and I wondered if there were bruises. Perhaps that’s why Alaya had looked at me the way she did? I decided that wearing a veil today would be not only appropriate but the better part of valor; I was not equal to concocting a story to explain away any bruising. I feared that one question from a sympathetic friend would break me down entirely, and Uzzah would win the game with his treachery and the lies he would spread about me.
A burst of frustration and grief welled up in me. O God, I prayed, if you are a god of justice, bring thy vengeance on the head of my wicked cousin, who would so arrogantly attempt to use thy Name for his own greed and lust.
I finished my vengeful prayer with a grim vow to see justice done myself, if HaShem didn’t get around to it first.
* * *
The royal household gathered in the courtyard, and my father was there, gloriously arrayed in white, sitting astride a strong and spirited horse. My mother was not among the women, I noticed immediately, nor was Michal. Ahinoam of Jezreel, the second wife who was my mother’s best companion, noticed that I was looking around, and came over to speak to me.
“Your mother was not quite up to this journey today,” she said quietly. I looked at her in alarm, but she smiled and shook her head gently. “It is nothing to worry about. I know she will be looking after the preparations here at home. Do not worry,” she said, patting my arm. “She is well.”
“And Michal?” I said, my eyebrow rising slightly. “Is she, too, staying behind to help with the domestic arrangements?”
Ahinoam laughed. “Michal contends she has ‘other reasons’ not to travel so far today, but it is better, perhaps, not to speak of that overmuch.” She leaned closer, and whispered in my ear, “We think she is with child, but there are those who say it is not David’s child she bears.” I looked at her in amazement, and then we turned to join the rest of the group, just setting off. The women were helped into donkey-drawn wagons, while the men were to ride on horseback.
I could see Nathan and Abiathar at the head of the procession, near my father and a long line of priests, astride their mounts. I froze, for next to Nathan on a black horse was my cousin Uzzah, looking happy and handsome. I was not close enough to see if there were scratches on his face. I felt sickness rise in my throat, and asked Ahinoam, who sat next to me, if there was any water. She found a small jug and a cup and helped me drink, her knowing eyes searching my face. Even with the veil, I felt she could see right through me.
The sun was just rising, the birds were singing, and it looked to be a glorious day. But my heart was frozen in fear and pain, and I could not tell if the dread I felt was only on my own behalf or prophetic in any way regarding the great event that was about to take place. How fragile we human vessels are! Strong though our spirits may be, our bodies fail us so easily at times. I felt as if every nerve was on fire, and every joint and muscle ached with a dull throbbing. I said a silent prayer for strength of will and spirit, to meet whatever there was to be met with today. I felt there would be something to test me further.
After two hours of easy progress along the dry and dusty road, during which my companions and I seldom spoke—I think the trio of wives was sleeping—we reached Kirjath-Jearim, a small settlement nestled at the foot of a rocky hill.
“A humble place indeed for so great a guest.”
I heard my father’s voice clearly across the procession as we came to a halt. He nodded to Nathan, Uzzah, and two other young men to dismount and follow him and Abiathar behind a small but tidy hut on the edge of the settlement. All awake and alert now, the women in our wagon rose and stepped down to exercise their cramped limbs and drink water; some slipped away to find a privy for more intimate needs.
After a while, the faint smell of incense wafted to us on the still air. I caught the sound of chanting, low and insistent. The sun was rising higher in a cloudless sky. It was going to be hot.
From behind the hut we could see the first signs of movement—a small boy, an acolyte in the household of priests, came walking forward, ringing a golden chime. Behind him, the four young men slowly walked, two in front and two in back, gold-plated poles across their shoulders, bearing the Ark of the Crossing Over, the Ark of the Testament. The poles each went through golden rings fastened to the sides of the Ark, which was about two feet high and deep, and three feet long.
I knew that except on the holiest of holy days, no one was ever allowed to touch the Ark, and even then the high priest took great precautions to touch it as little as possible. I leaned in closely to catch a glimpse, and was disappointed to see that it was covered in a blue cloth, under which could be seen the ends of animal skins—badger, it looked like from where I stood—so the Ark itself was not visible.
I had heard my father’s description of the Ark many times: it is completely covered with the purest gold, and its upper surface or lid, called the mercy-seat, is surrounded with a rim of gold. At each end, there are two cherubim with their faces turned toward each other. Their outspread wings over the top form the throne of God, while the Ark itself
is His footstool. Inside are the two stone tablets Moses of blessed memory received from the hand of HaShem Himself on Sinai, as well as a pot of manna gathered in the Desert of the Wandering, and Aaron’s miraculous staff, which grew buds on it to give hope to the people.
But apparently we weren’t going to get even a glimpse of the Ark, at least not yet. My father had said it would be shown to all the people at the ceremony this evening, once we were back in Jerusalem.
We all moved to the sides of the path as the procession of the Ark approached, and as it happened, I was on the same side as Uzzah. As he came near, he glanced at me with a self-satisfied smirk on his horrible face and a gleam of contempt in his eye. Then and there I made my decision: I would not let him blackmail me, regardless of what I might lose! I could not let him use The Name in some petty, greedy, lusting way of man’s power. As soon as we were back in Jerusalem, I would go to my father and tell him everything. I held my head high and tried to look disdainful as he passed me. His contempt was quickly replaced by a look of doubt. He turned his head to look back at me, and that was his first mistake.
He stumbled on a loose rock and lost his footing.
What happened next was a waking dream and a slow nightmare, taking place in instants and lasting an eternity.
Uzzah’s head whipped back around to the front, his left leg buckling under him as his foot slipped on the rock. The pole was on his right shoulder, and the sudden shift brought the weight of the Ark, heavy with its golden cherubim and plating, onto his neck. He turned toward it, his arm outstretched, and he put his hand on the Ark itself, clutching at it to keep himself from falling.