by Jeff Chapman
“A victor strikes an enemy before he’s ready. Your father doesn’t have the heart.”
“What’s your plan?”
“I can smear a poison on the blade of your ax. A nick will kill him.”
“And you will protect me.”
“Who will avenge him? He’s asking for a combat to the death.”
“Rightly so,” said Amnon. “And you’re an old fool. If Absalom falls dead from a scratch, the King will note it. Everyone will know I poisoned him. I’ll hang, but you’ll get what you want. Very clever, Joab.”
“I misjudged you.”
“You’re vulnerable now, Joab. I’ll remember this.”
Joab turned to the door and then stopped. “Why is it you will not take Tamar? Even an old man can see her charms.”
“I only wanted a taste and she was bitter. The sight of her burns my eyes.”
~~~
David sat in the oaken throne, listening to Joab. With every word, he felt his head. Something wicked was growing inside his house, inside his kingdom.
“He stands outside the gate with his dog,” said Joab. “I’ve seen him myself.”
David sighed. “Go on.”
“He stands before the gate and stops everyone. ‘There is no king on the throne,’ he tells them. ‘There is no just man there to hear your pleas.’ It is treason.”
“It is an angry young man. He does not know the world. Mayhap he has truly spoken to Uriah’s ghost.”
“You must punish Absalom, publicly. His transgressions cannot be ignored.”
“If his mind is addled, the holmgang will sober him. I’ve been thinking to honor Uriah.”
As David spoke, one of the double doors swung open. Uzzah stepped past Joab and dropped to one knee.
“Forgive me, my king, but I bear wretched tidings. It is Bathsheba.”
David leapt to his feet.
“What? What? What has happened?”
“Absalom,” said Joab. “Coming to claim your wives.”
“He’ll suffer the cold steel if he’s laid a hand on her.”
“No, no,” said Uzzah. “She has miscarried.”
Sorrows will harass you, bring your kingdom to the point of breaking.
“It is the Lord’s doing,” he said. He stared past Joab and Uzzah with glassy, vacant eyes. “In the course of a day, I have lost three sons and one will never come home.”
The King walked between Uzzah and Joab. The doors opened when he shouted a command. He left the confines of the tower for the bright sunshine of the gate. Joab and Uzzah followed. David stopped before one of the fire pits where he could see Absalom standing with his hound, accosting all who passed. David knelt, scooped charred wood and gray ashes into his cupped hands. Ash sifted through his fingers, forming a gray cloud in the breeze. David, the King, raised his hands and poured sorrow over his head.
~~~
Absalom could not sleep. Tamar rested in his bed, curled atop an elk hide blanket. Their mother sat with her, stroking Tamar’s auburn hair, as she had done years ago.
“What if I am with child?” Tamar asked. “It will have no father.”
Maachah looked to Absalom. Words failed her.
“Father has lost his mind. A union with Amnon? Would be an abomination.”
He left Maachah and Tamar and walked the palisade’s perimeter with his hound, as he had done the night before.
“Uriah,” he shouted.
The guards on the wall stared down at him. Some shared his doubts. Others found his shouts more frightening than any ghost. The guards talked of the coming holmgang. Had Joab’s warriors not guarded Amnon’s house, he would have hastened there to snap his brother’s neck and cast the body into a food trough for crows and dogs.
Absalom neared the turning where the ghost had first appeared, his footfalls thudding in the trampled dirt; the dog padded beside him. The moon lighted a path darkened by shadows.
“Uriah,” he cried. “Have you no more honor than the King?”
The hound stiffened and growled. Absalom scanned the darkness.
“Uriah?”
“Absalom.” The voice was a woman’s, soft and soothing.
Absalom furrowed his brows. “Who’s there?”
Michal stepped from the shadows. Her face glowed white in the moonlight, framed by her black hair. Her lapis-blue shift seemed to float.
“Michal?”
“Call back your dog,” she said.
He told the hound to sit, but it ignored him. Absalom pushed down on its back, settling the hound on its haunches. It snarled at the darkest point of the turning, at solid darkness.
“You are seeking a ghost,” she said.
“The spirit knows the future,” said Absalom.
Michal stepped closer, her scented oils wrapping him in a sweet cocoon. “I seek the future as well, but I am searching for the new king.”
“The new king?”
“In the land of the living. David no longer rules. He clings to power like an oak holds its dead leaves. A wind is coming, Absalom. Does David defend his daughter? His servants?”
“No.”
“Someone must be that wind that tears the power from his hands. What will you do?”
“King David has many friends.”
“Do you know why I am barren? He fears a grandchild of Saul will challenge his legitimacy, so he locks me in an empty bed, wasting away with my passions.”
“That is indeed cruel.”
“And cowardly. Take the king’s wife, Absalom. Lay with me.”
He lifted her and kissed her and took her near the wall where they tumbled into the shadows, a jumble of arms, legs, and clothing. Michal made no effort to hide her joy and the guards heard.
The hound growled at the dark turning, giving no attention to the lovers. Laughter, faint and far, echoed in the shadows. A gust of wind whipped dead leaves into a spiral. Then they were gone, the laughter and the wind; only the hound had heard them.
~~~
Beneath the tower, holmgangs began at midday, when the sun would not favor either man. Short stakes secured the corners of an ox hide. Four hazel staves marked the outer boundary, the line of forfeiture.
David sat below the tower doors. A fresh layer of ash dulled his black hair’s luster.
Men, women, and children crowded around the three remaining sides. Some sat on the walkway that edged the palisade, their legs dangling over the side. Everyone who could come came. One of the fighters might be king some day and the other would die bleeding on ox hide. All affirmed the holmgang’s sacred truth.
Absalom held his war ax. Three wooden shields with iron bands had been arranged just outside the line of forfeiture.
“Where’s Tamar?” Absalom asked his mother.
“Resting,” said Maachah. “She wouldn’t come. Said she couldn’t watch you die.”
“I’m not the one dying.” Absalom looked across the hide. Amnon stood with war ax and three shields. “The Lord will punish the wicked, mother. I have faith in His justice.”
Amnon’s mother whispered in her son’s ear. Michal stood behind her and smiled when her eyes met Absalom’s. Absalom turned to his shields, ordered and equidistant. Until last night he was beyond reproach. The ghost said there is a festering sore at the heart of your house, spreading its poison through the branches. He was a branch as surely as Amnon.
The hound barked and lurched toward the hide. Absalom slapped Uzzah. “Hold him firm I told you.”
Uzzah’s face reddened as he tugged the hound back to a sitting position.
“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth. The strain compressed his voice to a whisper.
David rose and stepped forward onto the hide. He looked from Absalom to Amnon. “It is custom that demands I ask you if your differences cannot be resolved without combat.”
They shook their heads.
“And a father’s love demands I ask again.”
Silence greeted David.
“So be it. I vest
Joab the authority to judge. May the Lord guide the righteous weapon and spare the guilty death. Absalom, your terms.”
Absalom answered without hesitation. “Until death or forfeiture.”
A hush rippled through the crowd.
“I expected as much. Joab, their contest is yours.”
David eyed each young man before making his way back to his bench. Does he know about Michal, wondered Absalom. David usually knows all, but who would tell him and who would believe her story?
“Arm yourselves,” said Joab.
Absalom donned a helm with a chainmail curtain. He fitted a round shield to his forearm and took up his battle ax. Across the hide, Amnon did the same, but held his ax in his left hand.
At a signal, they crossed the boundary, stepped to the hide, and thumped shields. They leapt back as the shields clacked to give the impact a hollow sound. As the challenged, Amnon had the right of first strike. Amnon charged. Absalom blocked. Amnon attacked with a flurry of swings; each stroke drove his brother back. Absalom had little experience against a left-handed foe. He twisted out of position to block Amnon. As he neared the line of forfeiture, Absalom lunged forward, swinging low. He sliced Amnon’s thigh. Amnon retreated. Blood stained his leggings and dripped down to his boots.
They moved about the hide exchanging blows. Uzzah exercised all his strength to hold the hound, who rallied whenever Amnon swung. David watched the contest. He didn’t twitch or lean forward. Only when someone stepped near the line of forfeiture did he look to Joab for a signal but none came.
When Absalom’s shield splintered into three pieces, Joab called a halt.
Absalom and Amnon gulped water from gourds, as they fitted new shields to their forearms.
“Have you had enough, brother?” shouted Amnon.
Absalom eyed his foe for only a moment.
“Surely we have seen enough,” said David.
The King’s suggestion startled the crowd and set them to murmuring.
“The terms cannot be altered,” said Joab. “You know that well. It is the ancient way.”
“The Ancient Days did not make laws for us to fall upon as a vanquished captain falls on his sword.” David studied the faces of his people. Implacable, they stared back as one, branches from a single bole waiting for affirmation. Where was Nathanael? Walking in the woods, no doubt. He should have consulted Nathanael. David brushed ash from his cheeks.
“Let it continue,” he said.
Joab looked square at Uzzah and nodded. Absalom and Amnon stepped onto the hide. Joab raised his right hand, and when he swung it down, their shields clacked together. The crowd hushed as the pair attacked with new ferocity, driving one another over the hide. Thuds and grunts punctuated the fight.
Amnon landed a blow square on Absalom’s shield. The shield deflected none of the hit’s force and Absalom suffered its full weight and shivered. He stumbled, catching his heel on one of the short stakes. He fell backward as his legs shot forward. He fought the instinct to spread his arms for balance, keeping his shield in front of his chest. Wind burst from his lungs. When he struck the earth, his helm bounced from his head.
David turned away. Maachah screamed. Amnon raised his ax high, ready. Uzzah let go. The hound leapt, crashing into Amnon as he swung. The ax wheeled through the air. Amnon toppled. The hound lunged for Amnon’s throat, but Amnon struck first with his shield, knocking the beast away. It yelped as it rolled. Amnon sank his ax into its chest. The hound’s dark eyes rolled backward.
If he had time to think, Amnon would have relished killing the beast, so much did he hate it. He sat up on his knees, looking down at the dog, his ax dripping blood, his arm tensed to strike again. The crowd booed. Some shouted foul.
Absalom’s dog.
Absalom.
As Amnon scrambled to stand, he caught a glimpse of his mother, her face crinkled in an anguished scream. Why should she scream, he thought. The beast is dead and Absalom has fallen. One more killing blow to mix the blood of master and servant, he thought as Absalom’s blade cleaved his helm and wedged deep into bone and brain. Absalom could not remove it. He let loose of the handle. Blood rained down Amnon’s face, his puzzled eyes on his mother. Amnon’s body fell across the hound. The handle of Absalom’s ax pointed to the tower.
Absalom looked to Joab. The old warrior nodded. He looked to the King, who stood at the edge of the hide. The King moved his mouth but no words came. He breathed deeply and tried again.
“The holmgang has spoken,” he said.
Angry shouts rose from Amnon’s supporters.
Joab held up his hand and the people fell still.
“The Lord has spoken,” said David. “He has meted out his justice. Let this be an end to it.”
~~~
David sat on the throne of the eternal fire. His elbows rested on his knees. Hunched forward he no longer filled the throne. His tunic hung loose and torn from his chest. Ash stained his face and arms, his leggings and boots.
Absalom faced his father, his clothes intact and free of ash. Amnon’s body lay between them.
“Has justice been done?” said David.
“Holmgang has spoken the Lord’s will.”
“Did we truly hear what was said?”
“The crime has been punished. Something you wouldn’t do.”
“When I was young I saw justice as a staff, stiff and certain to lean on. Now it is like smoke. I see it and smell it and feel it. I know what it is, but I cannot hold it. We are fallible, Absalom. Fallen. We shoot our arrows through the mists as we face the sunrise.”
“You’ve strayed from the path into the bog. That’s what Nathanael will tell you.”
“Do you speak for prophets now?”
Absalom did not answer.
“And how will you punish your own crime when you are king?”
“My crime?”
“Did you think you could fornicate with Michal in the bailey in private? Your ancient path ends in a tree, Absalom.”
“Michal tells me she is wife in name only, that the King neglects her. Do you care so much for your castoff?”
“I thought you adhered to the law. Michal is a dangerous woman. She metes out great love and equal hatred. I’ve felt both. She betrayed her father once. She has betrayed me, and she will betray you.”
“I’ve given her no cause.”
David sighed. The Frisians surrendered land with far less effort. “To punish as the Lord is easy, but to show his mercy requires discipline and wisdom. A great king can emulate his master with both hands. Weakness, Absalom, favors only one.”
“The ghost spoke of a festering sore at the heart of your house. I rebuked him, but I see now that he spoke the truth.”
“Was it Uriah?”
“Maybe. It spoke true.”
“And what did this ghost predict?”
“Tamar’s troubles.”
“And?”
“The ghost hasn’t shown itself again.”
“You should not seek counsel from the dead; certainly not the vengeful dead.”
“I find the dead more honest.”
“You should fear the one with nothing to lose.”
“He wants vengeance on you, father. Not me.”
“You seek counsel from a ghost who desires my ruin,” said David.
Shouting outside the tower doors ended their talk. The doors burst open. Joab entered carrying Tamar’s body. Her auburn hair, dark and wet, hung past his knees. A garland of flowers—white and red and purple—encircled her neck. Maachah followed, clinging to Michal. Water darkened their skirts.
“We found her beneath the ancient willow,” said Michal, “submerged in the brook.”
Absalom rushed at Joab and snatched his sister’s body. Joab released his burden without a struggle.
“No.” David stood, his cry echoing off the stone walls. “No, no, no.” His voice trailed off as he collapsed, hid his face in his hands, and wept. Many will suffer. Those eyes might cost a thousand lives. A
bsalom laid Tamar’s body at the foot of the throne. No one spoke.
“You sniveling old man,” said Absalom. “What have you done? Speak it, so your days as king may end.”
“Do not speak treason, Absalom.” Joab drew his sword.
“Do you serve the people or an old man?”
“A king serves and leads his people. I am King David’s hound.”
Absalom looked at his father, at the ash-stained head with a bald spot spreading from its crown. “You are finished,” he said.
He dashed past his mother and Michal; out the open tower doors.
“Joab,” said David. “Fetch him back. Bring my son back to me.”
~~~
Joab crept along a path in the woods; an ash spear doubled as his walking stick. As he neared the brook, he heard cursing, Absalom’s cursing. He stepped from behind a blackberry bramble. The brook slowed and widened near an ancient willow that Joab knew well. As a boy, Joab had climbed this tree and dreamed of warfare.
Inside the weeping leaves, Absalom cursed his father and lamented his dead sister. Joab almost pitied the boy. Absalom and men of his ilk were soft, easily trapped. Joab’s boots splashed only twice as he crossed the brook and stopped at the willow’s shade. Absalom’s back rested against a branch. His leg twisted where his foot had lodged in the crook of two branches. Absalom laughed as he saw the old warrior.
“Joab, an old man has sent another old man to fetch me.”
“That was the King’s wish.”
“The King.” Absalom laughed. “You’ll do whatever he asks.”
“I loyally serve.”
“And if there is a new king?”
“It will depend upon his worth. A king demands service. He does not beg for it.”
“Then get me out of this tree.”
Joab hefted his spear. Absalom had only a second to lose his smirk, which shrank to fear.
~~~
David perched on the edge of his throne. Carved flames of orange and red amber and rubies normally shielded from view shone behind him. Three shrouded bodies lay on the floor. Dark red stains bloomed over the white linen. Narrow shafts of light filtered through the west windows and crawled high on the eastern walls.
Nathanael and Joab stood in the hall.
“He resisted,” said Joab.