by Naomi Ruppin
“I’m very sorry this happened to you, Tannis,” I said. “But thank you so much for telling me. I’ll do my best to see that Nathan is punished.”
“There’s one more thing,” Tannis said. “He has a birthmark—like a brown stain, about the size of a fist on his right side. Over his ribs. You can only see it when he’s…unclothed.”
“Yes! I saw it too!” The second older woman spoke again.
I sat cross-legged on the floor and turned to face her.
“May I know your name?” I asked.
“Jamila. Like Tannis, I am a slave.”
“Nathan attacked you too?”
“He did. It was years ago now—seven or eight years. At this time he was staying in a guest room. I brought him a meal. I had barely set down the tray when he attacked me. He had me pinned to the floor when I said, ‘How can you do this? You are a man of god.’ ‘God has no pity for heathen unbelievers,’ he said.”
“And did you tell anyone?”
“I told Nava, the head cook. She warned me to say nothing more to anyone.”
“She did! But why?”
“Nava has been in the palace for many years. She said people who go up against Nathan meet with bad endings.”
I thought of the attempt on Amisi’s life.
“Might Nava herself be in league with Nathan?”
Jamila smiled grimly. “The thought has crossed my mind, though she made a show of sympathy at the time. I can’t be sure either way. I never mentioned it again until now.”
“Jamila, Tannis,” I looked at each woman in turn. “Would you be willing to repeat your accusations before the king?”
The two women looked at each other. Tannis dropped her gaze to her clasped hands and spoke.
“No. I’m sorry. I’m too afraid.”
“We have taken a risk even by speaking to you,” Jamila added.
“But the king would protect you!” It sounded unconvincing even to my own ears.
“He could not even protect his own wife,” Jamila said.
I pleaded with the two servant women a while longer, urging them to bear witness before the king, saying again how important it was and that they might be saving Amisi’s life. But they wouldn’t be persuaded. They said I could repeat what they’d told me before the king, but made me promise not to mention their names. Finally I thanked them all sincerely, including Timna, and let them get back to their work. I remained in my tent after all, to think about what I’d heard.
So Nathan had raped women before. Though possibly Amisi’s case was the first time he’d gone so far as to attack one of the king’s own wives. Nathan seemed to have a preference for foreign women, which Amisi was too. Maybe it eased his conscience, if he possessed one, to think that these women were somehow morally inferior because they didn’t believe in his god.
How frustrating it was that Tannis and Jamila refused to testify! Even though I knew how justified their fears were. So far, theirs was the strongest piece of evidence that I had to make Amisi’s story more credible, but how effective could it be if I gave it in their stead and couldn’t even use their names?
And Bathsheba had some sort of intimate relationship with Nathan. This explained some of her deference to him. Having her own chambers, separate from the women’s court and with a private entrance, allowed her to host him, even at night. I felt as if over the past weeks I’d been piecing together a vast mosaic depicting life at the palace, stone by tiny stone, each person’s story another part of the picture. I was suddenly seized with the conviction that Bathsheba’s story was a crucial part of it. I had to talk to her. But would she talk to me? I shook my head; the very idea was madness. Hadn’t I just learned how deep her loyalty was to Nathan? Surely she wouldn’t say a word against him, and worse, she would relay everything I said back to him. How could I learn about her? Talk to the king? His memories only went back so far. And besides, he was a man. I needed the sensibilities of a woman.
Of course. I needed to tap the source that had brought me this intelligence in the first place—the servants. I had to talk to Hannah, Bathsheba’s personal servant. Hannah had served Bathsheba for as long as I could remember, and followed her mistress about like a human shadow. But how would I catch her on her own? I couldn’t imagine Hannah leaving her mistress alone for as long as it would take for her to eat in the servants’ hall. I suspected she took her meals in Bathsheba’s chambers. But maybe Bathsheba slept after lunch and then Hannah might leave her room? It was worth a try.
I ate a brief, early lunch myself, then loitered in the second-floor hallway of the women’s wing, peering around the corner every so often at the door to Bathsheba’s chambers in the central wing. Every time I heard the sound of footsteps, I looked again. The fourth time I did this I was rewarded with the sight of Hannah walking towards the stairs. I darted after her.
“Hannah!”
She stopped and turned. She was a small woman, round and brown as a nut, with brown skin, a brown woolen shawl about her shoulders and graying curls escaping from a brown kerchief.
“Can I help you?”
She used no honorific; perhaps she felt that serving the queen for so long had conferred some of Bathsheba’s status onto her. She was dignified but not haughty.
“I’m Abigail,” I said, as if that explained something. Apparently it did, because a light dawned across her face.
“I thought I recognized you. The girl who wanted a room of her own. The one who’s been asking questions about Nathan,” she said.
“Yes, that’s me. Do you…may I…what do you think of Nathan?” I concluded weakly.
“I detest him,” she answered without hesitation.
“Oh, good!” I said fervently, and was further encouraged when she laughed. “Do you have a few moments to answer some questions?”
“That depends on what you want to know,” she said warily.
“Can we go outside? I don’t want to be overheard.”
She nodded. We went downstairs and out to the women’s courtyard. The day was gray and the sky threatened rain, so the courtyard was empty enough for us to speak privately.
I myself didn’t know quite what it was that I wanted to know, so I prompted Hannah simply with, “Can you tell me about Bathsheba and Nathan?”
She was silent for a moment before shaking her head and saying, “No. I’m sorry. It’s not for me to speak about my mistress.”
I wrung my hands in frustration. I was surer than ever that it was important to learn all that Hannah knew. But how to persuade her? Her life’s mission was protecting Bathsheba.
“Do you know why I’m asking about Nathan?” I asked her.
“I’ve heard talk.”
“Then you know that a woman’s life is at stake. I believe that Nathan raped Amisi. The king will put her to death if I can’t prove it. I know you have compassion, Hannah; you helped me once.”
“You are the queen’s granddaughter.” Hannah smiled at me a little. “She had your brashness long ago, when she was your age. But I’ve been keeping her secrets for over forty years, and I won’t betray her now.”
Her words gave me an idea.
“Will you hear one of my secrets, then?” I asked. She nodded. “If I can’t prove that Nathan raped Amisi, I’ll have to marry Nathan. The king has commanded it.”
Hannah drew a sharp breath and her lip curled in disgust. Shaking her head, she drew her shawl more tightly about her and gazed skyward for a moment, as if reading her thoughts on the gathering clouds.
“That must not happen,” she said.
I said nothing, but continued to look at her pleadingly.
“I will tell you what I know,” she said. “But you must promise not to repeat it to anyone.”
She waited until I nodded before going on.
“Nathan has a power over my mistress. For you to understand why, I have to go back many years. I’ve served her since we were both younger than you are. I was her handmaiden in her father’s house, and left wi
th her when she married. Her father gave her to Uriah the Hittite, who was one of King David’s ‘mighty men’, as they were called, the fiercest and most loyal soldiers in his army. She loved Uriah more than anyone she has loved in her life, save for her son Solomon.
“Uriah was away from home, fighting in the campaign against Ammon. King David was in his palace, though it makes me laugh to call it that now. It was like a shepherd’s lean-to compared to this one. It stood shoulder-to-shoulder among other houses in the city. Uriah lived close to the palace so he could be ready to report for duty at all times. My mistress would sometimes bathe on the roof of the house, late at night when no one was watching. Or so she thought. As we learned later, King David was out on his rooftop one night and saw her bathing. He was struck by her beauty, as no man could help being. He had her brought to the palace for his own pleasure.”
I gasped.
“He abducted her and raped her?”
“Yes. Though he later took her as his wife. Had she not been married to begin with, this would have been considered atonement enough for his crime, by the law that stands to this day. King Solomon too takes whatever woman he pleases—but he is more civilized, in that he does take the trouble to make them a wife or concubine before bedding them. And he does not take women who are already married.”
“What happened when Uriah came back?”
“King David kept Bathsheba captive long enough to impregnate her. When the army returned it was only for a brief furlough, and the soldiers remained in camp to train throughout. For obvious reasons, the king gave Uriah special leave so that he would spend some nights with his wife, but dedicated soldier that he was, Uriah refused to leave camp. Rather than have his evil deed found out, the king contrived to have Uriah fight in the front lines at all times, until finally he was killed in battle.”
I imagined the anguish of the young Bathsheba; the king had seized her, raped her, had her beloved husband killed, and then had taken her as wife. No wonder she looked as she did—permanently hollowed out inside.
“King David was a monster!”
Hannah sighed and said, “To many men, great desire for a thing coupled with the power to take it somehow translates in their minds to entitlement. Especially when they’ve become accustomed to possessing power. King David was considered a benevolent ruler with a weakness for women and for his children. But my mistress loathed him to the day he died.”
“Then…my father was the result of this violence?”
“No. Your father was David and Bathsheba’s second child. Their first child took ill with a high fever and died before he reached one year of age. His parents were devastated.”
“Bathsheba too?” I thought of Amisi’s apathetic attitude towards her own child of rape.
“Well, it wasn’t simple. She did have mixed feelings toward the child. It was as if she hadn’t made up her mind to love him, and before she could, he died. I think her misery was as much guilt and regret as grief. About this time or a little before, Nathan came into the picture.”
A cold wind had picked up, ushering in even darker clouds, and it looked like a storm might soon break. But I didn’t want to interrupt Hannah’s story even for long enough to move indoors.
“How?” I asked.
“Well, to be precise, he was already a favorite of the king’s at that time. He was considered a powerful prophet who specialized, if I can put it that way, in dire predictions. He has a knack for foretelling the most dismal events.”
“Maybe he helps bring them about,” I muttered grimly.
“I like you, child!” Hannah smiled broadly and patted my arm. “I’ve noticed that when it comes to the rare fortuitous forecast, Nathan is careful to be vague about the timing. But when he speaks of something evil, people take note. He’s good at inspiring fear.”
“Is he a true prophet?” I asked suddenly.
“The answer to that is beyond me,” she said wryly. “I will say this. I believe that he believes he has God’s ear. Or the other way around. That’s one of the things that makes him so dangerous—he feels sanctioned in everything he does.”
“But how did he become involved with Bathsheba?”
“He’s a master at exploiting people’s weaknesses. When David and Bathsheba’s first son lay deathly ill, Nathan came to chastise the king for his sin of taking Bathsheba by force. Not that it wasn’t well-deserved, but Nathan had waited well over a year to do it. If you ask me, it takes a special kind of cruelty to heap coals on a man who’s been fasting and praying for days for his child’s recovery. Nathan foretold a terrible retribution, and when the poor child died he allowed that this is what he’d foreseen.”
“Then he took Bathsheba’s part?”
“Yes and no. He encouraged her to blame David for their son’s death, stirring more poison into a relationship that had already started out so badly. But he also implied that God’s vengeance was directed towards her as well, because she had previously married a Hittite, and because she had exposed herself immodestly by bathing on the roof.”
“Evil beast! I would have forbidden him to come into my presence again.”
“Nathan knew just how to temper his chastising with a show of sympathy and to assure Bathsheba that if she would only follow his direction, she would be spared God’s further wrath and be rewarded. She was so battered by guilt and misery by then that she fell prey to his manipulations.”
“Were they intimate?”
“Yes. Only after King David’s death.”
“And during Nathan’s marriages?”
“Then too. Off and on.”
At this point the clouds shattered into icy raindrops and we ran to take shelter under the overhanging balcony.
“I won’t keep you much longer,” I said. “I only have one more question. Is it true that Nathan had a hand in my father’s crowning?”
“I was not present when that decision was made. But it wouldn’t surprise me. King David was frail and no longer in control of his faculties. And Nathan made Bathsheba believe that Solomon was destined for the throne, and that this was why her first child had died. It wasn’t difficult to convince her of the first part—Solomon was an extraordinary child, and as dear to his mother as the sight of her eyes. And as for the second part, I suppose she was eager to accept anything that gave meaning to the tragedy of her baby’s death.”
I reflected on what Hannah had told me. It occurred to me that Nathan had bedded King David’s wife, married one of David’s daughters, and raped Solomon’s wife. Was moving on to me, Solomon’s daughter, a natural progression in his mind? In addition to satisfying his lust, did he enjoy the subversive flavor of his conquests?
“Thank you, Hannah,” I said. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about.”
“I hope it helps, child. I hope Nathan meets with the fate he deserves. But please remember your promise and don’t hurt my mistress.”
Chapter Sixteen
The House at Sheep Gate
It was the day before the trial. I had fallen asleep close to dawn, only to be engulfed by a nightmare shortly after. I was lost in the city again and I couldn’t find my way home. The city walls had grown so high that I couldn’t see the temple or the palace or any familiar landmark. I stumbled through the alleyways in the dark, trying to ask passersby for directions, but they didn’t speak my language. Every way I turned I faced a blank wall.
When I awoke, my fear felt like an illness, making every move and every thought painful and nauseating. I could hardly believe that I had come so far and learned so much, but I still had no solid proof of Nathan’s crime. I felt that there was only one thing that might ease my distress and that was to see Moth, but we still weren’t speaking.
I took the last piece of papyrus that was left over from my census, and spent some time writing notes for the points I would make during the trial. The list was so alarmingly short that it was hardly necessary, but I made it anyway. I felt the slightest bit better being armed with something I c
ould hold in my hand and look at, and I wanted to make sure that anxiety didn’t make me forget any details or any of the wording I’d planned.
Then I went to visit Amisi one last time. When I drew back the tent flap, a lean figure whipped in front of me and I gave a startled gasp. It was Khepri, armed with his shaving razor. We laughed a little and he lowered the razor.
“Abigail. Send word next time!”
“So you can stab the poor messenger who brings it?”
“You have a point.”
We went to join Amisi, who was seated on her pallet beside the sleeping baby. The pale gray daylight crept meagerly into the tent through the spaces between its cloth walls and roof, and three lamps burned on a low trestle table. Anubis was lying in a corner of the tent, his black shape almost invisible in the shadows. Khepri took up the sewing he’d been working on. Amisi was sewing too, on something that looked like a tiny sleeve. She had dark circles under her eyes but otherwise looked recovered from her poisoning.
“Is that for the baby?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she said. “It was Khepri’s thought.”
“I’m teaching her to sew,” Khepri added, then turned to Amisi and said, “You’ll be able to make all her dresses.”
She lowered her gaze back to her stitches and said, “I hope I will finish this today. You can tell her that her mother made it for her.”
Khepri and I looked at each other.
“Amisi, about tomorrow,” I began.
“Yes?”
“I’ll be asking you questions. The king will be there. Nathan will be there.”
“And Khepri?” she asked.
“Yes, Khepri too. And maybe some others. I want you to answer my questions truthfully and say just what you told me. But, Amisi…”
She waited.
“Don’t mention Gideon unless I ask you about him specifically. And…it would be best if you say that you were just friends.”
“You said to tell the truth.”
“Yes,” I said cautiously.
“I loved him,” she said with sudden fierceness. “What I wish for now, more than my life, is that this was his child. I will not lie about that.”