Bathsheba (11 page)

I tilted my head, studying the man who had haunted my sleep for the past several weeks. He seemed smaller than I remembered, ruddier, and less physically powerful. Uriah had definitely been the more attractive man.

“I have sent for you, Bathsheba,” the king said without preamble or apology, “to tell you how deeply I regret what has happened between us thus far. Yet I will take care of you, so you need not fear for your safety.” His gaze sharpened and ran over my form, then for the first time it met mine. “Are you still with child?”

At first I could not speak over the boulder in my throat, but I pushed the words out. “Do you think I would have come if I were not?”

His face twisted, then he turned so I could not see his eyes. “I deserved that.” He moved to a standing tray and plucked a few grapes from a stalk. “In that case—” he tossed a grape into his mouth—“because Uriah did not avail himself of my kindness and
go home as I commanded, the world must believe the child you carry is mine.”

“Which it is.” Forced through a tight throat, my words sounded hoarse.

“Yet for the child’s sake, you must remain with me tonight,” the king continued, turning to face me again. His mouth curved with the faint beginning of a smile. “I will sleep with you, the child will be known as a prince of Israel, and I will not disturb you again.”

The shivering at my core erupted into violent trembling. I closed my eyes, unable to bear the thought of touching the man who had brought me such pain and heartache and shame. But I was his wife, his property to use or ignore as he chose.

Braced for his caress, I waited, but nothing happened. Still terrified, I opened my eyes and found him standing directly in front of me, his smile twisted and his forehead creased with apparent concern.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, not knowing I’d heard him say those very words in my nightmares.

“If it please my lord the king,” I managed to whisper, “you do not have to touch me in order to establish that you are the child’s father. As long as we pass the night together, every wagging tongue will be stilled. No one would dare doubt the child’s paternity.”

His eyes narrowed as though he were weighing the motivation behind my suggestion. “I have done you a greater injustice than I realized,” he said, his tone apologetic, “and I have gravely wounded you, though that was not my intention. Please, lady, sleep in my bed, and I will pass the night on the floor. And in the morning, as you have said, no one will have reason to doubt that you carry a royal child.”

“I will lie on the floor.” I took a half step back. “The king should not be deprived of his bed.”

He exhaled softly and chuckled. “I have spent many a night on
ground harder than this. Take the bed, daughter of Eliam, and sleep in peace. You may find this hard to believe, but I am not a complete monster. I am—” he shrugged, and when his eyes met mine again, they appeared to shine with contrition—“only a man.”

A common shepherd, my grandfather would have said. As common a man as could be found in Israel.

What could I do but take the king at his word? I moved to the far side of his bed and slipped out of my sandals, then crawled beneath the blanket in an effort to disappear. Experience had taught me that David took what he coveted, and I did not want him to wake in the night and covet me yet again.

I huddled beneath the stifling blanket for what felt like an eternity and listened to him move about the room, shuffling parchments and squeaking the chair. Finally I heard him blow out the oil lamp. When I gratefully pushed the blanket away from my perspiring face, I drank in gulps of fresh air and saw nothing but shifting shadows.

I could not see David where he lay, but after a while I heard soft snoring from the far side of the room. I remained awake, anxious and alert, until the cock crowed and servants began to shuffle in the hallway.

Careful not to wake the sleeping king, I slipped out of his bed and hurried back to the safety of the harem and my small space within it.

And so ended my second wedding night.

M
ONTHS
PASSED
.
Except for brief visits from Elisheba and Amaris, I spent my days in solitude and seemed to be David’s wife in name only. The king did not call for me during those long weeks, and most of the other wives avoided me as much as possible. When I chanced upon them in the palace garden, the wives with children tended to speak to the air above my head, especially Maacah, the princess of Geshur, who had given David two children, beautiful Tamar and handsome Absalom.

The other wives ignored the growing bulge beneath my tunic. I would have ignored it myself if I’d had a choice. If not for the bulge, Uriah would be alive and I would be living contentedly with Elisheba and Amaris in my little house. If not for the ill-begotten bulge, I would be free to come and go as I pleased. If not for the bulge, I would be able to sleep without nightmares.

One night I dreamt that a lion chased me through the streets
and finally pinned me to the earth. I felt his massive weight on my arms as a growl rattled in his throat and his hulking body loomed over me. He lowered his head and sniffed at my neck while I turned my face away and clamped my teeth together, trying not to scream. He roared, and I braced myself for death—and then I woke up.

I lay motionless, my heart pounding, my skin slick with perspiration. For a long moment my dream world felt more real than the bed beneath me. Then my room slowly made its way back into my consciousness. I pulled the blanket to my chin and searched the darkness, lit only by a sliver of light at the bottom of my door. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I spied my table, my cloak, my shoes on the floor. In another apartment a child cried, sandal-clad feet whispered in the hallway, and in the distance, guards laughed at a ribald joke.

In the shadowy world-between-worlds, I pressed my hand to the bulge at my belly and felt a responding kick. I stiffened, somehow certain that the child wanted his first contact with me to be as violent as the act that had conceived him. I removed my hand and turned my head, not willing to encourage any further communication between us.

In that moment I wanted to be with Uriah, curled up next to him in a grave somewhere outside Rabbah.

None of the king’s women seemed willing to befriend me, nor the king himself. So why shouldn’t I resign myself to a life without joy, purpose, or meaning?

In the quiet of my chamber I yearned for the companionable conversations I used to enjoy with Elisheba and Amaris. We had spent so many years sharing close quarters that at times I found myself snatching a breath to speak to Elisheba, then realizing she was no longer with me. I would have given anything to keep Amaris by my side, even though she was too young to comprehend many of the thoughts that troubled my heart.

I could not understand why the king’s other wives ignored me. I had done nothing to steal his affection, and he spent very little time in my company. One afternoon, as a servant swept my room, I happened to remark that the other wives did not consider me a friend. The servant, a stout Jebusite woman, chuckled under her breath.

“Did I say something funny?” I smiled so she would not think I was angry. “Please, if you know why the other women avoid me, please tell me.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied me, then gave me a small grin. “They are jealous because of the story whispered throughout the palace, my lady. Throughout Jerusalem, in fact.”

A thrill of panic shot through me.
What
story was being whispered? The story of how I came to be the king’s wife, or the story of how David murdered my husband?

I swallowed to bring my heart down from my throat. “And what story would that be?”

“The prophecy, my lady.” She leaned closer. “They say that when you were born, one of Israel’s greatest prophets took a look at you and said you would be one of the most desirable women in the land. And that you would marry a king and have a son who would be the greatest ruler in the world.”

The rumor wasn’t exactly accurate, but at least it wasn’t one of the stories I’d feared. “
That’s
why they avoid me?”

The servant nodded. “They’d never admit it, but all the other wives are working to make sure it’s
their
son who inherits the throne. Michal is no problem because she hasn’t got a son, unless you count the five nephews she’s raising for her dead sister. But that Ahinoam—her son is Amnon, the firstborn, and she gives herself airs because she fancies herself mother of the crown prince. Yet she’s nothing compared to Maacah, Absalom’s mother. Since she was a princess before she came to Israel, she thinks her boy should be king. And frankly”—the woman lowered her voice—“sometimes I
think the king agrees with her. He’d never admit it, but he dotes on Absalom more than the others; anyone can see it. I guess sometimes you can’t help having a favorite, and Absalom is the most gorgeous child in the palace.”

She stopped and lifted a brow, waiting for my reaction, so I thanked her for her honesty. My hand moved to the bump beneath my tunic. Windows in my mind blew open, reminding me that I carried a child too, perhaps a son. The prophecy was real enough, and its certainty guaranteed. Had Adonai allowed Samuel to look into the future and see that this baby would be the king of Israel?

The more I considered the possibility, the more it made sense. Ahinoam might have given birth to the king’s first son and Maacah might have borne his favorite, but the king
owed
me. To atone for Uriah’s murder, David ought to name my son his heir. The prophecy guaranteed that he would.

The idea brought a small smile to my lips. Though I abhorred the memory of how this child was conceived, I knew that Adonai often worked His will through tragic situations. Didn’t Abraham have to endure the trauma of placing Isaac on the altar of sacrifice? Didn’t Joseph have to withstand slavery and imprisonment before HaShem brought him out and placed him on a throne?

I had borne a horrific assault and I’d been treated like chattel. My beloved husband had been murdered. But HaShem had given me a promise . . . and I carried the son who would influence Israel forever.

I dared not speak of my new understanding, but in my prayers I begged Adonai to protect my unborn child.

Servants were not my only visitors to the palace. The royal midwife checked on me often and assured me that she would deliver a
healthy baby. After she left, I stroked my rounded belly and knew I’d been wrong to resent the child. How could I resent a child God meant to be our next king?

By my reckoning, I was a month away from delivering when a messenger informed me that I had guests. Leaving my little room for the first time in days, I went to the harem courtyard and found Elisheba and Amaris waiting.

Amaris’s eyes went wide when she saw me. With the artlessness of a young girl, she gaped at my belly. “You are getting so big! Are you going to have a girl?”

I smiled. “I am carrying a son.”

I hugged each of them, then bade them sit on the bench near the fountain. As usual, Amaris lost all custody of her eyes and stared at everyone who walked by, probably eager to spot one of the princes. Yet Elisheba held my hand and studied me intently. “How are you, child?”

I gave her the brightest smile I could manage. “I am well fed, and the midwife says the baby is fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Elisheba leaned closer. “How is your heart? The last time we visited, you were still grieving over Uriah and sick with worry about how you would live with the king’s women.”

I stared into the fountain’s rippling water and sought words that would neither alarm her nor be untruthful. “The king has not been unkind to me,” I finally said. “Neither have the other wives. I have lots of time for sewing, so my life here is not unpleasant.”

Elisheba turned my hand and studied my soft pink palm. “You’ve not been grinding grain or hauling water, anyone can see that.”

“No,” I admitted. “The king’s servants make life easy.”

“But not everything is easy.” Elisheba’s dark eyes probed mine. “Our neighbors have been full of talk about you. Most of them believe the king took you as his wife out of generosity, and word of the child has also become common knowledge. Some of your
father’s friends know about Samuel’s prophecy, so they expect your son to be our next king.”

“Adonai chooses kings,” I reminded her, though I had quietly come to the same conclusion.

Elisheba dipped her chin in a firm nod. “Samuel was Adonai’s prophet. And if he speaks God’s words, a true prophet cannot lie.”

We continued to share stories. Elisheba told me about the latest happenings on our street, about the bird that had nested in the garden, and the neighborhood girl who had recently been betrothed to a shepherd from the tribe of Benjamin.

“And she was only thirteen,” Amaris added, smiling a gap-toothed smile. “Almost as young as me.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry.” I wagged a finger at my overeager little sister. “I was seventeen before Father arranged my betrothal. I have a feeling Grandfather may want you to wait, too.”

A frown crept into the space between Amaris’s brows. “Will my marriage be arranged by Grandfather or the king? The king is my brother-in-law, isn’t he? And with Father dead . . .”

I blinked, startled by her question. She was correct in her assumption, but I couldn’t imagine David taking an interest in my sister’s marriage. He hadn’t yet done anything to arrange marriages for his own children.

“I don’t know.” I gave her a smile. “But I know you shouldn’t worry. These things tend to take care of themselves at the right time.”

Elisheba patted my hand, then leaned forward to kiss my cheek. “I know you are trying to paint a pretty picture, child, but I see loneliness in your eyes. Know that I am praying for you to have an easy birth and a healthy child. But most of all, I will be praying that you will find love. If ever a woman deserved it, Bathsheba, you do.”

She stood and gestured to the guard who had escorted them into the harem, and then she and Amaris hugged me and said good-bye.

The first birth pangs came just before dawn. I bore them quietly, not wanting to draw attention, but by the third hour of the day I was pacing the width and breadth of my room as sweat ran down my face and my chest.

The midwife came as soon as she heard the news. “The king knows,” she announced when she entered my room. “Now take off that shawl and walk with me to kill the pain. Hold my hand if it will make you feel better.”

I wanted Elisheba, but I didn’t want her around if something went wrong. Despite Samuel’s prophecy, I knew how often women and their children died during childbirth. Despite my faith in the prophecy, I wondered if the nameless bulge at my belly would be the end of me, freeing me to join Uriah, my mother, my father, and a host of ancestors whose names I didn’t even know.

I cried out and bit my fist during the worst pains, and paced in my chamber when they eased. I felt as though my body would burst. My loins burned, my back ached, and all the while the midwife told me to keep walking. How could a woman
walk
when her legs felt like water?

I walked—or stumbled—throughout most of the afternoon. A pair of servants brought fans to move the air in my small space, and during the worst pains the midwife wiped my forehead with a damp cloth. A serving girl brought a plate at midday, but the midwife shooed her away, saying that I shouldn’t eat until after the child had come.

By sunset I had become convinced I would die with the child inside me. Because as a
tob
woman I had enticed the king, HaShem intended to punish me.

With no strength left, I collapsed on my bed, my tunic saturated with sweat, my hair drenched, and my life ebbing away. Like the
bleating of a goat, the midwife’s voice blended into the sounds of the palace. Then, without warning, a ripping pain tore at my flesh.

“Get up!” the woman commanded, taking my hands and pulling me off the bed. “Lift your tunic and squat! Now! To the floor with you!”

My legs barely supported me as I lowered myself, pressed my hands to the floor, and leaned forward. I gritted my teeth and pushed . . . as a child slid into the world on a bloody tide.