A Lineage of Grace (50 page)

“Better her than another whose name I won’t mention.”

Maacah glared at Bathsheba. “Perhaps David craves the company of a
virtuous
woman.”

Words of retaliation rose like bile in Bathsheba’s throat, but she swallowed them. Why pour oil on the fire? Besides, what defense had she? She
was
faithless. She gathered her sewing, rose, inclined her head, and walked sedately from the room, refusing to give them further opportunities to stab her heart. When her chamber door was firmly closed, she crumpled to the floor and stifled her sobs with a pillow.

She slept little that night, tortured by thoughts of David and Abigail. She rose early and walked alone in the inner garden. She sat beneath an olive tree and bowed her head, afraid to pray. Why draw God’s attention when the price for sin was death? She moved her hands slowly over her abdomen, love distracting her from her anguish. She would pour her life out for her child. David’s child.

“Bathsheba?”

Startled, she glanced at Abigail.

“I’ve come from the king,” the older woman said.

Bathsheba’s heart twisted. She clenched her hands in her lap, her stomach tightening. Did Abigail mean to gloat over the night she’d spent in David’s arms? With an effort, Bathsheba kept silent, refusing to show her feelings.

David’s third wife studied her for a moment. “May I sit?”

“If it pleases you.”

Abigail took a seat beside her. “I’m not here to cause you more sorrow, Bathsheba.” She looked down and brushed imaginary dust from her dress. “David asked me last night if you are adjusting to life in the palace. I told him you’ve shown great dignity. He asked if you’ve been well, and I told him I haven’t heard you utter a word of complaint. He asked if you’ve received visitors, and I said not to my knowledge.” She gave a soft broken laugh. “I suppose our husband felt he could speak with me about these things because I’m older than he and was married to another before him. I suppose he thought I would understand your feelings better than anyone else in the palace.” She drew in her breath and released it slowly. “He also asked me if you still grieved for Uriah.”

Fighting tears, Bathsheba stared straight ahead.

Abigail lifted her head and turned to look at her. “I’ve never known David to ask so many questions about a wife, or to show jealousy over one. He’s always been very careful to treat each one equally to preserve peace in the household. We all vie for his attention, but he has never before found distinction among us. Last night, he let his heart be known. Not because he wanted everyone to know, but because he can’t help himself. He has a special regard for you.”

Bathsheba sucked in a sharp breath as joy caught her off guard. She quickly dampened it when she recognized the pain in Abigail’s eyes. How many others were in love with him? “I’m sorry, Abigail.”

Abigail understood her meaning and smiled wryly. “It is never wise to fall in love with a king.”

“My mother told me that years ago.”

“Your mother is wise.” She lifted her eyes. “I think David is in love with you. I don’t think he could’ve done the things he’s done otherwise.”

Heat surged into Bathsheba’s cheeks, but strangely she heard no condemnation in Abigail’s tone, nor saw it in her eyes. She trembled. “I’m the one who sinned.” It was better for all if she took full responsibility.

Abigail shook her head. “We’ve all sinned.”

“
You
didn’t. You warned David against sinning.” She didn’t have to add the rest—that she’d unwittingly encouraged him to do so.

“I called my husband a fool before witnesses.”

“You remained faithful.”

“And waited until Nabal was sober so that I could tell him what he had done and have him understand completely. I knew his greed. I knew his arrogance. I also knew his cowardice. I spoke and watched the terror come upon him. I watched him die, and thanked God for my deliverance. And when David sent for me to be his wife, I packed in all haste and came to him because I’d loved what I’d heard about him and loved him still more when I laid eyes upon him.” Her eyes were shiny with tears. “I love him still.”

Bathsheba was deeply touched that Abigail trusted her enough to be so open. “You did nothing deserving of condemnation. Everyone spoke of your wisdom and quick actions. You saved countless lives that night, Abigail.” Whereas Uriah was dead because of her, as were all the men who had stormed the walls of Rabbah with him.

“Do not praise me. God sees the heart, Bathsheba, and God will judge us all.”

Bathsheba felt a chill in the pit of her stomach. Closing her eyes, she hung her head. “That’s what I fear most of all.”
I’ve broken the Law. How can I ever undo what has happened because of my sin? Oh, Lord God of Israel, be merciful. Please pull me up from the pit I dug for myself and change the direction of my life!

Abigail put her hand over hers and squeezed it gently. “God is also merciful to those who repent.” She rose, leaving Bathsheba alone to wonder how repentance would change anything now. No matter what she did from here forward, people would remember her as an adulteress.

The child she carried would be the evidence held against her.

* * *

When the child came, Bathsheba saw in the eyes of those who assisted her that her sins were now revealed. The eighth wife of the king, a mere six months after entering the palace, had borne a fully developed child with strong limbs and lungs. As her baby screamed in the midwife’s arms, Bathsheba felt the woman’s repugnance. She looked from face to face and was afraid. Ignoring the pain and summoning her strength, she reached out quickly. “Give me my son!”

The midwife dumped him into her arms as though he were an unclean thing. Shocked by such careless handling, Bathsheba drew back from the woman and held her son close. If she’d ever wondered what treatment her child would receive, she knew now. The entire population of the palace—nay, the nation—would know her son had been conceived in sin!

The birth attendants left, but Bathsheba heard their voices buzz just outside her door.

Abigail entered soon afterward. “Would you mind if I stayed with you for a while?”

Bathsheba wept at her kindness. “I understand their hatred of me, but my son is
innocent
!”

Abigail brushed the hair back from her face. “Hush now, for the child’s sake.” She tucked her hands beneath the infant. “Let me have him. I’ll wash him and rub the salt in gently so he’ll be safe from infection. Then I’ll swaddle him and present him to the king.”

Where her grandfather, Ahithophel, would see and know . . .

David had offered him many gifts upon his return from Rabbah. David assured her that all was well between them, but she knew David would be dead by now if he were not king. Her grandfather was shrewd, but he was also as unforgiving as Joab. She feared what went on in the mind of her grandfather. When David had returned at the head of his army with Hanun’s crown upon his head, she’d watched her grandfather from the palace wall as he came into the city at the head of the military advisers. He looked up and saw her where she stood. He didn’t smile and raise his hand. His eyes fixed upon her like a target.

Bathsheba could only hope her father hadn’t been told the whole story when he’d been transported home after being wounded in Rabbah. Had her mother taken pity upon her as her father lay suffering? Surely she would not have been so cruel as to tell him his daughter had committed adultery with the king and caused the murder of her husband! It would have been an act of kindness to tell him simply that his daughter had been taken into the palace as the king’s wife after news of Uriah’s death—and omit the rest of the sordid tale.

She had frequent nightmares, awakening in a cold sweat and expecting to see her grandfather leaning over her with his curved knife. Sometimes she dreamed she was standing at the door of her father’s house, hearing her grandfather swear to his son in her hearing, “Oh, my son, my son! They will not go unpunished! Though David be king, I will lay him low! And if I meet failure, may my life be forfeit!”

She tried not to think of what the future might hold. She tried to forget the bad dreams and separation from David as she held her son in her arms and nursed him. Perhaps this would be enough.

David was pleased with her son. He sat with her and cupped the child’s head tenderly, then looked into her eyes. She decided to live for each infrequent moment in David’s company, basking in his love, even if it proved inconstant. Her son would be different. She relished his warmth in her arms, the tug of his mouth at her breast as he took his sustenance from her. Never had she loved anyone as much as she loved this child of her body. She dedicated herself to him. Night and day, she watched over him, entrusting his care to no one else. She kept him close, aware of his every movement and sound. A child existed to be loved, and she poured her love out like an offering upon him.

And then the prophet Nathan came to set things right.

* * *

David was informed the moment Nathan approached the palace, and he came into the court to offer the elderly man warm welcome and greeting. He tensed when he saw the fire in the old prophet’s eyes and realized that Nathan had come with less than pleasant words to impart. “What brings you to the palace?” David said, taking his seat and resting his hands on the arms of the throne. “What can I do for you?”

Nathan stood before him, feet planted. He was far older than David’s forty years, but life shone brightly in his eyes. The presence of the Lord could be felt in the room the moment he opened his mouth and spoke in a deep, clear voice for all to hear.

“There were two men in a certain town. One was rich, and one was poor. The rich man owned many sheep and cattle. The poor man owned nothing but a little lamb he had worked hard to buy. He raised that little lamb, and it grew up with his children. It ate from the man’s own plate and drank from his cup. He cuddled it in his arms like a baby daughter. One day a guest arrived at the home of the rich man. But instead of killing a lamb from his own flocks for food, he took the poor man’s lamb and killed it and served it to his guest.”

David slammed his fist upon the arm of his throne. “As surely as the Lord lives, any man who would do such a thing deserves to die! He must repay four lambs to the poor man for the one he stole and for having no pity.”

Nathan’s eyes blazed.
“You are that man!”

David went cold, his skin prickling.

Nathan stepped forward. “The Lord, the God of Israel says,” he said in a voice all the more powerful because of its quietness, “‘I anointed you king of Israel and saved you from the power of Saul. I gave you his house and his wives and the kingdoms of Israel and Judah. And if that had not been enough, I would have given you much, much more.’”

Fear gripped David until he shook.

“‘Why, then, have you despised the word of the Lord and done this horrible deed? For you have murdered Uriah and stolen his wife.’”

All those in the court gasped and stared at David. Drops of sweat formed on his brow and dripped down his temples. His ears were opened! For he heard the truth Nathan spoke. His eyes were opened fully to the evil he’d done, and he cried out in horror. How could he have been so blind? How was it possible to love God so much and be captured so completely by sin? David bolted out of his throne and threw himself to his knees at the feet of the prophet, his heart thundering as he felt the eyes of God upon him.

“‘From this time on,’” Nathan went on, “‘the sword will be a constant threat to your family, because you have despised Me by taking Uriah’s wife to be your own. Because of what you have done, I, the Lord, will cause your own household to rebel against you. I will give your wives to another man, and he will go to bed with them in public view. You did it secretly, but I will do this to you openly in the sight of all Israel.’”

Sorrow filled David. “I have sinned against the Lord!” He deserved death. He remembered the look in Uriah’s eyes before he turned away and went to face his death.
How could I have done it?
David wept.
My friend! My friend!
He waited for God to strike him down.

Instead, he felt Nathan’s hand gentle upon his head. “Yes, but the Lord has forgiven you, and you won’t die for this sin.”

David’s head came up in amazement. Nathan stroked his hair as though he were a child, his eyes grieved. “But,” he said sadly, straightening, “you have given the enemies of the Lord great opportunity to despise and blaspheme Him, so your child will die.”

David’s stomach dropped. He stared into Nathan’s eyes and saw there would be no compromise. His chest tightened as he thought of the cost to Bathsheba. Shutting his eyes, he bent over and covered his head as Nathan turned and walked from the court.

* * *

Bathsheba was alarmed when her baby wouldn’t nurse, then frightened when he became feverish and cried pitifully. She did everything she knew to bring the fever down, but it raged unabated, sapping the child of strength. She held him and rocked him. She walked with him in her arms. When she became too exhausted to hold him, she lay upon her bed with the baby nestled against her. And she wept, hour upon unending hour, for fear of losing him.

“Where is David? Does he know . . . ?”

“He knows, my lady,” the eunuch told her. “He’s fasting and inquiring of God for the child.”

Bathsheba felt a flicker of hope at this news, for hadn’t the Lord always heard David’s prayers? Hadn’t God always helped David?

She didn’t dare beseech God herself.

Each day, the child lost strength. On the seventh day, while Bathsheba was holding him and pleading softly, the baby stopped breathing. For a long moment, Bathsheba felt as though her own heart had stopped. She didn’t cry out or tear her hair or rend her clothing. She lay quietly upon her bed and curled her body around her dead child, and closed her eyes.

God, I know You’ve taken my son. Why didn’t You take me instead?

Some of the women who’d lost children pitied her. But others took cruel pleasure in God’s judgment upon Bathsheba’s baby and her anguished silence. “She deserved it,” they whispered. “See what God does to sinners!” they gossiped. “She’s getting a taste of the bitterness she’s caused others.”