Abigail (25 page)

His leaden feet carried him down the hill alone, now that his men had abandoned him. Remnants of the homes they’d lived in lay in a heap of rubble. Broken pottery littered the streets, and the clay ovens in the courtyards were crushed, unusable.

No sign of the women or children.

A high-pitched wail jolted him out of his stupor as he reached the place where his home once stood. Other cries soon followed, his men giving vent to the pain of their losses. David looked out across the street at the group of men now sitting in the dust, their hair and beards covered in ash, their tunics torn in grief. He swallowed back the bile as emotion rose to choke him. He sank to his knees and scooped ash into his hair, burying his face in the dust and weeping.

Oh, Adonai, what have I done? I have brought these, Your people, to this foreign land, and now You have taken our families from us. Surely I am sinful from birth and have done evil in Your sight.

The heat of the sun beat on his back, and the taste of dust and ash coated his tongue. His eyes stung and his beard carried the sticky remnant of his tears. The sounds of weeping and wailing rose and fell as the afternoon waned.

Eventually murmurs tinged with anger filtered through his grief, growing closer. He rose from the dirt and moved to the edge of his ruined courtyard, cocking his head to listen.

“We wouldn’t be in this mess if we’d never come here.”

“David knew the risks and put us in danger to save his own neck.”

“He’s not fit to lead us or Israel. Let Saul’s son be king in Saul’s place.”

“What of our families? He should pay for their loss!”

“He lost his wives too.” David recognized Benaiah’s deep, comforting voice.

“He should have lost more.”

“I say we should teach him a lesson.”

“More than a lesson—he deserves to die along with our families.”

The escalating cries for vengeance rose above the steady, supportive voices of reason. Fear’s claws sank into him, digging deeper with each threat, each rising temper paralyzing him. “Stone him!” The shout reverberated through the street.

“We can’t kill him. He is Adonai’s anointed.” He recognized the voice of his nephew Abishai.

“Abishai is right.” Benaiah’s booming voice rose above the fray. “God may do worse things to us if we kill His anointed.” The arguments rose and fell, leaving David vulnerable and unable to shake a terror so deep he was powerless to confront it.

O sovereign Adonai, show me what to do.

He glimpsed Abiathar the priest on the fringes of the crowd, looking haggard and far older than his years. Abiathar had witnessed the deaths of his entire family when Saul had ordered the priests slain. This loss of the wife he had found here and the young babe she had just borne had to hit him doubly hard. Would he help David now or be among those who turned against him?

Gripping the crumbled wall of the court for support, David forced his shaky limbs to move, walked across the compound toward the man, and called to him.

“Abiathar, please bring the ephod here to me.” His voice caught the attention of his men. They turned to watch the priest, their arguments silenced, the menace in their gazes a wall of stone against him.

Abiathar moved to his donkey and removed the priestly ephod from the saddlebag. He walked up to David.

“Ask the Lord, ‘Shall I pursue this raiding party? Will I overtake them?’ ”

The crowd drew closer, raising David’s hackles, but Abiathar seemed not to notice. He took the Urim and Thummin and tossed the stones, repeating David’s question. “Pursue them. You will certainly overtake them and succeed in the rescue.”

Relief rushed at him, weakening his knees. He gripped Abiathar’s arm, searching his gaze. The man spoke truth. His breathing slowed to normal, and he looked at his men. “Did you hear?”

Several nodded, and Joab and Benaiah stepped forward. “Which way do we go?”

David looked out over the land. They had no idea who had taken the women and children or where they would have gone. But an inner sense that he could only believe was Yahweh’s Spirit told him to head south toward the Besor Ravine.

“That way,” he said at last, peace finally settling over him. “Let’s go rescue our families.”

26

David stood at the edge of the Nahal Besor Ravine and looked out over the water, trees, and underbrush, gauging the distance across. While the trees would conceal the movement of his men from any enemies keeping watch from the fields and hills on the other side, the dense foliage and rushing river, risen with the recent rains, would make crossing a definite challenge. If not for the determination coursing through him, he would make camp and rest first. But the urgent need to rescue Abigail and Ahinoam pressed in on him, and he feared
what would become of them if he waited.

“Some of the men are too exhausted to go on.” Benaiah came up beside him.

“How many?”

“Two hundred.”

“Hmm . . .” One-third of his forces. He needed every man to fight. David glanced behind him, then looked back toward the ravine. Lush vegetation bordered the river on both sides. They would have to hold on to tree branches to make it safely across without getting swept away down the river.

“We’ll never get the donkeys across those rushing waters.”

Benaiah cleared his throat. “The men could stay and protect the supplies.”

“We hardly need two hundred men to watch one hundred pack animals. And four hundred men may not be enough to conquer and recover all.” David ran a hand over his beard. Was Adonai testing his trust?

“Two hundred too exhausted to fight will only hinder us.”

David released a weighty sigh, knowing the answer he was about to give would not bode well with the men who would push through any trial, exhausted or not, to save their loved ones. He glanced at his guard and gave him a slight nod. “Tell the two hundred they can stay. Gather the rest and let’s go.” Within the hour Benaiah, Joab, and Abishai had enlisted men to help them create a hand-over-hand bridge among the trees. Grumbling and sometimes outright cursing the men left behind, four hundred determined warriors crossed the rushing waters of the Besor wadi. When the last man had made it safely across, David focused his men’s anger and attention on the kidnappers.

But as he clawed his way up the hill, a deep-seated fear filled him. Were they going the right direction? Worse, would he find Abigail and Ahinoam unscathed? For though Adonai had indicated that they would succeed in the rescue, He hadn’t promised that David would find them as he’d left them. He knew all too well the practices of marauders bent on destroying a town—they killed the men and ravished the women, or they killed everyone, men, women, and children. Such a plan was the only way to ensure their own safety and avoid retaliation. David had instituted a similar plan himself during his months in service to Achish, killing the enemies of

Israel and letting Achish think he was destroying enemies of Philistia instead.

He wiped sweat from his brow and shaded his eyes to scan the hills before him. What if the men had already humbled the women—the wives of his men and his own wives as well? A sick feeling settled in his gut. Death was not good enough for such a man.

He fisted his hands and forced his aching legs to continue.

Abigail listened to the mixed sounds of the whispering, frightened women around her and the louder drunken reveling of the Amalekites outside the cave. The men and the few Amalekite women among them had begun their celebration long before nightfall. Dusk now blanketed the plain, and the merrymaking showed no signs of slowing. Perhaps this was a blessing, though Abigail knew that depending on his mood, a drunken man could either avoid or abuse the woman who caught his eye.

She stepped farther away from the cave’s entrance and tugged her cloak closer to her neck, troubled by memories of Nabal. These Amalekites were more cruel and evil than Nabal had ever been, and by the way the leader had treated her, she knew it was only a matter of time before he plucked her from this group of women and did as he pleased with her.

Adonai, please help us. David, where are you?

Would he come? But how would he ever find them? The women had been ill prepared to leave any type of trail. And though the horses’ hooves and footprints had left imprints in the sand, the stiff breeze that had assailed them the last half of the trip and the rains that had come during the night would have wiped away even those marks to show David where they had gone.

Hopelessness filled her. She sank to the dusty ground, pulled her knees to her chest, and rested her head on them, her gaze focused on the cave’s entrance. She begged God to keep the Amalekites busy with anything but the women who crouched in fear with her.

A high-pitched female scream jolted her. She glanced around, satisfied that the sound was coming from outside the cave. But had the Amalekites snatched one of the women without her knowledge? She forced herself up from the ground and glanced hurriedly around her, moving to the hidden recesses at the back. Where was Ahinoam?

She came upon Ahinoam curled on her side, sleeping near a wall. Abigail blew out a troubled breath. When her heartbeat had slowed to a manageable rhythm, she walked back toward the entrance, searching the faces of the women as she went and asking if anyone had left the cave.

The screams grew louder the closer she came to the cave’s mouth, but the tones were deeper, throatier. She stole quietly to the yawning entrance where the Amalekite guard kept watch, and peered around the one wall that offered a bit of seclusion. Firelight danced in the gathering dusk, but the jovial mood of the camp had changed. Swords clanged in the distance, and the sickening scent of blood drifted to her on the warm breeze.

David! It had to be.

She strained to see, noting the absence of the guard, who must have left to join the battle. She hoped for a glimpse of the men but could not tell friend from foe.

“What’s going on?” Her mother’s voice behind her made her turn. Joab’s wife Marta, Abishai’s wife Deborah, and her brother’s wife Talya stood with her, followed by a number of the other wives of David’s advisors. Her father and the older boys had been separated from them and placed in another cave, probably to keep them from defending the women.

“I don’t know.” Abigail looked back at the chaos going on in the camp, her stomach clenching at the swishing, thudding sounds of blades cutting flesh and bone. “Someone is attacking the Amalekites.”

“David?” her mother asked, her tone anxious.

“We can only hope.”

The war continued into the night, through the next day, and into the following evening. Abigail slept fitfully in little snatches, taking turns with the women to keep watch over the group and hoping for some sign of David or one of his men. But though they must have taken time to rest from the fight, the men did not come near the cave of the women, leaving them to wonder and worry.

At the end of the evening of the second day, the sounds changed to war whoops and victory shouts. Abigail’s stomach did a little flip as male voices grew closer to the cave. She hurried to the entrance and peered into the darkness, and then there he was, standing before her.

“David!” She ran to him, falling into his arms. The stench of his blood-soaked, sweaty tunic nearly gagged her, but she held his face in her hands just the same. “You found us.”

He placed both hands on her shoulders and kissed her in response, a bold, passionate kiss. “The men would have killed me if I didn’t.” He smiled, then kissed her again. “I couldn’t let them have you, Abigail. Of course I had to come. You belong to me.” He let his arms fall from her shoulders to her waist. “

Are the boys and men you left to guard us . . . is Abba safe?” Behind them the other women now rushed from the cave in search of their men, while the men moved wearily toward them.

He kissed the top of her head. “Everyone is safe, beloved. Your father and some of the boys helped in the fight.” Relief flooded her as David tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “I need to wash before you share my bed.” His fingers traced a line along her jaw. “Where’s Ahinoam?”