Bathsheba (14 page)

He had turned away from her then and stalked out of the courtyard, not returning until she had placed her lamp in its niche in the wall and pulled the bedcovers to her head. The sting of his words was like a slap to the face, something she had not felt since she had angered her father as a child.

Now three days had come and gone, with no chance to restore their relationship. Was he right? She rebelled against the thought. He could ask for time off, could take a leave from traipsing after Joab at every hint of a skirmish. Other men stayed home sometimes. The law allowed for it in certain circumstances.

Bitterness coated the tears at the back of her throat, but she swallowed them down as voices close at hand made her turn.

“There you are. I didn’t expect you to already be here. I went to your house first.” Her cousin Chava took the last step and paused, a hand to her middle where the child had grown large within her.

“Ah, my dear girl, you walk like your old grandfather.” Ahithophel’s head poked up behind Chava as the two walked across the roof to where Bathsheba had placed herself to best see the passing troops.

“One more month. This baby better not be late or I won’t be able to waddle up steps anymore.” Chava huffed as she sidled up to Bathsheba, and leaned close to accept Bathsheba’s kiss.

Bathsheba smiled, hoping Chava wouldn’t notice the pained look in her eyes, then hurried over to kiss her grandfather, forcing her thoughts away from her fight with her husband and his disappointment with her. Chava would either agree with Uriah just to be ornery because the child made her irritable these days, or she would encourage Bathsheba’s feelings of rebellion. Neither would restore her sense of peace nor improve her mood, so she sealed the thoughts up tight within her.

She looked back to the road winding like a wide thread among the buildings to the Eastern Gate. “There are so many men, Sabba. I cannot find Uriah or Father.”

Her grandfather placed a hand on the shoulder of each woman and led them to the eastern edge of the parapet. Horses pawed the ground near the palace gate, drawing their attention.

“That man draped in black, riding the black steed, is the army general, Joab. I’m sure Uriah has spoken of him?” Her grandfather pointed to a man riding along the lines of soldiers, shouting something too far away to clearly hear.

She nodded but held her tongue. She had seen Joab at the feast of the New Moon when he had given a brief report to King David. His expression and posture had been respectful, but his gruff manner and what little she knew of him made her shudder. Though sometimes, when he put too many demands on her husband, she had a mind to tell him a thing or two. If she wasn’t a woman and if she had it within her power . . .

“Your husband and father were among the group that went on ahead of the rest. They are already to the city gate by now.”

She should have expected such news, but somehow had hoped to see Uriah one more time, even from a distance. She tucked her arms around her body, holding herself against the stiff breeze. His kiss at dawn had done nothing to restore the joy she had felt since his return from the last war with Ammon and Syria two short months ago. Instead, his pride, or perhaps his devotion to the law, had kept him focused on his task. Apparently he had forgotten all about his stinging words, but she could not—especially when he had spent the next few days in strategy meetings, with little time for her, not returning home at night until well past dark. She had lost him to battle before he had ever kissed her farewell and marched out to join his troop at dawn.

Now as the sun fully crested the horizon, bitter tears threatened again, and she could no longer hold them in check. She blinked quickly and gazed below, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, hoping and praying her grandfather or Chava would not see. She did not want their sympathy.

“Look, Bathsheba, there’s the king. Do you see him?” Chava’s excitement matched the way she had acted at the feast. Would the woman never get over her captivation with the man? He wasn’t that amazing.

But just the same she turned in the direction Chava pointed. Her gaze lingered as she spotted the king’s black horse, plain, not jewel-bedecked as in a parade, his garments that of any ordinary soldier, except for the thick ring of gold on the hand holding the reins. His signet ring.

“Why does the king not dress as a king?” He was a striking man even dressed as a warrior. Maybe more so.

“The king does not wish to be an easy target for our enemies. If he wears the crown, they will spot him. Our king is cunning, Bathsheba. He knows how to defeat a foe.” Her grandfather stepped closer, placing a hand on her arm. “You must not fret for your husband’s safety. The king knows how to lead his men. I’m only glad he joined them this time.” He bent to kiss her cheek, then backed away. “You girls enjoy the view. I’m going inside.”

Chava watched him leave, then faced Bathsheba. “You look like you haven’t slept. Are you worried?” She gripped the parapet with one hand.

Bathsheba touched her cousin’s arm. “Of course I worry. I hate war.”

“You shouldn’t have married a warrior then. You could have had Rei.”

“My father would never have let me marry Rei, and you know it.”

“Then you should have married one of the king’s sons, as Sabba wanted you to.”

“The king’s sons are spoiled and proud and too young for me. And you forget my father had the final say.” She glanced back at the king’s fading form, a wistful feeling filling her heart. Irritation followed the reaction. The king was as much a warrior as her husband. Had she no control over her emotions?

“Are you saying you wish you had not obeyed your father’s wishes, that you had married someone other than Uriah?” Chava faced her, and her words cut through the fog of her own thoughts. Is that what she’d been thinking since he’d upset her three days before?

“Of course not. I only hate that he’s gone so much. I’m a widow, only not a widow.” Suddenly she wished she could go back, could undo the things she had said and the tone she had used and hold him close to her once more. He needed her to be strong for him, and she had failed miserably.

“Things will improve when he returns. You just need to learn to accept Uriah for who he is, to stop trying to make him something he isn’t. When we finally have peace in the land, he will be home so much you will get sick of him.” Chava lifted her hand in a dramatic wave and rolled her eyes. “Just look at me.”

Bathsheba laughed, but the joy did not reach her heart. She would have to wait until Uriah returned to make things up to him, and she had no idea how long that would take. “Come, let’s go inside out of the wind.”

“Yes, let’s.”

She followed Chava’s lead, but as she did so, she took one last glance at the men now marching in time to the beat of a war drum. She watched the fading images of Joab, the king, and the few on horseback tilt proud heads forward and lead the charge.

Please, Adonai, give them quick success.

The sooner they won the war, the sooner Uriah would come home to her and she could make everything right again.

12

Bathsheba’s heart kept the rhythm of the tambourine she shook in her hand. Her feet swirled in time with the beat as she joined her cousin Chava near the imposing structure of the Eastern Gate. That she’d managed to convince Tirzah and Anittas to trust her alone with Chava was nothing short of amazing. Had they sensed her need for time away from them, to be the first to watch for her husband’s return?

The sound of horses’ hooves and marching men nearly overpowered the songs of the women as they danced in the streets, waiting for the watcher at the gate to herald the entrance of the men into the city. Joy circled her as her colorful skirts ringed the lower half of her body. Though the two and a half months had seemed like a lifetime, Uriah was at last coming home and the Syrians had been defeated. War might at last give way to peace.

The trumpet sounded, the hoofbeats grew louder. Women scurried to the sides of the road to make way as the gates burst open. Shouts and cheers went up from the women, Bathsheba’s own voice rising to greet their men. She craned her neck, hoping for a glimpse of her husband, but the crowd was too thick, the dust kicking up until its particles coated the air. When he did enter the city, he would never know her among so many women, all dressed in robes of varying shapes and colors, many veiled, with only their eyes revealing their joy.

“We should work our way back to the house or to Grandfather’s roof,” Chava said at her side. She had left her month-and-a-half-old son in the care of Aunt Talia to join Bathsheba here.

“They’ve barely finished passing under the gate.” Another trumpet blast interrupted Bathsheba’s words. “Look, there’s the king.”

A black horse led the way, the king sitting astride it straight and proud, wearing a king’s robe and crown. Bathsheba’s heart did a little flip at the sight, and the tambourine grew still in her hands.

Chava let out a dramatic sigh and placed a hand over her chest. “My heart, be still within me. Is he not the most handsome man you have ever seen?”

Bathsheba darted a look at her cousin, feeling warmth creep into her cheeks, but grateful to know her married cousin seemed to feel as she did. Her thoughts of attraction to the king were not traitorous. She was simply appreciating the king’s handsome appearance. What woman didn’t?

“Yes, cousin, the king is indeed handsome.” Saying so somehow took the secrecy from her own attraction, relieving her of the nagging guilt. She could love Uriah and be attracted to the king. No one would fault her for such a thing, so why was she so hard on herself?

The snort of the king’s horse caught her attention. She turned at his approach, entranced. Her breath stole after him as he slowly passed in front of them.

The Thirty marched on foot directly behind the king. She sought Uriah in the crowd, determined to keep her thoughts where they should be. Her attraction to the king was nothing—every woman in Israel loved him.

Oh, Adonai, help me to please Uriah.
Uncertainty settled inside of her. Would he be happy to see her again?

She spotted him in the last line across the road from her. “There’s Father and Uriah.” She stood on tiptoe, pointing, her heart racing as they marched quickly past on their way to the palace. “Let’s go.” She clutched Chava’s arm and shouldered her way through the crowd, taking a side street and hurrying to her house. “I want to get home before Uriah does.”

“We’re not going to follow the crowd to the palace? You don’t want to hear the king’s speech? Why do I take you anywhere?”

Chava rambled on, but Bathsheba ignored her chatter. When they were within a stone’s throw of her home, panting and out of breath, Bathsheba slowed.

“I want to hear the king,” Chava said, hands on her knees, leaning forward to draw for breath. “My son will need tending soon, and if we climb up to Grandfather’s roof, we’ll be able to hear some of his words.”

“Matthias will be in the crowd. He will tell you.”

“I want to hear him for myself. Why do you rush us away now?” Her teasing had given way to irritation, her expression scrutinizing, and Bathsheba hoped her cousin did not have the power to read into her soul.

“I want to please Uriah. Can you fault me for that?”

Chava placed a hand on her arm, her gaze softening. “If peace has truly come, Uriah will be home for a long time.” Her smile turned to a half smirk. “You can please him then.” Chava straightened and continued walking, then paused. “You coming?”