Bathsheba (21 page)

Tirzah moved Uriah’s cylindrical seal across the table toward her. Hot wax sat in a bowl, waiting to be poured over the scroll. Bathsheba stared at the words a moment longer, fanning the ink to dry it with her hand, then at last rolled the parchment and pressed it flat. Carefully lifting the bowl, she poured a thin stream of wax as her tutor had long ago taught her to do in anticipation of one day handling her father’s affairs, and rolled the cylinder over the wax, sealing her words.

“Take this to the guard Benaiah.” She handed the parchment to Tirzah as she went over the instructions she had already told her several times, fearing what would happen if anyone should stop Tirzah or intercept the missive before the king’s own hands held it. “Don’t let anyone else have it no matter who tries to stop you. Tell Benaiah the message is for the king’s eyes only.”

Tirzah held the letter and tugged until Bathsheba finally released her grip. She exhaled a low, troubled sigh. “I don’t want to die,” she whispered.

Tirzah touched her arm. “The king will know what to do.” Her imploring eyes bespoke a confidence Bathsheba wished she could believe. But as a second week had passed and her time had still not come upon her, she could not risk waiting any longer. If the king sent for Uriah, there must be time to prepare him, to fall on his mercy and allow him to cover her sin with dignity, what little there could be left of it. If she were too far along, people would know and Uriah would not so easily avoid disgrace. But if the king allowed it, if she admitted their sin to Uriah, begged his forgiveness, perhaps the king would even promote him to take Joab’s place as army commander as compensation. Surely Uriah’s love for her would let him be thus appeased.

Wouldn’t it?

Hope surged, but as Tirzah donned her head covering and slipped into the night, Bathsheba’s wishful expectations fell once more to a deep, aching despair. Her fate rested in the hands of the king, who could dismiss her as easily as he had taken her. She had no proof the child was his, no evidence she had even been with the king except for the few servants who had seen her enter the palace that long-ago night. And if the king ignored her message, by the time Uriah returned home, her shame would be evident to all. The law would not protect her then, even as it could not protect her now. She had no recourse.

Oh, Adonai, have mercy!

David stood on his roof looking down on the family courtyard, where torches cast light and shadow among the trees and shrubbery, and his wives mingled, waiting for him to make an appearance. But his visits had grown little of late. He told himself their complaints wearied him, but in truth, the guilt of adultery kept him secluded from all but those closest to him.

Sometimes war sounded better than love.

Crickets hummed in the trees nearby, and the summer breeze did nothing to cool the heat that oppressed during the day. He smoothed a hand over his beard and walked away from the women’s court, wondering where his desire for his family had gone. As he neared the opposite edge of the roof, footsteps came from behind. He turned to see Benaiah approach, his expression grim.

Benaiah dipped his head. “My lord.” He held out a small scroll, its seal unreadable in the dark of night.

“Who is it from?” He searched the guard’s face for some sign of what to expect, but Benaiah shook his head.

“A woman. I have never seen her before.” Moonlight illumined his dark, bearded face, and David didn’t miss the look of disapproval in his eyes. “The seal is that of Uriah the Hittite.”

The familiar weight he’d carried since that night slammed into him like a fist in the gut. If he moved, he would surely stagger, giving way to his fear. He managed to hold Benaiah’s gaze without flinching, his right hand circling the parchment, cautious not to crush it in his palm. “Thank you, Benaiah. You may go.”

He moved to his tent pavilion, where the flames of the enclosed torches gave more light than the stars dotting the blackest night he’d ever seen. A servant approached, ready to fill his wine goblet. He allowed the gesture, then dismissed him with a wave. At last alone, he settled himself among the cushions of his couch, took a long sip from his golden cup, then carefully broke the seal, unwinding the scroll.

His eyes darted to the four lone words.

I am with child.

He stilled, his strength slowly seeping from him like water through sand. The cup shook in his hand, and he struggled to rest it on the low table without spilling it on the parchment. His suspicions had not been unfounded.

I am with child.

They had been together only one night. Hadn’t she been married for years with no son? How was this possible?

The image of Bathsheba rose in his mind’s eye. The penalty for adultery was death by stoning. If her condition was discovered while her husband was at war, her grandfather could exact judgment. Even as king, he could not protect her unless he came out and admitted his own guilt.

A tremor passed through him, and his skin chilled despite the warmth of the night. Such an admission could cost him the throne. The people could rise up against him and demand he step down. How could they trust a king who took another man’s wife to his bed? Such a thing might happen in other nations, but not in Israel.

He reached for the chalice, wishing the intoxicating drink could banish such thoughts, but as he went to grasp it, he knocked the cup over, spilling the liquid onto the floor. Its deep red color seeped into the white lamb’s-wool rug, like blood poured out.

Like a sacrifice. Or the blood of a beautiful woman stoned for a crime he had committed against her.

I am with child.

He must protect her. She had no one else. If she did, she would not have sent him this note. She knew she was at his mercy, and he knew without doubt the child was his. Sweat beaded his brow as he forced himself up on shaky limbs. He staggered to the edge of the parapet, where he could look down on her house. Darkness bathed the place in shadows, but he thought he saw the tiniest lamp flicker through the open window.

A longing so great that it took his breath shook him. If only he could go to her, could comfort her and tell her everything would be all right. He would fix this. All he had to do was call Uriah to Jerusalem and send him home. He would sleep with his wife and be none the wiser, assuming the child was his.

The plan pleased him, but he did not allow himself a smile. Too much risk was at stake, too much dependent on assumptions. Still, Uriah was faithful to a fault. Surely he would obey his king.

Taking one last look at Bathsheba’s dark house, he spun around and headed to summon Benaiah. Before this night was through, he would dispatch a message to Joab to bring Uriah home.

1
9

The pink and gray hues of dawn crept like a spying soldier above the distant hills. Uriah blinked his stinging eyes and rubbed a hand over a well-earned yawn. He’d spent the last two nights on guard, standing watch at the south end of the camp. Fortunately for him, all had been quiet, while the Ammonites huddled behind Rabbah’s walls, awaiting their fate at Israel’s hands. Ammon’s supplies would run out soon, and Joab had indicated he would press the attack again within the week. Uriah could hardly wait to show those arrogant malcontents exactly who they had taken to task. King David’s men did not back away from a fight, and no one insulted Israel’s emissaries and lived to tell of it.

He brushed a hand along the hilt of his sword and made the rounds of his commission one more time before he would hand over his post to Eliam and hit the hard ground in his tent for a few hours of sleep. He was long overdue.

The sun fully crested the eastern ridge as he turned back to his original starting point. Nothing moved on this perimeter, and that suited him well. Unsuspected enemy attacks were never Joab’s first choice in war, and thankfully, due to the general’s tactical wisdom, they were rarely caught off guard.

Uriah looked up as he approached the fire and raised a hand in greeting to his father-in-law. “You look rested.”

“And you look worn out.” Eliam straightened his helmet as if he had just now emerged from his tent and dressed as he walked, something he often did when he took an early shift. “I can’t send you to your mat yet, though. The general is asking for you.” He walked closer and patted Uriah’s shoulder in sympathy.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this meeting?” He met Eliam’s gaze, searching for more. “What do you know?”

Eliam shrugged. “Not much. Only that the king’s messenger traveled all night to get here and Joab said it’s urgent.” He waved a hand. “So go.”

Uriah nodded once and turned, his legs infused with sudden energy. What could the king want that could possibly involve him? Had something happened at home? Was Bathsheba all right? He had learned long ago to steel his thinking away from her when he was at war. It did no good to let his mind wander to places he could not physically go. It weakened a man to have dealings with women while sitting on the front battle lines, and of course no woman was allowed in camp, but even the thought of his beautiful wife was often his undoing. So he blocked her from his thoughts. When he could. When exhaustion did not sneak in and bring her to his dreams.

His heart kicked over as he jogged faster across the compound toward the general’s large tent. Joab rose from a stone seat near a fire, as did another man wearing the uniform and the lion insignia of the king. One of David’s personal Cherethite guards.

Uriah halted and drew in a succession of quick breaths, telling himself his fears were unfounded. He dipped his head in respect to his commander. A servant approached and offered him a skin of water. He took it and poured a thin stream of liquid into his mouth, his silent nod thanking the man.

“You wanted to see me, my lord.” He placed the cap on the water skin and held it in one hand. His parched throat wanted more, but he denied its request.

“Uriah, the king has asked for you. Gather your things and return with this man at once.” Joab glanced at the king’s messenger. “You don’t want to keep the king waiting.”

Questions darted in and out of his thoughts. “If I may be so bold, my lord, I am not a courier or a runner. Is something wrong?”

Joab lifted a shoulder in a half shrug and nodded toward the messenger, permitting him to speak.

“The king’s exact words were, ‘Send me Uriah the Hittite.’ That is all I know.” The guard shifted from foot to foot and darted a glance at the sky, sending a message Uriah could not ignore. There would be no sleep for him now. After a full night of guard watch, he would make the long trek across the hills and plains to Jerusalem, to the palace courts, for an unnamed purpose.