Bathsheba (24 page)

“Uriah the Hittite?”

Uriah dipped his head. “Yes.”

“The king has requested your appearance in his audience chambers.” The servant bowed and turned to head back the way he had come.

Uriah lifted a hand and opened his mouth to object, but let the words die on his tongue. The man would not know any more than the message he had already delivered. But why would the king wish to see him again? He had already given a report on the battle, Joab, and the men. There was nothing more to tell.

But just the same, he turned on his heel and marched across the compound toward the palace. The guards opened the wide double doors at his approach and a servant announced him, as had been done yesterday. Uriah slowed his gait and walked to the throne, his gaze on the green-and-blue-patterned tiles adorning the audience chamber’s floor. He came to a stop near the steps to the throne and bowed low, touching his forehead to the cool tiles.

The king’s response was delayed several heartbeats, when at last Uriah heard the scepter scrape across the floor. “You may rise.” The king sounded weary, as though this meeting annoyed and displeased him.

Uriah straightened, searching his mind for what he could have possibly done to cause the furrowed brow and scrutinizing look he was eliciting from the king. “May my lord King David live forever,” he said, dipping his head again, not sure he wanted to keep his monarch’s stern gaze. He forced his feet to hold steady, though inside he squirmed like a little boy caught disobeying his father’s instructions, almost feeling the sting of the lash against his skin.

“Haven’t you just come from a distance? Why didn’t you go home?” The king’s tone was as stern as his father’s had been, his anger fleshed out in the stiff way he sat on his throne and gripped the scepter.

Uriah met the king’s disapproving gaze, his thoughts shooting through him like arrows hitting their mark. Why should the king care what he did in his off-duty time? And how could he suggest such a thing when the rest of Israel lived in tents set for battle? Unless the king had some ulterior motive for this inquisition. But as he held the man’s gaze, he could not fathom what that motive would be.

“The ark and Israel and Judah are staying in tents, and my master Joab and my lord’s men are camped in the open fields. How could I go to my house to eat and drink and lie with my wife? As surely as you live, I will not do such a thing!” Uriah straightened his posture as he spoke, lifting his chin to show the king his devotion. Perhaps his words would have some effect, might cause the king to reconsider how foolish his suggestions were. If the king had come with them to battle, he would see for himself how important it was for the men to keep themselves in check and for the captains to set a good example. Surely the king knew this and had practiced it for years. Had he stayed home so long he had somehow forgotten?

The king’s rigid posture did not lessen, but his eyes flickered with something Uriah could not define. Uncertainty, perhaps? Uriah dared to hope his words might persuade the king to act, as he should.

“Stay here one more day, and tomorrow I will send you back.”

Uriah bowed, dipping forward to touch his head to his knee. He straightened again. “As you wish, my lord.”

At David’s dismissal, Uriah backed from the room, unable to shake the unease he felt. He should be on his way back to Rabbah. There was nothing to do in the city while he waited, and he would not go home. There was only one thing he could do, what he had devoted his life to doing. Guard the king.

Bathsheba picked at the meal Tirzah had set before her, the fear in her heart swiftly replacing the hunger in her middle. Uriah’s expected visit had put the household on edge, and now the tension, the whispers, and the looks cast her way over his all-too-obvious absence stole her appetite and her hope. Why did he not come?

Tirzah closed the doors to the cooking room and joined her at the table, sitting beside her on the bench. “Word has it Uriah is still in Jerusalem,” she whispered close to Bathsheba’s ear. “Anittas returned from the king’s house after he spoke with Uriah. Apparently the king spoke with the master this morning and instructed him to remain in Jerusalem another day. The master had planned to leave for Rabbah this morning, but the king is keeping him here until tomorrow. Perhaps he will come home today before he leaves.” She touched Bathsheba’s arm, her look comforting. “You must not lose hope.”

Bathsheba closed her eyes as she slowly shook her head and looked down. “He will not come home.”

Tirzah touched a plate of ripe dates. “It’s still possible. Come, you must eat something.”

“If Anittas spoke to him, all is lost.”

Bathsheba looked up to see Tirzah’s emphatic shake of her head. “Anittas only spoke with him to settle some questions about the estate. He said nothing of you.”

Bathsheba quirked a brow and leaned away, assessing her servant. “How do you know this? You could not possibly have followed him or gotten close enough to hear their conversations.”

Tirzah crossed her arms over her chest. “I asked Anittas to tell me straight when he returned. He would not lie.”

Bathsheba looked toward the window at the morning light streaming in through the lattices. “Everyone lies if it is to his or her advantage.” She pushed away from the bench and walked to the window. Servants worked in the open courtyard, the one adjacent to their neighbor’s, grinding grain and sifting wheat for the evening meal. Such normal daily tasks. She placed a hand to her middle, where the child lay helpless, defenseless. Would he or she live to see such tasks? Or would the child die within her battered body, beneath a pile of stones?

A shiver shook her, and she gripped both arms, holding herself tight against the onslaught of fear and truth and emotion. The sound of Tirzah clearing away her uneaten meal reached her consciousness, reminding her that while she lived, there was work to be done. Uriah had one more day in Jerusalem. She must prepare his favorite meal, just in case.

22

David canceled court earlier than usual and retreated to his roof, Benaiah standing watch nearby. Servants brought him bread and wine, but he left both untouched in his pavilion and began to pace from parapet to parapet. Now what? Uriah was clearly dedicated to the very rules he, David, had initiated when he had commanded his first battle. He’d modified the guidelines over the years, but essentially they stayed in place because they worked. Men fought better when they were kept from women. Their focus was single-minded, and while he could not keep a man’s thoughts from straying, the practice of celibacy during wartime was a good one.

Was it any wonder that one of his best captains would confront him on such a thing? He tipped his mouth, chagrined. He was dealing with the best, and they both knew it. But did Uriah also know the secret David and Uriah’s wife were so desperate to keep from him? Were his reasons to stay away from her rooted in something more than devotion?

He paused at the edge of the western parapet and ran a hand over his beard as the late afternoon shadows brought the sun ever closer to the earth’s ridge. Uriah had expected to be sent back to the battle after giving his report and probably didn’t expect the king to question his personal actions or motives. David’s keeping him here one more day likely raised the man’s suspicions. But if David had let him return so quickly without seeing Bathsheba . . .

What should he do?

His gaze lifted heavenward, but the familiar longing for Adonai had drifted from him at some point in his recent past, and his own heavy weight of guilt would not allow him to seek His face. The realization saddened him. He should never have called for Bathsheba, should never have given in to his male urges. Should he confess what he had done to Uriah and fall on the man’s mercy?

He whipped around, angry with his train of thought, and strode to the opposite wall as his mind processed what such a confession could mean. At best, Uriah would forgive them both and accept the child as his own. But such an act would require great mercy. Mercy David didn’t deserve, and from the way Uriah had challenged him this morning, something Uriah would not be able to give.

At worst, Uriah would demand justice, which would mean death by stoning for David and Bathsheba and the child growing within her. The kingdom he had worked so hard to gain would fall to Amnon, a son not ready or worthy of the position, or perhaps Absalom, who was too young and arrogant to command a nation. The people might even turn against David’s house altogether, and then God’s promise to always have a man from his house on the throne of Israel would be lost.

But if he kept silent, Bathsheba would suffer alone. She could not hide her pregnancy forever, and when Uriah returned to battle, everyone in Jerusalem would know the child was not his. Uriah’s declaration and public insistence that he would not go home had sealed the truth.

David’s heart pumped faster as he walked—almost raced—his pacing growing frantic until at last his legs carried him to his pavilion, where he sank onto the cushions, spent. He reached for the ever-present flask the servant had left and poured some of the dark liquid into his waiting chalice. He needed advice, wisdom on what to do, but there was no one to ask. He could not confess such a thing, and that was the truth of it. Uriah could not know, for both his and Bathsheba’s sakes. He could not risk seeing her stoned on his account. An image of her perfect face, her sculpted body, bloodied and torn, made his eyes sting. No. He could not let her die.

Summoning Benaiah, he dispatched a message. “Bring Uriah to eat at my table this night.” Perhaps in the eating and drinking, an idea would come to him. He stared into the rich purple liquid and drank. If the man drank enough, he might stagger to his house instead of the barracks. A discreet servant placed here or there could ensure the fact. And as long as Uriah spent the night in his own home, it would not matter what he did there. He would be too drunk to remember, and Bathsheba would be safe.

A slow smile touched David’s lips as he finished the last dregs of his cup.