Bathsheba (3 page)

Still . . . were his sins keeping the God of the Hebrews from granting his wife a child? Was he paying for them in the loss of his first wife and now the barrenness of his second? Or was Bathsheba’s barrenness her own fault? The thought troubled him whenever the call to war drew near and her emotions grew frayed. Her tears made him weak, helpless, with no way to comfort her. He had offered plenty of prayers and petitions on her behalf. What more could a man do?

He crossed the court and entered the house, expecting to be met by his manservant, Anittas. But it was Bathsheba who sat on the couch opposite the door, watching him. He paused as she stood and moved closer. When she drew near enough to touch, he took both of her hands in his.

“You don’t usually greet me like this.” He gave her a smile, hoping to coax one from her in return. She offered him a weak response, her strained expression snuffing the effort.

“I had hoped to spend time with you today.” Her soft voice sounded uncertain, though the words were not spoken as a question. “We could go for a walk to the Gihon Spring. The brook is so lovely, and I thought . . .” She looked up, her gaze earnest, transparent. “I need you,” she whispered.

His heart stirred as it always did when she looked at him that way. She was beautiful beyond imagination. Not even the king’s wives could compare. But Joab, the army commander, had called a meeting of the Thirty to commence before the sun rose full in the sky. He glanced at the shadows along the wall.

“There is not enough time. I’m expected at the palace soon.”

Her face took on an expression he couldn’t quite define. “Is there time then to visit the market? I hear a caravan from Damascus has just arrived. We wouldn’t have to buy anything.” She looked at him then, her eyes hopeful.

“What purpose is there in going to market if you have nothing to purchase?” Surely a day’s work was enough to keep a woman occupied without needless sightseeing.

“For the pleasure of seeing new things from far away.” She quirked her head, a frown wreathing her face as though she thought he had no sense whatsoever.

He studied her for a brief moment, then glanced at the shadows again. “We’ll have to hurry.”

Her smile deepened and a sense of relief filled her gaze. “Let me get my cloak.”

While her servant helped her into her cloak and sandals, Uriah walked to the back of the house in search of Anittas. “There you are.” The old servant had been with him since he was a child, faithful through the deaths of his parents and his first wife. The man had understood Uriah’s need to keep Bathsheba safe, lest Uriah suffer yet another loss.

“Master Uriah. How was your visit to the tabernacle today?” Anittas tucked a clay tablet and thin stylus into a leather pouch at his side, then adjusted the cloak more securely about his neck.

“The visits are always the same, Anittas. You know this.”

The man was shorter and stockier than Uriah, his thick arms strong despite his age, which was not quite as old as Uriah’s father would have been, but old enough for Uriah to think of him as such. Bathsheba would be in good hands when he left for war.

“I am headed to your storehouse to give you an accounting before you leave,” Anittas said as the two walked together toward the front of the house. “Is there something else you need me to do today, master?”

Uriah stopped before they neared the courtyard where Bathsheba waited. Anittas turned to look at him.

“I am worried about my wife, Anittas. I fear her moods when I leave for war are growing worse with each passing year.”

“She needs a child.”

“Would that she had one.” Didn’t God give life? Perhaps a blood sacrifice would help. “In the meantime, I want you to make sure she has plenty to do while I am away. Don’t allow her time to sulk.”

“I’ll do my best, my lord, but the servants cannot replace you. She grieves when you are gone.”

Anittas’s words stung. Did the man blame him for the work he did? “I cannot stay home from war just to please my wife.”

“Of course not, my lord. We will do all in our power to keep Mistress Bathsheba content.” Anittas glanced toward the courtyard and Uriah followed his gaze. Bathsheba stood in the arch of the door, her profile stunning even beneath the folds of her clothing. He sucked in a breath. The woman was unaware of her ability to tempt a man. How had he managed to wed such a magnificent creature?

“There is nothing else. I trust you to oversee my household while I am away.” Uriah gave Anittas a dismissive nod, then took long strides toward the courtyard.

Bathsheba smiled at Uriah’s approach. He took hold of her elbow when he reached her side and gently turned her toward the street. “Come.” He released his hold as they stepped onto the cobbled pavement and walked one step ahead of her. When they moved to a wider road, he slowed, motioning for her to catch up to him. He intertwined their fingers, then moved forward, his pace rushed.

They walked in silence, past the homes of their neighbors, until they reached the area of the merchants. The scents of camels and animal dung mixed with the aromas of exotic spices and honeyed sweetmeats. Bright-colored tapestries, ivory, copper, precious stones, silver-coined headdresses, and striped shawls and scarves filled overcrowded stalls. Nearby merchants haggled with the caravan master for the best prices for their wares.

Bathsheba let Uriah lead her to the side of the throng, taking in the strange markings and garments of the Damascus travelers. The men’s hair and beards were short, their mustaches trimmed, unlike the Hebrews who did not shave the corners of their hair or beards. Interest piqued, she longed to move closer, but Uriah’s hand at the small of her back propelled her down a side alley where the crowds were thin. He took her hand again and tugged her forward. She attempted to speak but could not concentrate on anything besides keeping up with him, making sure her feet did not stumble.

“My lord, please,” she finally managed when he stopped at a bend in the road and had turned her to go back the way they had come. “Can we not stop to look at what the merchants have brought?” She wanted a moment with him to enjoy the sights together, but he seemed on a mission to get through the whole ordeal in quick progression.

He looked at her and then glanced at the sky. “I told you we didn’t have much time, my love.” He bent closer and cupped her cheek with his hand. “I’m sorry, but we have to head back soon.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice, not willing for him to see anything but pleasure in her gaze. Apparently satisfied, he took her hand again and moved them through the crowd. They reached the camels still piled high with wares, where a Bedouin was in the process of unloading one of the packs from the animal’s side. A jewel-bedecked woman, in sweeping robes of black and red and yellow, moved beside the man, the fringe of her sleeves swaying as she lifted a leather pouch from his hands. She pulled a string of multicolored scarves from the bag and draped them across her arm, the fine linen appearing as soft as the petals of a flower.

Bathsheba slowed and Uriah caught her eye. He faced the woman. “How much?” He fingered a delicate scarf, and Bathsheba feared the threads would catch on his roughened hands. The blues and reds in varying shades were beautiful.

“Three shekels.”

“Too much.” Uriah released his hold and took a step forward. “It is worth half a shekel, no more.”

The woman touched his arm. “The pattern is a work of art.”

Bathsheba’s breath held as he eyed the woman. “One shekel.”

The woman’s mouth quirked, but her sharp eyes held his. “Two.”

“One and a half.”

“Done.” She pulled the scarf from the others and placed it in his hands. He turned and draped it over Bathsheba’s head, smiling, then paid the woman and hurried on.

She nearly tripped trying to keep up. When they were past the merchants’ stalls, his pace increased, and she half ran, half walked until they reached the safety of their courtyard.

He glanced at the sky as though fearful he would be late, then bent to kiss her cheek. “I must go.” He turned and walked quickly away.

“Back so soon, mistress?”

Tirzah’s welcome voice soothed Bathsheba’s frustration. What had she expected? She knew he could not, would not, miss a military strategy meeting called by his captain, especially this close to war. Never mind that the men could strategize on the field all they wanted, once they arrived. Why did Joab have to take up her husband’s time when she had so little of it left?

Tears blurred her vision. She grasped the scarf to dry them, then looked more carefully at the fabric her husband had spontaneously purchased for her.

“It’s beautiful,” Tirzah said, coming up alongside her. “Tell me what it was like. Were the goods from Damascus so different from what we have here?” She guided Bathsheba to the bench and retrieved the water jar to wash her feet.

Bathsheba sat obediently and pulled the scarf from her head, examining the fine work and the intricate leaf design, so small and delicate. She’d missed it from where she’d stood while Uriah bargained for the piece. The work must have taken much time to produce, many patient hours of stitching. Perhaps she could learn to duplicate such work.

“Your thoughts are far away.” Tirzah lifted her foot and undid the dusty sandal.

Bathsheba looked at her maid, breathing deeply, trying to suppress her jagged emotions. “There isn’t much to tell. Uriah rushed me through the stalls. We only stopped long enough to purchase this.” She ran her fingers over the scarf again. “I had to almost run to keep up with him.”

“You resent him rushing you.”

Tirzah read her thoughts too easily. Sometimes the thought annoyed her. But the truth was hard to ignore. “I resent Joab for demanding so much of him. I resent the king for sending his men to war. I resent Uriah for always going.” She glanced around her, relieved when she saw no other servants milling about.

“Perhaps this war will end quickly.” Tirzah used a soft cloth and bit of soap to wash the dirt from between Bathsheba’s toes.

Bathsheba jerked and pulled back, wriggling her foot, both liking and disliking the ticklish sensation. “Be careful.”

“Sorry.” Tirzah smiled. She was twelve years older than Bathsheba, a pleasant-looking woman despite uneven teeth and a slightly crooked nose. Her dark hair was piled high beneath a plain, light brown cloth, and her sturdy hands had seen much use. “You can hardly blame the king for declaring war on the Ammonites—not after what they did to his messengers, his own son among them.”

“I know. I understand the need. I just hate that Uriah has to be part of it all. Why can’t someone else go?”

She was pouting now and she knew it. If she were in the king’s place, she would have done the same thing. The audacity of the king of Ammon! King David had meant only to console the man after the death of his father, and the foreign king had disdained David’s messengers, cutting their beards in half and chopping their garments off at the buttocks. The tale had gone out throughout the kingdom and was still gossiped about in the streets.

“Can you imagine how those men felt?” Tirzah asked. “They say Amnon, the king’s heir, is still angry that his father did not act sooner.” Tirzah rinsed Bathsheba’s foot and dried it with a soft piece of linen, then reached for the other foot.

“I think the king is to be commended for giving the Ammonites the chance to repent and make amends.” If her husband, father, and grandfather were to be believed, King David hadn’t fully decided on war until he’d heard the Ammonites had gathered mercenary armies for battle against Israel. He’d offered King Hanun the chance to apologize. “Though I can see why Amnon would be angry. He must have been humiliated.”

“They all were.” Tirzah scrubbed Bathsheba’s other foot, the tickling sensation again making Bathsheba jump.

“Are you trying to irritate me?” She scowled at her maid.

“Of course not, mistress.” But the twinkle in her eye made Bathsheba deepen her scowl. “Come now, mistress. You need cheering up a little.” She smiled again, her actions more careful this time. Bathsheba cautiously relaxed. “You really cannot blame the prince. His father should be grooming him as his heir, but everyone knows the king favors Absalom. They say Amnon only took the assignment to gain his father’s favor. Then look what happened.” Tirzah dried Bathsheba’s foot and strained the water through a cloth to pour back into the jar. Water in Israel was too precious to waste.