Bathsheba (37 page)

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his gaze earnest. “I want to start the project now, but Adonai has refused me the privilege, so I gather the materials and I share the plans with the one who will build it . . . but therein lies the question. Am I putting too much on his young shoulders? The burden to build this structure is great. And he will have to be king to carry it out. Absalom and Adonijah would not allow Solomon the right to build the temple under their rule. So am I putting his life in danger by telling him now?”

Bathsheba lifted a hand to stroke his beard. “I have wondered the same thing, beloved, but I also know that you need to do this. You need to share this joy.” Fear for her son warred with longing to please her husband. If she did not comfort him, someone else would gladly take her place. “We must trust Adonai to protect him. Didn’t Nathan tell us God had chosen Solomon, calling him Jedidiah for his own sake? Adonai will protect him. But I agree, we must keep this quiet. As much as I know you love him, Absalom cannot be trusted.”

“After what Amnon did to Tamar and Absalom did to Amnon, one could ask if any of my sons can be trusted.” He bent close and kissed her. “Except for Chileab, and your sons, my love, because they have a mother who is teaching them well.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, responding to his kiss with one of her own. How she loved this man! How blessed he had made her feel, though she knew even now she did not deserve any of the goodness that had befallen her. Amnon’s ruin of Absalom’s sister Tamar, and Absalom’s subsequent murder of Amnon, were stark reminders of how much David had suffered because of her.

Absalom could not be trusted. If he found out Solomon was the king’s favored heir, what would stop him from launching an attack against her and her children, or even his own father? He had set Joab’s field on fire to get the general’s attention, all to set about his own selfish ends. The man was irresponsible.

And dangerous.

She shivered even as David’s arms encased her. If Absalom discovered the truth of David’s promises to her, could even the king protect her from the hatred of his son?

His retinue behind and before, David made his way to the rear of the palace grounds, where his storehouses stood. Oxen-pulled carts ringed the area, weighted down with gold, silver, bronze, and iron taken in his most recent battle against the Edomites. Abiathar and Zadok, decked out in full priestly garb, waited nearby.

As he entered the head of the wide circle of men and women, he searched the eager crowd, releasing a breath when he saw his beloved Bathsheba with her father Eliam and her two oldest sons. Eliam’s presence also spoke securely of Yahweh’s forgiveness. It was Ahithophel’s absence that troubled him more. Father and son never seemed to agree, and yet it had been Ahithophel’s guidance David had valued the most. But he had stayed away from court six long months now, and David wondered, not for the first time, if his friend would ever return.

The thought dampened his enthusiasm, but he tamped it down and stepped forward, hands raised heavenward. “We come today to dedicate these articles of gold, silver, bronze, iron, and precious stones to Adonai. Someday, when I rest with my fathers, a great temple will be raised in worship and honor of Adonai. These few articles are among the many I have collected in battle to provide for this express purpose. May Adonai Eloheynu, the Lord our God, accept this offering.” He nodded to Zadok, who stepped forward, lifted his hands, and prayed.

David bowed his head, his heart humbled as it always was when the priests offered prayers to the Lord. The many tons of gold and silver were almost immeasurable, the bronze and iron already without number. Storehouses in Jerusalem and other cities in Israel held more, including the timber and cedarwood Solomon would need—when at last David could announce to the kingdom that Solomon would sit on the throne in his place.

When the prayer ended, David looked in Bathsheba’s direction. He caught a glimpse of the awe he felt in Adonai’s presence as he met Solomon’s dark-eyed gaze. He stood close to yet apart from his mother, a protective hand on his brother Nathan’s shoulder, his posture bearing the sure marks of a royal prince. Adonai’s choice of this son never ceased to surprise David, yet worry still invaded his thoughts on nights when sleep eluded him. Absalom and Adonijah stood as Solomon’s greatest obstacles and would not take kindly to David’s choice. Would they attempt to subvert his will?

Would the people accept a son conceived of the wife of adultery?

He shook the thought aside as he stepped back from the heavy oak storehouse doors. Brawny slaves removed the crates from creaking oxcarts, grunting beneath heavy burdens as they moved the spoils from the courtyard into the storehouse. Conversations broke out, mingling with birdsong in the palm trees lining the court.

A man cleared his throat, drawing David’s attention. He turned to see Absalom flanked by two of Benaiah’s men.

“My lord, may we walk together in the storehouse? Will you show your servant the riches Adonai has given to my lord the king?”

This was a privilege David had intended to show Solomon after the crowds had dispersed. He glanced beyond Absalom and caught Benaiah’s slight shake of his head. The gesture, accompanied by the downward tilt of the man’s mouth, gave David pause. Benaiah did not trust this son, and David did not need to glance in Bathsheba’s direction to know that if she were watching, her look would be one of worry, even fear.

“It is not possible to see the whole storehouse, my son. But I can show you some of the most valuable pieces.” He smiled at Absalom, extending his hand, and then moved ahead, leading the prince into the storehouse. Benaiah’s swift footfalls hurried on ahead as he cleared the way for David and his son to pass.

They stepped to the side, out of the way of the workmen still carting great quantities of silver toward the rooms at the back. “We keep the silver in a sealed dark room to prevent tarnishing,” David said as he moved toward a polished cedar table exquisitely carved. “This came from the king of Ammon.” He lifted the lid to reveal a heavy golden crown, encrusted with a mass of jewels, sparkling on a bed of soft dark linen. His fingers brushed the gold, but he did not attempt to lift it from its case. “The crown weighs a full talent and is too heavy for daily use. I wear it on feast days.”

“A masterpiece of craftsmanship.” Absalom’s admiration was mirrored in his gaze. He looked at David, his chin tipped slightly upward. “I will wear it with honor and pride when you name me king someday, Father. And I will build you this temple to Adonai that you speak of so often.” He knelt suddenly at David’s side, gripped David’s hand, and kissed his signet ring. “I am your servant, my king.”

David’s heart skipped a beat, and he felt suddenly trapped as a bird in a cage. Sending a silent prayer for wisdom heavenward, he pulled Absalom to his feet and released a long-held breath. “Fear the Lord our God and do His will above all,” he said, motioning that they walk to the next displayed item. “Then, when the time is right, you will make a wise king.” The truth mixed with what would surely prove to be a lie tasted foul on his tongue.

“Thank you, Father.” Absalom straightened and smiled, turning to inspect another finely crafted jewel. David patiently explained where each piece had come from, then made excuses to return to court. As they stepped once more into the late morning light, Absalom turned to David.

“Father, when I was in Geshur with my grandfather, I made a vow that if Adonai would bring me back to Jerusalem to see the king’s face, I would go to Hebron and offer a sacrifice there. Do I have your permission to go, my lord?”

David searched Absalom’s face, his heart softening at the earnest tone, the honest pleading in his son’s eyes. Perhaps the lie was not such a lie after all. Perhaps somehow Absalom could be king and Solomon could reign with him. But the thought was ludicrous. That Absalom wanted to offer a sacrifice was good. Perhaps his heart yearned to please the Lord after all.

“Go in peace, my son,” he said, kissing each of Absalom’s cheeks.

Absalom bowed at David’s feet once more. “Thank you, my king.”

33

“Some of the men of Israel have been invited to go with Absalom to Hebron.” Her father sat on one of Bathsheba’s plush couches, bouncing six-month-old Shammua on his knee. Three-year-old Shobab huddled beside him, impatient to hear more of his grandfather’s war stories. “I was one of them.”

Bathsheba sank onto the cushions beside her father and pulled Shobab onto her lap. “Surely you won’t go along with him. Would you?” She had lived to please this man from her earliest childhood, even going against her heart’s desire when he asked her to marry a warrior. That he had forgiven her for choosing to please the king over her own husband, over him, still amazed her. Love swelled, and she looked at him, knowing the love she had craved from him all of her life was at last returned, mirrored in the look he gave her and in the affection he had for her sons.

“I could not follow Absalom when I don’t know where he is leading. Besides, they left three days ago.” Eliam stroked Shammua’s soft curls, then handed him to Bathsheba, trading the baby for his toddling, warrior grandson.

Worry tightened Bathsheba’s middle at her father’s furrowed brow, his look distant, distracted. “What is it, Father? You know something.”

Eliam shifted Shobab from his lap to his knee, bouncing the boy and eliciting high-pitched giggles from him. He bent his head in her direction, and she leaned in, recognizing his attempt at secrecy. Shobab’s laughter would mask their words.

“I do not know what Absalom is about. He is headed to Hebron—”

“To offer a sacrifice. The king told me.” Somehow she could not speak David’s name apart from intimacy—to anyone but him.

“Yes. So the prince has said. But I have heard talk . . .” He looked at her once more, but when he stopped bouncing Shobab on his knee, the boy leaned forward onto his grandfather’s chest and grabbed his tunic.

“More, Sabba! More!”

“Shobab! Do not pester your grandfather so.” Bathsheba regretted her sharp tone the moment Shammua’s lip puckered, and Shobab joined his brother’s strident cries. “There, there, now. Don’t cry.” She lifted Shammua and patted his back while her father carried Shobab to the window and pointed to something in the distance, quieting the boy.

After both boys had settled, she handed them off to Tirzah for naps. She joined her father in the courtyard off of her sitting room, where he was waiting. “Tell me what you know, Abba.”

He glanced in the direction of her apartment. Servants milled about inside the rooms, but none disturbed them or was within earshot, not even the guard standing watch at the far end of the gardens, near the door to the palace halls. Guards protected her as no other wife had been before her, surrounding her as they did the king.