Bathsheba (43 page)

Bathsheba stood in the shelter of the portico, waiting for her servants to welcome the group, to escort the young bride to David’s audience chamber, where wedding festivities would begin. By nightfall, the princess would enter the bridal tent already sparkling in the central palace courtyard, awaiting her groom, Solomon.

“Everything is in readiness for the ceremony, my lady. The tables are set, the guests are already arriving.” Tirzah smiled, the lines of her face revealing the strain and the laughter of passing years. Bathsheba’s children were all in the care of the palace tutors now, and Tirzah’s role had once again become more of confidant and friend to Bathsheba than nursemaid to the children. “I never dreamed this day would come so soon. And what a ceremony! It is as if your Solomon were already king.” She lowered her voice and glanced about, but Bathsheba did not pay the comment any mind.

“I had hoped to convince the king to combine the ceremony with Solomon’s coronation, but he seems to think there is no hurry.” She worried her lip, then thought better of it, not wanting to undo the work of her beauty treatments or leave marks upon her lips. The treatments took longer now than they had in the days of her youth, needing more milk and honey and scented oils to smooth her skin and diminish the wrinkles along her eyes and brows.

Her chest lifted in a sigh. The king was not getting any younger, and he already was many years ahead of her. Did he think he would live forever? What happened if he grew suddenly ill, or worse?

The sword will never depart from your house.

Was David immune from an assassin’s blow? And if his death came too quickly, Adonijah stood next in line for the throne. His attractiveness and charm had already won him the hearts of some of David’s men—what would stop him from doing as Absalom had done? If he won the throne and David was too weak to resist him, she and Solomon would be executed as criminals. Too many in the kingdom had long memories and still viewed her as an adulteress and her children as illegitimate heirs.

“The girl appears to be beautiful, from what I can see.” Tirzah glanced at Bathsheba, her look assessing. “Solomon should be pleased.”

Bathsheba stepped from the shade of the portico as the girl emerged from her enclosed pavilion. She wore multicolored robes, with sparkling rings of gold about her neck and dangling from her ears and nose, and a bright woven scarf covered all but her eyes. Her wedding attire was beautiful, but Bathsheba could not tell through the shield of her veil whether the girl was beguiling enough for her son. Her son with the wandering eyes, who had already caught the glances of too many women.

She moved into the well-lit hall and took a seat in the antechamber, waiting for David and for his guards to announce their entrance. Solomon would join his father, and then the bride would walk the length of the audience chamber to the sound of joyous melodies, her maids accompanying her. The bride’s father, the acting king of Ammon, son of Nahash and vassal to David, would sign the agreement and grant her to Solomon’s care.

The marriage was a good alliance, though Bathsheba hoped Solomon would not see it as an excuse to marry just any foreign princess. Naamah feared the God of Israel, as did her father Shobi. This was proven to David when Shobi came to their aid during their exile at Mahanaim, while they were on the run from Absalom.

If only Solomon would see her as wife enough. But Bathsheba knew her son too well. Once he was king, he would find reasons to build a harem of women far greater than his father had done. She could not suppress another sigh. It was the guilt she bore, despite all the warnings she’d given him.

“I have learned from your errors, Ima, as you have taught me,” he had once told her. “I will not go to the house of an adulteress or tempt a woman to become one. Better to marry many women than to take one that does not belong to me.”

Perhaps her teaching had not been thorough enough. But it was too late to change him now.

A commotion drew her thoughts to the present. She looked up at the sight of David following his standard-bearer and Solomon decked out in royal robes behind his father. David stopped when he saw her and extended his hand. He had never officially named her his queen, but she possessed the office in everything but the title. Somehow he never felt the need to grant her that. Perhaps when he finally crowned Solomon his coregent . . . She squelched the longing that it be this day.

“You are beautiful as always, beloved.” He bent to kiss her cheek, then took her hands in his and squeezed.

“Thank you, my lord.” She smiled, then looked at Solomon. “Your bride is here. Are you ready, my son?”

Solomon’s mouth tipped in a crooked grin. “Ready and anxious, Ima.”

“And nervous,” David whispered in her ear.

They shared a knowing smile. The trumpet sounded and the standard-bearer announced their presence. David led Bathsheba to the seat beside his, then sank onto his gilded throne. Solomon stood on the step below, watching the door.

The music began, and the bride’s father moved down the length of the room, followed by the ten maids, and lastly the bride. The Ammonite king placed his seal on the parchment, uniting their two kingdoms in a treaty of peace. A servant brought the treaty to David, and he stamped his signet ring in the wax and affixed his seal beside that of the Ammonite king’s.

Bathsheba listened as the priest gave the blessing and watched as gifts were exchanged. Her heart swelled with pride when the ceremony was completed. Feasting would follow until Solomon led Naamah into the bridal tent to consummate their union. Then only one step remained. To place the crown on Solomon’s head.

She glanced at David. And to convince the king to do so soon.

Shaking woke Bathsheba from restless dreams, and at first she thought the shivers had come from her. She often woke sweating in the night, flinging the covers aside to let the night air from the open window cool her damp skin. But as she turned over in the bed, her skin brushed David’s, and she startled at his visible shaking.

“Are you awake, my lord?” She couldn’t tell by his closed eyes, and wondered if it was some dream that rocked him. She touched his forehead, then jerked her hand back and scooted from the bed. Wrapping a robe quickly about herself, she hurried to the door to the guard standing watch.

“Send for the physician. The king is ill.” Fear snaked up her spine. If the illness were unto death, what would become of them?
Please, Adonai, do not take him yet.

Servants sprang into action, diverting her attention from her silent prayers. The king’s personal attendants brought wine, dipped cloths in tepid water, and placed them on his chest and forehead. He reached for the covers, yanking them to his neck. His eyes opened, their color glazed.

“Bathsheba?”

She rushed to him, kneeling at his side, grasping his warm fingers in her hand. “I’m here, my lord.”

His chest lifted in a sigh. How was it that he could have been so vibrant, so full of life and love the night before, and awaken so visibly ill? She stifled the anxiety urging her to panic. David would recover, and Solomon would rule in his father’s place.

Please, Adonai, let it be!

“I’m cold.”

She leaned forward, brushing the hair from his brow. “You are feverish. The chill is only an illusion, beloved. I’ve sent for the physician.”

He nodded, closing his eyes again. The physician had been unable to save Abigail when her time had come. But she tamped the thoughts, shushing her fear.

Doors opened behind her, and footsteps sounded on the tiles. She stood and turned. A middle-aged man entered, his robe looking as if it had been hastily donned. His hair stood at odd angles, and he smoothed a hand over his beard, bowing low when he saw her.

“My lady,” he said, rising quickly and moving to the king’s side. “When did this come upon him?”

“Sometime in the night, I expect. I awoke to his shivering.”

The man nodded once but said nothing as he bent to feel David’s head, neck, and arms and leaned in close to listen to his breathing. At last he stood.

David opened his eyes. “What’s wrong with me?” His clear gaze made Bathsheba’s heart quicken. Perhaps the cool cloths had broken his fever. “Why can’t I get warm?”

“The fever has made your skin too hot but your insides too cold. Let your attendants continue to bathe your skin in cool water. When the fever leaves you, you will be warm again.”

David cursed softly and pushed up from the pillow. “I don’t have time to be sick abed. Bring me food and wine and stop fussing over me.” His voice sounded hoarse, and the barked words lacked strength.

“My lord, please. You must rest or the fever could grow worse. Then you will be unable to work at all. We don’t want to carry you yet to the tomb of your fathers.” The physician’s sharp words did not match his gentle tone.

Bathsheba turned to a servant. “See that you do as the king requests. Bring food and wine to his chambers at once.”

“Yes, my lady.” The man hurried to do her bidding. She moved to the bed and the physician stepped aside.

“Do as the physician tells you, my lord.” She stroked her fingers through his hair. “You must get well. We need you.” She looked at him, their gazes holding in a silent caress.

He nodded, falling back against the pillows. “Every bone hurts.”

The physician moved quickly to retrieve some herbs from a covered basket his servant had carried into the room. Moments later, he offered a measured dose to David.

“This will help ease the pain.”

David washed down the powder with the wine offered him, shaking his head as if to dispel the remnants from his tongue. “Tastes bitter.”

“It comes from the bark of the willow tree, my lord, whose taste is unfortunately not pleasant.”

David closed his eyes, and his breathing grew peaceful. Bathsheba stood looking down at him, a small sense of relief rushing through her. When David recovered, she must insist he name Solomon his coregent before they risked losing him again. If he did not act, her life would be forfeit.

The illness lasted a week, but the effects lingered far beyond what David expected. In the daytime, chills swept through him, and at night he could not get warm, not even in Bathsheba’s arms. Months had come and gone, and this morning he lingered in his bed, the sun beckoning him, deceiving him with its promise of heat. During the winter rains the fiery orb had vanished behind a mountain of daily clouds, sinking his spirits. Did he dare trust the spring’s bright rays?

How had his life come to this? He had ruled Israel for thirty-seven years. How long it seemed, and yet how short.

A knock on his door drew his attention from the dredges of his melancholy thoughts. His attendant answered while he pulled the covers farther up to his chin. Perhaps a soak in hot water would penetrate the chill. But such visits to the heated mikvah did not last, and he could not spend the rest of his days in a room of steam or huddled before an open flame. Neither flame nor water could warm his bed, and Bathsheba’s changing body deceived her as well, making her too warm to get close to him. She tossed the covers, and her skin turned to sweat too often at his touch. Had all of his wives suffered such affliction? He had not spent much time with them in their later years to know.

Disturbed with the guilt that thought produced, he brushed it aside and looked up at the sound of plodding feet, surprised to see Benaiah and Hushai at the foot of his bed.