Bathsheba (6 page)

Anittas led them to the gate, where they could join the procession once it cleared the area and moved into the streets toward the south end of the city. Abigail would be buried in the caves near the city wall—tombs intended for King David and his heirs.

Bathsheba pulled her cloak tighter against her neck, tucking the scarf so the wind wouldn’t lift it from her face. Trumpets blared, and the mighty men began a slow, steady march. Loud and bitter wailing split the air once the sound of the trumpets faded.

Bathsheba’s gaze drifted from the bier to the king. He drew closer, and though his men surrounded him, she could see him better as they approached the iron gates. His crown still sat atop his head, but his robes were sackcloth and ashes coated his hair. Tears dampened his cheeks.

“Abigail, oh, Abigail, my love. How can I live without you?”

His words, so impassioned, struck a chord in Bathsheba’s heart. How he had loved this woman! She leaned in, hoping for a better glimpse, to convey with a look how she ached for him, but Anittas’s hand on her arm held her back. One of David’s guards looked in her direction, making her take a step backward, shame heating her face. How foolish to think she could somehow get near enough to comfort the king! What was she thinking?

She ducked her head, listening to the king’s continued cries. She waited for the rest of the procession—the wives and children of the king—to pass. At last, Anittas and Tirzah led her along with the rest of the crowd to fall in behind, to take the long walk to the tombs.

The wails rose and fell like an uncertain wind. Bathsheba found it impossible to lift her voice with the throng, unable to push sound past the lump in her throat. Would Uriah mourn for her as the king mourned for Abigail? She gave her head a slight shake. Of course he would. Perhaps not as openly or with such a public display, but he would surely mourn her loss if she died.

Tirzah moved to her side as more people pressed in behind her. They were close to the wives and daughters of the king, behind her grandfather and his fellow counselors. Cool night air swirled beneath her robes, chilling her, but the weather would soon grow warm with summer heat. Uriah could be gone many months even into fall, without even one visit home. The thought depressed her.

“The caves shouldn’t be too much farther, mistress,” Tirzah said, bending close to her ear. Soft murmurs of the people behind her grew silent moments later as Tirzah’s prediction came true.

Men moved forward, holding the torches aloft to illuminate the entire periphery surrounding the caves. Ripples of stillness settled over the crowd at the screeching sound of the heavy stone being moved from the entrance. Bathsheba looked toward the king, who stood close to the bier looking down on his beloved wife. His face crumpled and he covered it with both hands, turning away from the crowd.

“Abigail!” His pitiful cry was soft, a moan coming from deep within him, but it carried to where Bathsheba stood.

Tears filled her eyes at his pain, and again she had the sudden longing to comfort him. She looked to his wives. Would none of them step forward to place a hand on his arm, to pull him to them? Were they glad one of their rivals would no longer vie for his affection? She shuddered, grateful once more to have only Uriah.

A moment passed as the king lifted his tear-streaked face and hands to the heavens. “Praise be to Your name, Adonai, for You are good. As she loved You in life, so may You welcome her in death. I will go to her one day, but she will not return to me.”

The king stepped away from the bier as a young man approached and lifted a crippled hand to touch the edge of the bier. A little girl held on to the young man’s robe. Abigail’s children, Chileab and Anna.

“Ima!” The little girl clung to her brother’s leg. “I want Ima!” David scooped her up and held her sobbing against his chest. Her piercing wails mingled with Chileab’s deep groans.

“Oh, Mama! If only you had lived to see your children’s children.”

King David placed an arm across the shoulders of his son and drew him into a three-way embrace, a family set apart, publicly sharing their private grief. Onlookers watched, weeping as well, and Bathsheba joined them, the tears falling freely. She brushed them away in time to see the six slaves carry Abigail’s body into the cave. Moments later they returned, rolled the stone over the entrance, and placed the king’s seal between the stone and the cave wall, preventing anyone from intruding on his wife’s resting place.

More weeping, softer now, moved among the crowd. Still holding his daughter and supported by his son, the king strode forward, leading the throng, his eyes moist, his pain palpable. Guards and advisors, other wives, children, and mighty men came behind. He came so close to Bathsheba as he passed, she could almost touch him. A little gasp escaped her lips before she could suppress it. But he didn’t appear to notice anything about her or anyone else in the crowd, his eyes blinded as they were by his tears.

A touch on her arm made her jump. She saw Anittas nod and motion her to follow. She stepped in behind the procession for the long trek home.

David moved on leaden feet to his audience chamber, the marble and cedar halls echoing the footsteps of his retinue as they led the way. Noise filtered to him from the crowds of men standing in the anteroom waiting to speak with him, to reserve some judgment on their behalf, but it could not pull him from the melancholy that dogged his every step, his very breath. Tomorrow the army would head to war, and Joab expected him to join them—something he could not bring himself to do no matter how many arguments he’d heard to the contrary.

He stopped as the trumpeters announced his arrival at court, glancing at Benaiah, ever faithful at his side.

“I am in no mood to pass judgment today. Send those waiting in the outer rooms to their homes. Bid them return next week.” He straightened the belt at his waist and lifted his scepter.

Benaiah
nodded. “It will be as you say, my lord.” He bowed and stepped away to
give David’s pronouncement to the guards he commanded, then stepped back to David’s side. “Are you certain then about your decision to remain in Jerusalem?”

David vaguely heard the familiar announcement of his name to the court as the flag bearers moved forward. He looked at his trusted bodyguard. “I’m certain.”

Benaiah acknowledged his statement with a slight tilt of his head, then fell in line behind David as he moved to take his seat at court. The cushioned purple fabric welcomed him, and he sank onto the familiar ornate throne. Abigail had designed the green leaf pattern along the edges of the cushions, which matched the color and design on the sleeves of his royal robes.

Abigail, whose arms would never hold him close again. Had they laid her to rest only two days before?

He suppressed a deep sigh, looking over the mix of counselors and army commanders. His sons had taken their places in gilded chairs along one side of the room while his counselors and scribes sat along the other. All had risen and bowed low as he entered the room. They looked to him now with expectant faces, probably wondering if the rumors were true. Soon they would know.

He spoke to Benaiah, his voice low. “Summon my commanders.”

A moment later, Joab and Abishai hurried forward, bending low, each touching a knee to the tile floor.

“Rise.” He extended the scepter as each man stood. “Is the army ready to leave for war?”

“Everything is ready, my lord,” Joab said, his back rigid, shoulders flung back. He wore the garments of Israel’s general, the gold threads of his black robe thick along the arms and across the chest, the wings of eagles stitched along his shoulder blades. “The troops march at dawn.”

“Good. I have great confidence in you, Joab.” David smiled at his nephew. “I am sending you out to deal with the Ammonites. Defeat them for me, for Israel.”

Joab’s dark, beady eyes probed David’s gaze, failing to show the proper bowed head and mute nod of acceptance. “You won’t change your mind?”

“Not this time.”

Soft murmurs filled the room, and Joab’s posture grew more rigid. “Surely you know the men expect you to lead. The Ammonites humiliated your ambassadors. Your honor is at stake.”

“And I expect you to uphold that honor. But I will not be going.”

“My lord, is that truly wise?” Ahithophel stood, not waiting to be acknowledged, sending a wave of irritation through David. Joab’s questioning he’d grown used to, even tolerated, because in all his years as king, he’d never been quite able to keep Joab’s attitudes or actions in check. But the man was an invaluable asset, a general unequaled. Not even Saul’s cousin Abner had measured up to Joab’s cunning. But Ahithophel, though like an angel of God sometimes, had grown wearying of late, always questioning David’s intentions. He, of all people, should understand the loss of a wife.

“Wise or not, Ahithophel, I’m not going. I would be no good to my men or anyone else right now.”

“The war would take your mind off your wife.” Ahithophel pressed his point, garnering David’s scowl. He returned to his seat. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“Your counselor has a point, Uncle. The war will give you something to do besides sit around and feel sorry for yourself.” Joab’s tone held challenge.

David bristled, angry now. “I am
n
ot required to explain myself to you, Nephew, or to listen to faulty advice. Do remember it is I who am king.” One hand tightened on the arm of the chair, the other gripped his scepter. “I trust you and Abishai can handle the army in my stead.”

“These armies are large, my lord. What if they prove too strong for us?” Abishai spoke now, his expression showing he clearly wanted David to change his mind.

“It is not like you have never fought a war without me.” David pushed his back against the throne, the threat of a headache forming along his temples. “My decision is made. Do not question me further.” He looked from his generals to his counselors. When no one responded, he stood. “I will expect regular reports. If the battle grows to be too much for you, then I will reconsider. In the meantime, strengthen your hands for battle. Don’t let me find out it is weak-kneed women I have sent to do warriors’ work.”

Not waiting for a response, he stepped down from the throne and strode from the room without a backward glance.

5

Bathsheba lay on the raised bed she normally shared with Uriah, attempting sleep that would not come. Moonlight bathed the room in shadow, the windows shuttered against the night’s cool breeze. Tomorrow Uriah would march to war with the armies of Israel. Who knew when they would see each other again?