Michal (13 page)

Saul nodded. “He doubled it.”

“Yes, he did.”

Silence descended over the room until not even a scribe’s reed pen could be heard scratching against parchment. All eyes were riveted on the king, and servants and advisors held their collective breath.

“You’d better clean up for your wedding, Son.” Saul’s strong, sure voice put David at ease. “Tonight you will become my son-in-law.”

Michal sat on the dais in the colorful banquet hall, her heart keeping time with the steady beat of the drum. Her trembling fingers picked at her muted gold and blue robe, and she cinched it closer to her neck. She felt a rush of gratitude for the blue-fringed, striped veil closing her in her own private canopy. The filmy material allowed her a blurred view of her ten virgin maids and the servants milling about—some fanning the area around her with large palm fronds, others carrying trays of food and drink to the excited guests. Across the room the voice of her beloved carried to her above the din of male laughter.

He would come for her soon. Perspiration beaded her upper lip despite the circulating air, and she dabbed it with a square of white linen. Every thought of David’s arms holding her, of his lips tasting hers, sent her pulse racing and her emotions soaring with anticipation. And dread.

Mother had warned her that the marriage bed was not a pleasant place for a woman. At least not at first. But when Michal had pressed her for details, her mother had changed the subject. The women who had accompanied her to the ritual mikvah a few hours earlier were no better, though they seemed to enjoy teasing her enough.

The rapid increase of the drum’s steady beat jolted her. Michal’s stomach fluttered. Boisterous voices settled into silence, and in the next moment, Michal heard David’s sandals slap against the stone floor. They stopped in front of her.

“It’s time, my love.” His strong, callused fingers grasped her cold hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Yes, my lord,” she whispered past a suddenly dry throat. Would David love her—truly love her?

Her anxious feet followed his lead across the banquet hall, his strength seeping through his fingers to her hand, warming her. The crowd fell in behind, trailing them to the multicolored wedding tent shining in the palace garden like jasper. At the tent’s entrance, David turned to the noisy crowd and smiled, then lifted the flap. He pulled Michal in with him.

The heady scent of spikenard wafted from David’s muscular body, and Michal glimpsed a few well-placed lamps perched throughout the tent. A raised bed dominated the room. It was the reason they were here, and the people outside, particularly her father, would not leave until David emerged with proof of his bride’s virginity.

Michal felt David’s nearness, but she stood frozen to the spot just inside the door. The beat of the drum continued, matching the racing thump of her heart. She trembled at the touch of David’s fingers lifting the veil away from her face and dropping it onto the carpeted tent floor. His nimble fingers pulled the golden combs from her hair, sending tingling waves down her back. He gently sifted her smooth strands over his palms. His dark eyes assessed her, as though trying to read her thoughts.

She averted her gaze to his wavy locks of dark hair. A ring of gold encircled his head. A groom’s crown. She lowered her eyes to meet his, shaken by the intensity aflame in their depths. His look absorbed the very core of her soul in a suspended moment of time. He slipped from his shoulders the multicolored mantle he had placed over her to pledge his protection. Tanned muscles showed beneath a white tunic. His fingers traced a line along her cheek. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, my love?”

Michal’s throat tightened in response, and when he loosened the golden sash from her waist and pulled her against his chest, a hundred butterflies took flight in her stomach.

“I’m not very beautiful.” She shivered.

His captivating smile faded, and his warm, sweetened breath touched her neck. A trail of kisses fell from his lips, traveling from her neck to her ear. “You are ravishingly beautiful, Michal.”

Pinpricks of delight spread over her skin, and Michal’s breath nearly stopped as his lips parted, first touching and then consuming hers. The fire of passion, which she’d often seen igniting his gaze when he sang a song of worship or discussed war with her brother, now turned on her, all wrapped up in his ever-deepening kiss.

Michal’s head swam, and her heart galloped like a runaway horse. With trembling fingers, she reached blindly to lift the crown of gold from his dark locks. The action made him pull away to look into her eyes. His entrancing smile returned, and when he pulled her down beside him on the bed, she felt like she was floating, carried on angels’ wings.

The incessant drum and anxious crowd slipped from Michal’s thoughts, blocked by the rush of blood pumping through her veins. What was her mother so worried about?

Her hands came up around David’s neck, and she felt him respond when she returned his kiss. His strong arms tightened around her, and Michal’s dread slipped away, sharing the joy and exquisite bliss of her husband’s love.

PART
II

Thus Saul saw and knew that the Lord was with David, and that Michal, Saul’s daughter, loved him; and Saul was still more afraid of David. So Saul became David’s enemy continually.

1 Samuel 18:28–29

Saul also sent messengers to David’s house to watch him and to kill him in the morning. And Michal, David’s wife, told him, saying, “If you do not save your life tonight, tomorrow you will be killed.” So Michal let David down through a window. And he went and fled and escaped.

1 Samuel 19:11–12

10

“Please, David, don’t go.” Michal sat on the foot of their bed, hands outstretched in supplication. “We’ve only been married seven months, and you’ve gone to war three times.” She let a tear slip down her cheek. “I can’t bear it when you leave. I’m so afraid.”

David straightened his tunic and tightened his belt before coming to kneel at her side. He took both of her hands in his. “I won’t let anything happen to you. What are you afraid of, beloved?”

Hot tears wet Michal’s cheeks, and she felt his scarred fingers brush them away. “How can you protect me when you’re not here? You know how my father acts when the demons attack him. What if he tries to hurt me?”

David bent to kiss her moist face, then pulled her against his chest, stroking her plaited hair. A deep sigh escaped his lips, and Michal felt his shoulders slump as though in defeat. “If I stay, your father will find more reasons to become annoyed with me, Michal. While I hate leaving you, it is better for all of us the less I’m around your father.”

“We could move away, David. Just the two of us. Then we’d never have to see my father again.” Though they lived apart from the palace in a home of their own, the house still belonged to her father on palace grounds. Too close to breathe easily or to feel like their home was truly their own.

David held her at arm’s length. “And do what, beloved? Tend sheep? Live in caves? Your father is king. He could find us if he wanted to. Israel isn’t that big.” He kissed her nose. “Besides, God doesn’t want me to live my life in seclusion. You knew that when we married.”

A shiver ran through her. Every time David left her alone, nagging doubts filled her. What if he didn’t come back? He would never sit on the throne of Israel with her at his side if he died in battle.

She felt his hands slip from her shoulders as he released her and stood. He pulled his striped brown robe over his tan tunic and attached the leather girdle holding his sling and sword.

“I have to go, Michal.” He turned to face her again, his expression grim. “Please don’t make this harder than it is.”

A lump formed in Michal’s throat, and she blinked back tears. She stood and walked with him to the front entrance. Two household, man-sized teraphim guarded either side of the wooden door. David looked at them, then turned to her, his brows furrowed. “I don’t know why we keep these statues, Michal. They certainly can’t be pleasing to Yahweh.”

Heat rushed to Michal’s cheeks. Hadn’t she felt the same the moment her mother dropped them at their door? A wedding gift, she’d said. Michal closed her eyes at the memory. Ishbosheth had stood behind their mother, shaking his head, his penetrating gaze accusing her.

“They’re idols, Michal,” David said. “We shouldn’t keep them.”

“Would you turn my mother against us too?” Her lower lip trembled despite her attempt at defiance.

David’s expression softened, and his arms came around her again. “Of course not. If it pleases you, keep them—for now. We can decide what to do with them later.”

“If there is a later.”

His kiss silenced her skepticism, and for one brief moment she felt protected and loved. In the distance a trumpet sounded, and David released her and opened the door.

“There will be,” he said, his tone cheerful. “When I return, things will change. You’ll see.” He stepped onto the landing and walked slowly down the steps to the street below. Michal leaned against the railing and watched him wave to her and smile. His confidence did nothing to quell the sinking feeling in her heart.

Two months later, Saul paced the small chamber inside the city gate, waiting for some sign of the triumphant returning army. Word had reached him that morning of the throngs lining the city streets from Gibeah to the Philistine border. His choice soldiers under the command of Abner, Jonathan, and David had made a significant dent in the enemy’s strongholds in Israel.

Saul’s fists clenched so tight that his nails dug into his palms and his arms began to ache. He should have gone with them. By allowing them to go without him, that upstart, no-good son-in-law of his had grown more famous as he’d led the men to yet another victory. A victory that should have been his.

He folded his arms across his chest and gripped his biceps, willing his body to become still, to stop the trembling. He must get hold of himself. What kind of a king worried about an insignificant army commander? With shaking hands, he smoothed the wrinkles from his purple robe. He must speak to the servants. A king’s robe should never be wrinkled.