Michal (23 page)

“I left her a few moments ago.”

“What direction was she headed?”

Keziah’s dark brows knitted in confusion. “I’m not sure. She wouldn’t tell me.”

Paltiel let out a frustrated breath. He’d have to act now. But he still had this bundle to deliver, and he should help Keziah return to safety. Indecision made him curse under his breath. He knew the princess was stubborn, but this was just foolishness. His gaze roamed the sky again, then glanced back at the girl standing before him.

“Come, Keziah. Let me take you home. Then I’ll saddle a horse and ride after your mistress. Hopefully she hasn’t gone and gotten herself injured or killed in the meantime.”

He snatched the sack from the ground and grabbed Keziah’s arm. If he hurried, he might catch up to Michal before she got out of the city.

“Captain David, why are you here?” Ahimelech’s pinched expression suggested worry more than surprise. Or was David imagining things?

“I’m here on the king’s business,” David said. Ahimelech’s visible shaking rattled the clay lamp he carried and raised tingling flesh on David’s arms. “I want you to inquire of the Lord for me.”

“So late? Are you alone, my son?” Ahimelech shifted from foot to foot, his gaze shooting past David into the shadows.

David’s quickened pulse throbbed in his neck, and his cheeks grew warm. Why was the priest so wary? Had he already heard Saul’s decree? “My men are waiting for me, and the king’s business is private and urgent. May I come in?” David produced his most charming smile and touched Ahimelech’s shoulder.

The old man grew flustered and backed into the room, holding the door open. “Yes, yes. You simply startled me.”

David glanced around the spacious room, home of the high priest. It was adjacent to the ancient tabernacle of meeting, which housed the holy articles—minus the ark of God. Israel had gone without access to the ark, the symbol of God’s grace, for too long. Would they ever again worship before it in truth?

An inner sense of loss filled David’s spirit. How glorious it must have looked. If only he could have been privileged to pray here, knowing the Lord’s presence rested between the cherubim of the mercy seat. Maybe someday, when he was king . . .

Ahimelech cleared his gravelly throat. David shook himself and looked into the priest’s light brown eyes. “Come, sit by the fire,” the priest said.

Ahimelech glanced beyond David before closing the door. One gnarled hand adjusted the sash of his robe as he walked David to the courtyard. David followed, darting wary looks down shadowed halls, wondering how safe the priest’s home really was. When they reached the family’s inner courtyard, David spotted a shepherd warming himself near the fire pit. He stepped closer. The man looked familiar. When he glanced up from rubbing his hands, recognition hit David full force. Doeg the Edomite, Saul’s chief shepherd, would waste no time telling Saul of David’s whereabouts.

He should never have come.

“Let me get the ephod.” Ahimelech hurried to an opposite door, and David followed close on his heels.

“What’s the Edomite doing here?” he whispered.

The priest stopped at a closed door and met David’s gaze, suspicion evident in his pale eyes. “He came to offer a sacrifice.”

“Then why is he still here?”

“The Sabbath has started, David. Surely you aren’t planning to travel, even on the king’s business, on the Sabbath.”

The accusing words stung, but fear for his life overruled the law of travel. “I am the king’s servant, Ahimelech. I must obey orders.”

“Yes, but surely the law of God—”

“Which I do my best to obey, but I need provisions. I ran off so quickly I forgot my weapon, and we’ve run out of food. I came here for help.”

Ahimelech pulled on the rope latch and opened the door. “We don’t have any food on hand except the holy bread and—”

“It will do.”

Ahimelech entered the room where the priestly ephod hung on a prominent wall. Gold, blue, purple, and scarlet hues danced in a patterned rainbow in the glow of the clay lamp. The high priest’s holy garment surpassed the king’s in crafted beauty. As it should.

Ahimelech set the lamp on a low table near the wall and approached the ephod. He removed the two polished Urim and Thummim, stones engraved with the names of the twelve tribes of Israel. “What question shall I ask Him?” The priest gave David a calculated look.

“Shall I pursue this course of action?”
El De’ot
, the God of knowledge, knew what was on his mind.

The high priest wrapped one hand around each stone, lifted his head, and closed his eyes. David watched, heart galloping. A moment passed. Another. Would He answer?

Ahimelech’s lids popped open, his gaze fixed on David.

“What did He say?” A tremor passed over David.

The priest broke eye contact and tucked the stones back into the ephod. “He said, ‘Go.’ ”

David rubbed his arms in an attempt to stop the shivering. “Was that all? Did He say where?”

Ahimelech’s curious look turned suspicious again. “I thought you were on the king’s business, David. Don’t you know where you’re going?”

“Of course.” David drew a slow breath. “I meant after I finished the task.”

“I see.” The priest’s silence was deafening.

“Would you retrieve the bread now?” He had to get out of here.

“You realize this isn’t just any bread. Have the young men kept themselves from women?”

Michal’s alluring young figure flitted through David’s thoughts. How long had it been? Three weeks? A month? Too long. He glanced at the priest. “The men’s bodies are pure.”

Ahimelech looked doubtful, but he hurried to the adjoining room to gather the bread, food the priests normally ate. He stuffed it in a straw basket and handed it to David.

“Thank you, Ahimelech. Is there a weapon here?”

Ahimelech clutched one hand to his chest and vigorously shook his head. “Oh my, no. We are priests, David. We don’t keep weapons here.” A sudden frown creased his brow. “Wait. There is the sword of Goliath, whom you killed in the Valley of Elah. It’s wrapped in a cloth behind the ephod there. Take it if you want it.”

Elah seemed a lifetime ago.

“There is none like it. Give it to me.”

Crickets sang their mating songs as the night breeze played a whimsical tune among the leaves in the sycamore trees. Michal’s heart flipped over in fear with every step of the donkey’s plodding feet. What was she doing out here? She would never find David in the dark. She didn’t even know where she was going.

Oh, David, why didn’t you just take me with you? Why
didn’t I insist on it? I need you.

She followed the path the moon splashed across the field, silently begging the donkey not to lose its footing the way she had done trying to run to Jonathan’s house. What would she do if something happened to the beast?

A screech like the cry of a wounded animal sounded. Her heart stopped in her throat, and she cupped her mouth, stifling a scream. Overhead the rhythmic flapping of wings caught her attention. She glanced in the direction of the sound in time to see a bird swoop upward, prey clenched between its talons.

An owl. Probably snatched a field mouse or some other unfortunate creature. A shudder passed over her while perspiration beaded her forehead. Good thing she wasn’t small enough to be food for an owl. A lion or bear or jackal might not think so ill of her, though.

She pulled the donkey’s reins, bringing the animal to a halt. The ebony stillness of the starry night, once a beautiful sight from the safety of her home, now made her shiver with dread. Home. She should just turn around and go home before she was missed.

No. She must go on. Too much was at stake. David’s life was in danger. If anyone could help him, surely she could. She held more sway over her father than most.

Panic wedged a sharp pain in her heart. Indecision made her throat constrict with tears.
David, David, what should
I do?

Michal’s chest rose and fell as she released a huge sigh. She kicked the donkey’s sides again and pointed the beast south. Perhaps she would find shelter in a cave along the way. In any case, she wasn’t about to give up.

“We can’t stay here.” David dropped to his knees, out of breath from running uphill at top speed. “Doeg the Edomite is spending the night in the priest’s house. He saw me and will surely tell Saul.”

“Where should we go?” Abishai pulled a loaf of bread from the basket, broke off the end, and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Anywhere is better than here,” Joab said, handing a similar loaf to each man.

“Saul will find us anywhere in Israel,” another man said.

“Israel has plenty of caves and vast deserts. Saul would be hard-pressed to find us there,” Joab countered.

David ripped off an end of his loaf, his thoughts spinning. “Gath is closer than the desert. Saul would never enter Philistine territory in pursuit. Perhaps King Achish can be persuaded to take us in as mercenaries.”

“Have you lost your mind, David? Goliath was from Gath. You killed the man—their champion—remember?” Joab’s round eyes hardened under heavy black brows. “Isn’t that his sword?”

“Joab’s right, David. Not a wise move.” Abishai wiped grainy crumbs from his dark brown beard, his normally smiling face somber.

David chewed in silence, glaring at his impertinent nephews. Suddenly he didn’t care what they thought. He would go himself then.

“Consider me a fool, but I’m going to Gath. If Saul hears of it, maybe he will give up hunting me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Uncle. You can’t do this,” Joab said.

“I can and I will. Who will go with me?” David scanned the group. “No one?” He hid his disappointment and stood. “Fine. I’ll go myself.”

Abishai stood as well. “I’ll go with you to the border, David.”

David nodded and began a brisk pace to the west.

“They’ll kill you, David,” Joab called from behind.

“If I stay, Saul will kill me, and if I flee, I face the same fate. What choice do I have?”

Weariness caused Michal’s heavy lids to droop, and she fought to stay focused on the road. She couldn’t let the donkey walk without staying aware of the direction she was headed. All she needed was for the dumb beast to turn around and head for home without her realizing it. Ahead of her, an outcropping of rocks indicated a set of limestone caves. Relief flooded her, draining what little strength she possessed. She could rest here until dawn. Perhaps God was smiling on her.