Michal (4 page)

David stood and strode toward the center of the room. The jugglers sloshed and slid in the smashed fruit, symbolically tramping in the blood of the enemy.

“Stop!”

The room fell silent.

David studied the king’s lined face, assessing which mood to soothe. Was this another demon attack or merely a headache brought on by too much wine?

“Where is my harpist?” The demand grew to a wail, and Saul slumped forward. He raked both hands through his salty black hair, pushing the golden crown askew.

David strummed a harmonic chord on his lyre, stepping around the squashed pomegranates to take a seat near the king.

“Hear my cry, O God; attend to my prayer. From the end of the earth I will cry to You when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” David closed his eyes, praying as he sang. “For You have been a shelter for me, a strong tower from the enemy. I will abide in Your tabernacle forever, I will trust in the shelter of Your wings.”

The creaking of a heavy wooden door pulled David’s attention to the opposite side of the room. A royal guard marched with staccato steps across the hall, leading Saul’s wife, Ahinoam, his concubine, Rizpah, and his two daughters, Merab and Michal. They stopped midstride.

David picked a light, melodic tune to mask the intrusion. Saul’s women made a practice of a ritual farewell at these prewar events. But their timing couldn’t have been worse.

He continued to play, singing words he’d crafted on long nights alone with the sheep, ever aware of the riveted attention of the crowded room. There was power in music, as though the Lord had given humanity an inner pulse that beat only with the rhythmic cadence of song—a force that flowed through him to the people.

It was a heady feeling.

David looked over the room, catching glimpses of appreciation scattered among men and women alike. He stole a glance at Merab, whose elegant beauty made his heart race. Shiny, long brown hair shimmered beneath a striped red and blue veil. Her eyes were almost as dark, like polished onyx stones, and her olive skin was as smooth as the soft garment she wore. Her moist red lips drew him.

Heart hammering, he looked away. A discordant note came from his lyre as his fingers slipped on the strings. He corrected it, willing his thoughts into submission.

No woman should have such power over a man.

He turned his attention to the king and to Jonathan sitting at his right hand. Saul’s eyes were closed, his head tipped back against the wooden throne. David moved to another melodic transition, plucking a tune suggesting spring rain and rustling leaves.

When the music ended, Saul’s eyes were clear. David smiled. Power belonged to God Most High.

David breathed a deep sigh as Saul’s women stepped forward to greet the king. He watched Merab’s elegant, graceful steps across the tiled floor. When she stopped, she met his gaze with a beguiling one of her own. His hands tightened around the wood, his mouth dry. Swallowing hard, he shifted his attention behind her.

She held far too much sway over his emotions. Power belonged to Adonai, he reminded himself, not Merab. Yet the thudding of his heart betrayed him.

“Come forward.” At Saul’s command his wife, Ahinoam, walked with royal grace to kneel at Saul’s feet. She kissed his outstretched hand.

“My lord,” she said in a thin, strained voice.

“Take your seat, woman,” Saul said. His gaze drifted to his concubine, Rizpah.

“May my lord, King Saul, live forever.” Rizpah’s lilting voice carried across the room as she slowly bent forward, cradling her unborn child, and kissed the hem of Saul’s outstretched sleeve. Saul dismissed her with a wave, relegating her to the seat farthest from him. Merab stepped forward and kissed the back of Saul’s hand. David watched the exchange, unable to pull away.

“Have you come to wish your father victory, Daughter?”

David noted Saul’s softening expression. Did she carry some mystic control over him as well?

“Yes, Father. May you bring the head of the Philistine king back on a silver platter.”

Saul leaned his head against the chair and laughed. “I’ve trained you well. And if I am successful, what do you wish?”

David’s interest piqued. This girl knew how to appease the king. So why didn’t she try to do so more often when his moods rose and fell?

“I wish you to bring me your greatest warrior as a husband, Father. Someone who makes you proud.”

The words came out in a honeyed tone. A typical female trick to get a man to do her bidding. He’d seen it often enough between his brothers and their wives.

“When we return victorious, you will have your pick of fine young men,” Saul promised.

Merab turned and took a seat behind her mother, and Michal stepped forward and kissed Saul’s signet ring.

“Come back to me safely, Abba,” she said, leaning closer to kiss Saul’s cheek. Saul’s face relaxed, his eyes alight with affection.

David sat up straighter, intrigued. No syrupy tone, no haughty lift of the chin. No tempting power over a man.

“I’ll always come back to you, Michal.” Saul cupped both hands around her face. “Ten thousand Philistines couldn’t keep me away.”

Michal tilted her head against the palm of Saul’s large hand and smiled. The image reminded David of when he’d held one of his smallest lambs close to his heart. When Saul released her, Michal started to walk away, then turned back to look into the king’s eyes.

“I’m counting on you, Abba.”

Saul’s delighted expression made David pause. He looked at Michal, now sitting beside her sister. A pale blue head cloth covered rich, ebony hair, and her skin, even from a distance, held a rosy glow. She was younger than her sister by at least two years, but the curves of a woman truly did show beneath her striped robe. There was a quiet beauty about her—not elegant and beguiling like her sister, but innocent and fresh.

Easier to manage that kind of woman, if his brothers could be trusted.

He glanced at the king again.

Then again, maybe not.

David caught Jonathan’s attention and the prince’s slight nod. The prebattle feast would last through the night, then Saul would gather his army of thousands and travel to the Valley of Elah. David stood and tucked his lyre under his arm, heading for the barracks.

Time to pack his bags and go home.

“David, wait!” Michal stepped from the shadows of a row of trees that lined the walk from the palace to the barracks.

“Michal?” David tightened the leather strap around his lyre, securing it to his father’s donkey. His gaze met hers, and Michal thought her heart would stop.

She drew closer, emotions clashing within her like rival swords. “They’re still feasting. I came as soon as I could.” She drew a breath, willing her pulse to slow. “I wanted to say good-bye.”

His charismatic smile fluttered her stomach. “It appears that you already have.”

Heat burned her cheeks, and she looked down. How was it possible that he always tied her tongue in knots? She heard the swish of his sandals moving toward her.

“Take care of yourself, Princess.”

She pushed her raging emotions into a corner of her soul and met his gaze. “I will. I—we’ll miss you.”

He smiled again, making her heart skip a beat. “Perhaps we’ll meet again someday.”

Someday?

“You know my father will still need you. He shouldn’t send you off so soon. What if the demons come back tonight?”

David’s smile softened to a thoughtful expression. “Your father has a war to fight, Michal. He’ll be too busy to allow the thoughts that torment him to gain control.”

He took a step back yet was near enough for the earthy scent of him to reach her.
Oh, don’t go! Stay!
The words sprang to her lips, but she silenced them.

“Why does the Lord let the demons trouble my father?”

He stroked his sparse, dark brown beard, compassion evident in his tender gaze. “I don’t know, Princess.”

“It’s because he didn’t kill all of the Amalekites, isn’t it?” Michal averted her eyes. She chided herself for bringing up her father when David was leaving. She wanted to speak of love and marriage and her interest in him.

“That’s a possibility, I suppose.” He turned back to secure the donkey’s sacks. “I really couldn’t say for sure.”

“What will you do when you get home?”

David glanced at the sky and patted the donkey’s side, then looked into her eyes. Was she embarrassing him? “I’m a shepherd, Michal. I spend my days in the fields tending smelly sheep.”

“Sheep aren’t so smelly.” She toyed with the sash of her multicolored robe. Was there a shepherdess he longed to return to?

David chuckled. “You haven’t been around them much. It’s a life far less glamorous than a palace.”

Michal’s lip curled. “I’d rather live with sheep.”

She felt David’s eyes on her, and her cheeks grew warm again. “You live a privileged life, Michal. Be grateful.”

“I’d hardly call living in a dismal stone fortress with an unpredictable, hot-tempered father privileged.” The words came out harsher than she intended. “Are you betrothed, David?”

His donkey snorted, and David turned his attention to the beast. He checked the donkey’s bridle. Silence lengthened between them. Oh, to draw the words back and stuff them into her heart where they belonged. Not out in the open for him to see. She shifted from one foot to the other, wringing her folded hands. It was a foolish question and none of her business.

“Nevertheless, God has set your family above all others,” David said at last, ignoring her question. His serious tone matched the concern in his brilliant, dark brown eyes. “Which makes you fortunate.”

Michal’s stomach quivered as she held his gaze.

“If you say so.”

She watched his face take on the affection of an older brother. “I say so.” He grabbed the donkey’s reins, urging it forward. “And no, I’m not betrothed.”

Michal fixed her gaze on David’s back. In a heartbeat he turned, his eyes meeting hers. The momentary contact felt like a familiar touch, making Michal’s heart skip again. He left her staring after him, a deep ache settling in her soul. She didn’t want him to treat her like a sister. Couldn’t he see that?

“Have a safe journey, David,” she managed, fighting sudden tears. Before he rounded the bend leading through the arched gates of her father’s fortress, Michal turned and ran back to the palace.

4

Jonathan stood on the hill overlooking the Valley of Elah, bow at his side, shield in his hand. On the opposite rise, the red-feathered helmets of the Philistine army were visible among row after row of enemy tents. Even from this distance, Jonathan could see the relaxed stance and hear the boisterous laughter and taunting jibes. Israel’s old enemy was at it again, flexing their military might. In the last battle, with God’s help, Jonathan had nearly single-handedly sent them running. Where was God now?

The sun hung low on the horizon, and Jonathan braced himself as the Philistine hoard came to attention, flanking the ridge. A distant rumble, like coming thunder, shook the earth. Giant feet holding up a mammoth of a man marched with deliberate strides to the edge of the ridge.

“Why have you come out to line up for battle? Am I not a Philistine, and you the servants of Saul?” The giant’s shout caught the swift attention of his father’s army, who’d been crouched near their tents for nearly forty days. “Choose a man for yourselves, and let him come down to me. If he is able to fight with me and kill me, then we will be your servants.” The oaf paused, letting a deep laugh erupt into a sneer. “But if I prevail against him and kill him, then you shall be our servants and serve us!”