Michal (44 page)

David paused as the cart slowed, waiting as the oxen carefully made their way down the hill to the more level ground of Nachon’s threshing floor. Michal urged her mule to halt, and the rest of the crowd stopped as well. David glanced at her, smiling. Her stomach dipped, and emotions surged to the surface.

“Sing praise to the Lord Most High,” David called to the men surrounding him.

“Sing His praise forevermore,” they responded in unison.

The young man leading the cart took the final step down from the grassy hill and turned, motioning for the other man holding the oxen’s reins to follow. The oxen moved slowly, one tentative step, then another. Michal felt her breath coming in spurts. Hooves lifted, then settled in the dust. The crowd quieted. A moment passed as the people watched, waiting for the cart to steady itself on level ground.

The oxen stumbled, and Michal’s heart skipped a beat.

The ark rocked precariously to the side of the cart. Time stilled. The cart lurched again, and the ark tilted, sliding toward the edge.

Oh, don’t let it fall.

The young man in the cart dropped the reins and twisted sideways, reaching one hand to block the ark from continuing its downward slide. At that moment, the cart righted itself. But before Michal could breathe a sigh of relief, the young man who had touched the ark fell out of the cart into the dust. Michal watched his wide eyes stare at nothing, his mouth gaping.

“No!” The scream came from somewhere in the crowd.

Michal turned to see David begin a slow trot toward the man.

“Pull him away from the cart,” David commanded. Several men bent forward cautiously to obey.

“Is he dead?” She heard David voice the question as though he couldn’t believe what his eyes told him.

“He’s dead, my lord,” Abiathar the priest proclaimed, dragging one hand over his scraggly beard.

Silence, still and foreign in the previously joyous air, settled like heavy fog over the waiting crowd.

“Why?” David’s voice sounded commanding.

“Because he touched the ark of God, my lord.” Abiathar shook his head, his face a study in misery.

David examined the still form of the young man. “How can the ark of the Lord ever come to me then?” Even from a distance, Michal watched anger and fear mix equally across his dark features. “I can’t take it to Jerusalem now.” He looked at the priest. “Someone else could die.”

An old man, wrinkled and bent with age, leaned heavily on a walking stick as he approached the king. “I don’t want it back.” The man’s voice wavered. “Uzzah was my grandson. God may do worse to my household if I keep the ark again.”

“But it has blessed you all these years.”

The old man lifted a shaky hand and pointed his finger at David. “Young man, can’t you see the boy is dead?”

Michal stiffened. No one should talk to a king like he was a common man. She assessed David’s reaction, watching the lines around David’s eyes soften and his hand reach to cup the elderly man’s shoulder.

“Yes, Abinadab, I can see. Do not worry, we will find another place to take the ark of God.”

The old man nodded, then bent over his grandson’s body, sobbing. David backed away, and a small group clustered around him. Michal strained to hear but soon gave up when the whispers of men and women drowned out the possibility of making out David’s words. At last David emerged and waved his arms for attention.

“I am sending the ark of God to the house of Obed-Edom. He is a Levite living close by. The rest of you, please return to your homes.” Tears filled his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He walked away and began the long trek back to Jerusalem. Michal kicked the mule’s sides and followed him, the other women falling in behind. No one spoke. Michal doubted anyone could have, given the slumped shoulders and bowed head of their king.

Was the ark worth this? David was acting like a defeated general, one who’d just lost a battle of vital importance. So what if the ark couldn’t come to Jerusalem? If God was that sensitive that He would kill someone trying to protect His box, then maybe the people would be better off without it.

Michal lifted her chin and straightened her back, determined to present an air of dignity, even if David wanted to humble himself before the thousands of people trudging the path behind him. Let them fuss and fret over today’s unfortunate incident. As far as she was concerned, the ark of God wasn’t worth the trouble.

Michal walked up and down the lengthy corridors of David’s palace, glancing at varied intervals through the arched porticos to the outer court and wide marble steps leading to the king’s audience chamber. She wouldn’t call it pacing, though her anxious feet had made the trip enough times to lose count. They’d been gone two days. How long could it possibly take to bring a gold box a half-day’s journey to Jerusalem?

Two days earlier Michal had stood in the courtyard where David had called his mighty men and family members to join him. He had approached her, asking if she was coming with them.

“I can’t believe you’re going after that thing again, David. Has three months shattered your memory?” She couldn’t hold back the words. Couldn’t he see the futility in his decision?

David stiffened and looked at her without expression. “We didn’t follow the law last time we tried to bring the ark here. This time, if God wills, we will succeed.”

Michal’s chin lifted, and she glanced heavenward, avoiding his piercing gaze. “Well, I’m not going. I’m not fool enough to think that just because you do things differently there won’t be problems.” She looked at him then. “If one of your sons had died instead of Uzzah, you wouldn’t be rushing off to subject yourself to that again.”

Michal averted her eyes, ashamed of the clipped edge in her voice and hating the compassion it drew from him. She didn’t want him to humor her. She wanted him to change his mind and forget this foolhardy mission. But when his hand cupped her face and coaxed her to meet his gaze, her resolve began to weaken.

“The Lord has blessed Obed-Edom these three months the ark has been in his home. No harm has come to him and his family, Michal. Besides, the priests have searched the Scriptures for me and discovered why God did not bless our last attempt. The priests were supposed to use the poles made for the ark and carry it on their shoulders. I plan to offer sacrifices as well, to cover the sins of the people.” His fingers stroked her cheek. “Are you sure you won’t come?”

The memory of his impassioned plea that day only aggravated her now.

Michal stopped her pacing midstride and shaded her eyes with both hands, searching for some sign of the group. The memory of his disappointed sigh at her refusal still rang in her ears. He’d moved on to his other wives, stopping in front of Abigail. Sweet, kind, righteous Abigail. Of course, she’d gladly accepted the role of leading the women in Michal’s place.

Michal’s fists clenched at the thought of the grateful look on the woman’s face. Her eager child had hugged David’s legs, and Michal had been surprised David hadn’t asked Abigail to lead the women in worship first. She seemed to share the same religious fervor as their husband, so to ask her would have made perfect sense. If not for the problem with the woman’s son, Abigail would surely have been David’s choice as queen. As it stood, the proud, haughty Maacah had a better chance at that position, if David’s affection for Absalom were any indication.

Michal spun around and walked back through the corridors of the nearly empty house. She climbed a flight of stairs to the second story and peered through the window, hoping for a better view. Surely they would come soon.

Abiathar, Zadok, and their fellow Levitical priests lifted the poles of the ark of God, rested them on their shoulders, and carried the ark with measured steps out of the house of Obed-Edom, where it had remained for the past three months. When their feet moved six paces, they stopped. The lowing of a bull and a fattened calf reached David’s ears, and he turned his head to watch two more priests grab a protesting bull by the horns and swiftly slit its throat. Blood spurted from the animal and was caught in a basin by a third priest.

The priests cut up the now lifeless bull and placed its parts on a newly constructed altar, sprinkled some of its blood along the sides, and poured the rest of the blood at its base. After the bull was consumed, they brought the fattened calf in front of the altar. Its wide, trusting gaze ended quickly as the priest’s blade snuffed out its young life. Smoke rose heavenward from the sacrifice, and David’s heart constricted with remorse at the animal’s loss, then turned in an instant to his own silent repentance.

They’re dead on my account, Lord. Please see the blood
spilled on behalf of Your people and accept our sacrifice. We
don’t deserve Your favor. But we long for it. Forgive us, Lord
God. Remember we are but dust.

More bulls and rams were sacrificed, seven of each in all, and with each one, David’s soul yearned more for Yahweh. He slipped his royal robe from his shoulders and handed it to a servant. Zadok offered prayers, his arms raised toward the sky. When the last ember from the sacrifices died away, the priests started the long walk to Jerusalem.

David’s heart lifted, and he motioned for the singers to begin playing their instruments. The Lord had heard their prayers. He was sure of it. Joy bubbled from deep within him. His feet kept time with the music, his voice raised in song. They would bring the ark to Jerusalem. He would be able to lead the people back to the true worship of Yahweh. Hadn’t this been his longing from his youth?

Oh, thank You, Lord God, for hearing our prayers and accepting
our sacrifices.

His feet leaped higher, and his arms lifted toward the clouds. He’d never known such unrestricted joy. God was good beyond measure.

The rich timbre of David’s voice carried to the palace, where Michal still stood at the second-story window, looking out over Jerusalem. The throng of people following the ark surged toward the ornate tent made of the finest cloth in Israel, their voices now joining David’s. Michal’s gaze drifted from the ark to her husband leading the multitude.

What was he doing?

She stepped closer and leaned her head out of the window. The noonday sun glinted off a sleeveless white linen vest covering David’s tunic. Michal blinked and looked again. Where were his royal symbols—his robe, his jewelry, his crown? Her gaze shifted to the ordinary priests following those selected to carry the ark. David looked like one of them!

Movement caught her eye, and she glanced back at David. Her mouth dropped, but she clamped it shut, gazing in disbelief at the sight below. David was dancing! Like a common man. Dressed like a priest instead of a king.

Praise songs drifted to her, and she focused on the crowd. Peasant women looked on, and even from a distance she saw the admiration, the yearning for her husband. Every woman in Israel was in love with David. And he was acting as their equal. Next thing she knew, he would be adding a horde of common women to his already bulging harem.

Michal hugged her arms to her chest and again stared at David still dancing and raising his arms toward the sky. His devotion was definitely misguided. If he wanted to worship Adonai, fine. But he shouldn’t lower himself in the sight of the people. He would lose their respect.