Michal (17 page)

How was it that three months could feel like years? She would never get used to David’s military life. A shiver worked down her spine, making her wish she’d brought an extra cloak, but she was too stubborn to summon a servant to fetch one.

Fog hung in the misty air, and Michal strained to see. Already the loyal citizens of Gibeah had left their homes and walked through the gates to line the path to the city. Men carrying large banners emblazoned with the symbol of each tribe were spaced symmetrically on either side of the road.

Despite the early hour, the festive spirit of celebration filled the air. Musicians began tuning their instruments, and children danced in the middle of the road, their voices beginning the fateful song her father despised. In the distance, Michal spotted the swirling dust, and within moments the earth began to shake with the thundering of horses’ hooves. The crowd grew quiet, almost trancelike, as they watched the victorious men approach. Then without warning, like a joyous sentry a young boy cried out, “Saul has slain his thousands . . .”

A group of little girls responded, “And David his ten thousands.”

More boys joined the first, the pitch higher and louder. “Saul has slain his thousands . . .”

The women joined the children. “And David his ten thousands.”

Michal stood transfixed, enthralled by the wild cheering for her husband. If any man in Israel deserved to be king besides her brother, it was David. The people loved him, and as he came into view, riding with royal grace atop his black stallion, her heart leaped. How she loved him! What she wouldn’t give to sit beside him now, leading the nation.

Her gaze traveled from her husband to her father standing atop the palace steps that led to his audience chamber. She leaned over the parapet to get a better look. He wasn’t smiling. He stood decked out in royal garb, arms folded across his chest, eyes trained on David.

The women and children continued the famous chant, thrusting darts of fear straight to Michal’s heart. She turned away from the scene, one hand pressed against her stomach, and staggered toward the roof stairs. Her breath came in short gasps, and she teetered, nearly stumbling in her hurry to descend. She grabbed the rail for support, heart thumping.

David would never be safe from the king. As long as breath remained in his body, her father would never be rid of his hatred, and the demons would never give him rest. In all her life she had never dreamed her marriage would be so fraught with danger, so riddled with fear. She was supposed to help her husband rise to power in Israel, to sit beside him as he ruled the nation in her father’s place.

What a fool she’d been. Her father would never give up the throne of Israel to an outsider. He would fight to the death for Jonathan to be king—and David’s life was forfeit. All her well-laid plans were crumbling about her, the last vestiges of control slipping from her grasp. She was a snare to her husband’s safety, keeping him near the man who hated him most.

David felt the king’s frigid gaze fixed on him throughout the celebration feast. When the last guest parted for the night, David stayed in the dining hall, per Saul’s request, to play his lyre.

Saul sat back against one wall, his spear in his hand. David chose the opposite wall, a safe distance away, ever aware of a path for a quick escape.

“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?” The words were said more as his own desperate prayer than for Saul’s comfort. “The Lord is the strength of my life—”

The words hung in midair, cut off by Saul’s flying spear. As David dove to the mosaic-tiled floor, the spear just missed his left ear and imbedded in the wall behind him. David scooped up his lyre and sprinted to the door. Like a deer fleeing the lion’s jaws, he did not slow until he reached the relative safety of his own courtyard.

His feet stumbled over each other as he staggered into the house and bolted the door.

Michal jumped from the gilded couch and rushed to his side. “What is it?”

“Your father . . .” David bent forward, hands on his thighs, forcing air back into his lungs.

“He tried to kill you again.” The simple statement sounded uncharacteristically calm.

He looked into her troubled eyes. “Missed me by less than a handbreadth. I ran all the way home.” David panted, still gasping for breath.

Michal led him to the couch, where he collapsed in relief. She retrieved a jug of water and poured him a cup. He took the chalice, giving her a grateful smile. When at last his breathing slowed to normal, she reached for his hands, cradling them between her palms. “You must leave, David. If you do not save your life this night, my father will send men to kill you by morning.”

David studied every detail of her flawless face. Her eyes were luminous and sad, but she was no longer the weeping woman he expected. “You cannot be sure of this.”

Her resigned smile made his hopes plummet. “I know my father, David. I watched his expression when you rode into town. I have never seen such a frigid glare, even from him. If the demons start whispering, he will commission your death.”

She cupped his bearded cheek in her hand, a heavy sigh slipping from her lips. “I’ve been sitting here thinking about this all afternoon, David. My father will never stop hating you. So I think we should go away—leave Israel, like your ancestors Elimelech and Naomi did. It would only be for a time, until my father is dead.”

Pain twisted like a barbed dagger in his gut. “You want to run away with me this night?”

“Why not? If we wait, my father will kill you.”

“I would be guilty of kidnapping you, Michal. Despite what the people say, and even though you are my wife, I am considered a guest in your father’s house. Just as Laban once thought Rachel and Leah belonged to him even though they were Jacob’s wives, your father still thinks you are his to protect, not mine. Since he is king, he would have no trouble getting every man in Israel to take his side.”

“Rachel and Leah followed Jacob.”

“And Laban caught up to them—only Laban had more mercy.”

Michal studied her hands as she clasped them around David’s. “Then you must go.” She lifted tear-filled eyes to his. “I will help you.”

He pulled her close, and his pulse kicked up a notch. Her lips tasted like fresh mint, and David prolonged the kiss, hating to ruin the brief moment of peace.

“I’ll come back for you,” he said at last. “After I am settled somewhere, I will send for you, and we will be together again.” Someday when he could be sure she would be safe. When her father was no longer a threat.

David felt her fingers dig into the flesh of his arms, clinging to him. He kissed her again, his whole body aching to rest beside her rather than slip through the window and run back out into the night.

“We must hurry,” she whispered. “My father’s men could come at any moment.”

Together they entered the bedroom. David tied one end of a wide woolen blanket to the bedpost and tossed the other end out the window. He tugged on it, testing the knot. Michal handed him a satchel with date cakes and figs, which he attached to his girdle. One foot on the window ledge, one on the floor, David pulled Michal to him one last time.

“I’m sorry, beloved.” He kissed her cheek.

“Just come back for me.”

He kissed her again, then abruptly released her and stepped through the window, hanging onto the makeshift rope.

“I will,” he promised, then dropped to the ground and ran off into the night.

Michal’s gaze lingered on David’s retreating form, her heart deluged in a sudden rush of pain. Would she ever see him again? Despite his parting promise, was it in his power to do as he said? Moments after he slipped from view, sudden movement from the direction of the palace caught her eye.

She rubbed her wet lashes and blinked to clear her focus. Someone was coming. How many? Two? Four?

Michal pulled the window shut and closed the curtains, trying not to attract attention. She tiptoed past the servants’ quarters where Keziah was sleeping, then to the front door to retrieve one of the tall teraphim. Half dragging, half lifting it, she pulled the wooden image onto the bed and covered it with one of David’s tunics and the blanket she had removed from the window. Draped over a wooden chair in the corner of the room lay a coarser blanket made of goats’ hair, which David used in the fields on military raids. It would do. She snatched the fabric in trembling hands, tucked it around the head of the household idol, and stepped back to survey her work. The ruse would buy David some time, at least.

Please, God, let it work.

A knock at the door sent her pulse into a wild gallop. Should she answer it or ignore it and feign sleep? Michal stalled. She yanked her best robe from her shoulders and slipped into her night tunic. She mussed her hair and smudged her makeup, hoping she looked sleepy. The knock came again, and she tucked a blanket around her and stumbled to the door.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“The king’s messengers. Open the door.”

“What do you want?”

“The king wishes to see David.”

Michal stood silent, debating with herself whether to obey. She hesitated. David needed more time. But if she waited too long, they might suspect the lie. Praying that her decision weighed on the side of good judgment, Michal undid the bolt and cracked the door. The young guard Paltiel, who had quickly endeared himself to her father in David’s place, stood at the head of six guards, Joash and Benaiah included.

“Yes?” She tried to sound sleepy and unconcerned despite the rapid pounding of her heart. “Is there a problem?”

Paltiel looked her over. His dark eyes filled with appreciation, sending an uneasy blush to her cheeks. “Your father sent us to bring David to him.”

“Tell my father that David is ill and must respectfully decline the invitation.”

“David is ill.” She didn’t miss the sarcasm in his tone. “He seemed fine an hour ago.”

“Well, he must have eaten something at the banquet that disagreed with him, because he’s been sick ever since he got home.” She placed one hand on Paltiel’s arm and looked past him to Joash and Benaiah. “I can’t disturb him now. He just fell asleep.”

Paltiel peered past her as if trying to see into the bedroom, then turned his gaze to her. Michal abruptly dropped her grip, uncomfortable with his perusal.

“Please, give my apologies to my father.” She pushed on the door, trying to narrow the gap and give the guards the hint to leave.

To Michal’s surprise, Paltiel stepped back and bowed to her. “I will tell him, Princess.”

“Tell the captain we hope he feels better soon,” Benaiah added, his low voice carrying to her. She looked into his large, concerned face, amazed at the gentleness of the huge young man. Warmth crept under her skin. She used to think Benaiah cared for her, but she’d never shown him even a hint of interest. He was just a guard, after all. And yet now, having a soldier on her side might not be such a bad idea.

Michal shrugged the thought aside, bolted the door behind the guards, and leaned against it, sighing deeply. A tremble rushed through her body, and she pulled the blanket close to her neck to ward off the chill. Paltiel had no right to look at her like that. Benaiah had at least shown some sympathy.

Oh, but what would she do if they returned, if her father would not be appeased by her words? Her shaking gave way to uncontrollable fear, and Michal slumped to the floor and wept.