Authors: India Edghill
Queenmaker (16 page)
I think I knew then, for I stopped and put out my hands as if to ward off the words that he must speak. “No,” I said.
Then Zhurleen stepped into the courtyard and closed the ebony gate behind her. “Tell her, boy, and quickly—I have risked much to bring you here. Remember that, Queen Michal, when you number your friends.”
“Caleb,” I said, and tried to put my arms about him, to clasp him to my breast. But Caleb would not let me; he made himself stiff and straight.
“Greetings, Queen Michal,” Caleb said. “I bring you news of Phaltiel son of Laish, who was your husband. Will you hear it?”
I saw he struggled to keep his dignity, and hold aloof from me to speak as a man even though he was only a boy still. It hurt, but I let him have it; I let him go. This time I could not take Caleb in my arms and comfort him as a child.
“Yes,” I said. “I will hear it.”
And so I listened as Caleb told me how Phaltiel had gone to visit Miriam and her husband and their children. No one had been surprised when Phaltiel did not return that night, for he was a fond parent, and they did not doubt that Miriam had pressed him to stay. It was unlike him not to send word, but they thought nothing of it until late the next day, when a boy from Miriam’s house had arrived bearing a well-memorized scolding from her for Phaltiel’s forgetfulness, demanding he come to them at once as he had promised.
“We worried then,” Caleb said, “and I ran to Miriam’s myself. My father was not there, and nowhere on the road between, and no one could be found who had seen him.” His mouth trembled then and he made it thin, to keep from crying.
“Do not make a long tale,” Zhurleen said, and her voice was thorn-sharp. “Quickly, I told you.”
“Yes,” I said. “Tell me quickly.” I stood like a pillar, listening as Caleb told me how all the men of two households had searched, and found Phaltiel at last. His body had been hidden, but not well, in a fall of rock not far from the road.
“By the bend past the village, where the stones are red,” Caleb said.
I knew the place; a pretty spot, with flowers wild in all the cracks of the rock. Miriam and I had stopped there often on our way to the river with the clothes for washing-day, letting the maidservants go on ahead while we braided poppy-crowns for our hair.
“I know the spot. Is there more?”
Zhurleen came forward then, reaching out as if she would seize Caleb. “There, you have told her. Come away now.”
“No.” My voice came from far, and hard. “Leave him, Zhurleen. I would hear the rest.”
There were not many wounds upon the body; Phaltiel had been killed by a man who knew how to make a blow count. No one could understand the murder, for Phaltiel was a good man, and had no enemies—and it was not done as robbers would have done it.
“For they killed his donkey too,” Caleb cried, boy again now that the worst was told. “They slit Dove’s throat and left her lying there—robbers would not have done that, would they, Mother?” Then he came at last into my arms, to weep while I held him close.
I tried to weep too, to find ease, but I could not. And Zhurleen hovered like a hawk, seeking to drag Caleb from my arms. So I put Caleb from me and stroked his wet cheeks. “Tell me, my darling, when this happened. What day was it?”
It had been two days ago. Two days after Nathan had spoken to King David, and King David had agreed that he had been wrong, and that I might go home to Phaltiel.
“Caleb,” I said, and held him close against my body; he was
hot, and still dusty from hard travel.
hot, and still dusty from hard travel.
“And so I came to tell you, Mother, and—and to bring you home.” Caleb shoved his chin forward. “That is why I am here. My brothers say you will not come, that you would rather live with the king, but I know that is not true, and so I came by myself!” He looked at me, pleading. “It is not true, is it?”
“Tell him the right truth, O Queen,” said Zhurleen softly. “Be wise, and speak carefully. The boy came all this way alone to find you—it is only because I had gone out to the bird-market and chanced to pass by while he argued at the king’s gate that he is safe here now. I told you I risked much—but not as much as he did.”
She put a hand upon Caleb’s shoulder as if to draw him away; Caleb shook Zhurleen’s hand off and stared at me. I looked at Zhurleen, and I knew at last what I should have known the moment I had seen Abner at the gate with his fifty armed men: that never again could I know peace, except at King David’s bidding.
“Come with me,” Caleb demanded. “I will take you away, Mother. I will protect you—I do not care what Ezra says—he is a coward and no man! You are our father’s wife, we must take care of you!”
He tugged at my hand, as he had long ago when he was still only a babe, and I only a young girl playing mother. His fingers clung to mine as they had when he was small. But Caleb was no longer a little boy; he was almost thirteen, almost as tall as I; some might see him as a man. Some might see him as a threat.
Suddenly Caleb’s fingers seemed to clutch my heart as well. For a moment I stood frozen still with fear, as if I had almost trodden upon a viper. Clear in my head I heard Phaltiel’s voice counseling me to lie quiet in his house—“—
and do not remind the king that you still breathe.
” Do not remind the king … .
and do not remind the king that you still breathe.
” Do not remind the king … .
“Mother!” Another tug at my hand, a plucking at my sleeve. Come, Mother, come and see, you must
look—
look—
I put my arms tight around Caleb, who was once my own boy.
A son to me. David had so many sons. Why must he deny me mine?
A son to me. David had so many sons. Why must he deny me mine?
“O Queen, you must make haste now. He must not be found here—go, boy, and take care. Here, you may carry this—” Zhurleen unclasped a necklace, twisted it hard between her fingers, and held it out to Caleb. “Tell them you are taking it to the goldsmith’s for mending, if you are stopped and questioned. Tell them the Lady Zhurleen sends it.”
Caleb glared at her with the fierce sullen anger I remembered from our first days together, when I had only just come to dwell in Phaltiel’s house. “I will not go! She is my father’s widow and it is my duty to tend her! I will slay anyone who tries to stop me!”
Zhurleen looked from me to Caleb, and back again. “Are you both mad? If you care for him at all, O Queen, you must send him away, and now. Say farewell, quickly!”
She was right; I knew she was right. So I took Caleb’s face between my hands, and kissed him, and told him he must go. He did not wish to leave me; he was only a boy still, and so thought right must win over all.
“No,” he said. “I will protect you—Father would want me to, and it is the law.”
“Come away, boy!” Zhurleen begged. “It is over, and this does no good to you or to the queen. Come, now.”
Caleb set his mouth, stubborn as a badger. As stubborn as Princess Michal had once been, when she was almost thirteen, and still thought the world would spin obedient to her wishes.
And so I did what I must. I stepped back, away from Caleb, and spoke. “You must go now, Caleb. She is right; it is over now, and I am the queen. If you wish to please me, you will go.”
Caleb stared at me, eyes blank as stones. “Do you mean,” he asked, “that you want to stay here—with
him
?” His voice wavered, begged me to deny it.
him
?” His voice wavered, begged me to deny it.
I would not; I must not.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I wish to stay here. Now do as the Lady Zhurleen bids you, Caleb! Go home, and tell Miriam--”
“I will tell her nothing! My brothers were right, you wish to be the king’s harlot because he gives you jewels! I hate you!” Caleb’s voice rose high and broke. He turned and ran, away from me, toward the gate.
His words tore my heart like saw-blades; still worse was the pain and betrayal in his eyes. I could not bear it.
“Caleb!” I started after him, but Zhurleen barred my way.
“No,” she said. “Let him go, Michal. Let him go free of love for you, if you would keep him safe.”
I stopped, then, and stood silent, watching as Zhurleen padded swiftly after Caleb. Her flounced skirt swung wide in her haste, and her bare belled feet made harsh music against the paving-stones.
Phaltiel was dead and would never come now to put his arms around me and take me home. Phaltiel was dead, no man knew how or why, and his loving wife dwelt in fine gowns and rich gems in the king’s house and did not shed one tear for him. I could not cry; the blow had driven too deep.
But mourning there must be, to ease my husband’s spirit, even though my eyes were dry sand and my heart a stone for silence.
The bracelets from my arms made little splashing noises as they dropped into the shining fountain. The gold falling from my hair made no sound at all; false leaves glinted and spun on the water’s surface as I dragged my fingers through my hair, ripping free the narrow twisted braids. My fingers caught, yanked; I welcomed the little hurt.
Phaltiel was dead, dead—and he had never heard my message. He had died knowing only that I had sent no word; that I had chosen the king’s house over his.
My courtyard was smooth-swept stone; there was no dust for my face. But I had nails, long and well-tended, as befit a queen’s soft hands. I could rip my fine gown to rags, and my skin to blood.
And I did, until my maids came running up to me crying out in horror and hung upon my arms to make me stop.
And I did, until my maids came running up to me crying out in horror and hung upon my arms to make me stop.
“Leave me. My husband is dead, and I must mourn for him.”
They all looked at me, and then sideways at each other, and then all spoke at once. “No, no, the king is well—he sits in the great hall even now—come, come to the women’s gallery and you may see him with your own eyes—”
“Be silent!” I pressed my hands over my ears, but it did not help. They chirped and chattered at me until the noise rang inside my head as well as out. More slanting looks, some knowing and some of pity, and then many vows to be silent as a mouse’s shadow if only I would come inside with them.
It was easier to go than to stay, and so I went.
In my rooms there was another uproar, for I would not let them wash or comb or dress me, and called for ashes from the kitchen hearth. “Now, I tell you! Go—go at once!”
They stared at me, round-mouthed as a flock of ewe-lambs, and did not move until I threw a lamp at them. I did not fling it in hot rage; I wanted them to go, and the lamp was handy to my hand. The clay lamp cracked to pieces against the painted lintel; oil spread, marring the pattern of lotus flowers.
The maids ran away, after that, and my room was quiet for a time. And then David came to me.
“Why, Michal, what is this? Look, the sun is bright and the birds sing for joy—come, do not sit alone on such a day.” David would have raised me up, but I made myself a heavy burden.
“My husband is dead. Let me be, that I may mourn him in peace.”
“No, Michal, I live. See, here I am before you, well and whole.” David knelt before me, and took my hands. “Only look, and be comforted.”
“You know I speak of Phaltiel. He is dead. Did you think no one would tell me?”
There was silence before David spoke. “If that is so, I am sorry for it. I am told Phaltiel was a good man. But a man’s death—even
a good man’s death—is no reason for the queen of my house and heart to claw her face and rend her garments.”
a good man’s death—is no reason for the queen of my house and heart to claw her face and rend her garments.”
He stroked my face, tracing the scratches I had gouged into my cheeks. “You cannot grieve like this for every man slain by robbers on the road—or struck down by illness. And Phaltiel was an old man, after all.”
“Phaltiel was my husband. You swore you would send me back to him!”
“I swore to send Nathan with your message, and that promise I kept. All Jerusalem saw me keep my word. But who is to say that Phaltiel would have wished you back?”
“He would,” I said. “He would. He loved me.”
David set his hand upon my hair. “I did what you asked of me, Michal. Now you see it is Yahweh’s will that you stay with me. Come, now, and let your maids tend you.”
His voice was smooth and soft as warm butter; his hands were gentle and kind. His eyes showed nothing, neither joy nor triumph. But I knew. Phaltiel had been slain by a thief indeed—a royal thief, who would own what Phaltiel possessed, and had killed him for it. For me.
“My bride-prices are high.” I drew away, slowly, and rose to my feet. “Once it was a hundred foreskins taken from the Philistines. This time it was my husband’s life.”
David stayed on his knees and looked up at me with eyes like pools in the salt desert, bright surface hiding deep poison. “You rave, Michal. Perhaps madness does run in the blood of Saul. Do not fear; no one will harm you.”
“Now I understand—Nathan was only the second messenger from the king. Who was the first, the one who ran before Nathan in secret to strike Phaltiel down?”
David did not move. “This is not wise, Michal. This is no way for a queen to act.” His voice told nothing at all, as if I had never spoken of King David and murder within one breath.
“It is the way for a widow to act. I have a widow’s rights, now, and a widow’s duties. Leave me in peace with them.”
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