Authors: India Edghill
Queenmaker (34 page)
“If you would be kind to me, then do not know me,” Zhurleen said. “I am no longer the palace woman; I have a husband, now, and a child—a little daughter to raise to wisdom. I thank you—oh, a thousand times! But it would be no kindness to do me honor now.”
And so I watched her go: a respectable matron with a child to tend and a man to cook for. A woman with a veil upon her head and a full water-jug upon her hip. A woman like all the others.
Like all others who were happy and content. And so it did not matter that her hair was woven now with grey; that her bracelets and anklets were only of brass, and not of silver and gold. Zhurleen still walked like a cat well-pleased with herself. Like a cat who lands always upon her feet, no matter how far the fall. Her hips swayed; the stout cloth of her gown shifted restlessly with each step she took.
That was the last I saw of her: a hand balancing a water-jug as it rose and fell to the easy lift of her hip; a sky-blue veil. Below the edge of her veil the tasseled ends of Zhurleen’s braids slowly danced, like leaves in the wind.
Later I told over the jewelry I had brought secret out of Jerusalem. Bracelets, and necklaces too; true gold. Untarnished, unchanging, like Zhurleen’s good heart.
I wished to do something for her, to give what I had to make her life easy. This gold would buy much—
Yes, envy and malice and spite—and robbers in the night!
Zhurleen’s voice was clear and laughing as if she stood before me. I must have learned wisdom from her, after all.
Zhurleen’s voice was clear and laughing as if she stood before me. I must have learned wisdom from her, after all.
Zhurleen was happy. If I wished her well, I would not meddle in her life.
But I wished to do something for her; she had done much for me and it had cost her dear. I knew that, no matter how light she spoke of it.
And so, in the end, I called Narkis to me and gave the jewelry into her keeping. “For the good women of this city,” I told her. “Take it and have the goldsmith melt it down; each woman in the lower town is to have one piece—so big. Or two, if there is enough gold. Each woman, mind. Not one is to be left out.”
In the end, the war was lost and won in one battle. For Absalom had heeded Hushai’s advice, and so Absalom waited. Waited when all his other men pressed him to attack King David at once, while David was on the march with all his household.
“Let the old man tire himself out,” was Hushai’s counsel. “Attack later, when his men are weary, and all can see he fails.”
Hushai’s words were heeded; Absalom waited. And as the summer waned, so did the eagerness of Absalom’s men. Many who had
come for battle and glory went home again; some came to King David’s camp instead.
come for battle and glory went home again; some came to King David’s camp instead.
And so, as David had planned, Absalom did not bring his host against David’s until the summer ended. Until Joab was ready.
With the king and all the king’s household sealed safe in Mahanaim, Joab took the king’s army further north, to the forest of Ephraim. Absalom’s army finally came forth from Jerusalem; I was told later that it made a fine show.
But battles are not won by fine shows, but by fine deeds; not by bluster, but by cunning. King David’s men were seasoned warriors, not young men dreaming of glory. And when the two armies met, Joab enticed Absalom’s soldiers into the tangled, pathless forest.
And once into the forest they were lost, and all Absalom’s ambitions with them.
Joab’s men had scouted the woods; they hunted Absalom’s men deep into the trees, and slew many. Many more were lost to the forest itself, escaping men’s swords only to fall prey to lions or bears.
Absalom saw how the battle went against him, and fled. He was not one to stay and die with his loyal men. Perhaps he thought he could reach David and plead for his life once more.
Joab knew better than to give Absalom that chance. Joab marked when Absalom fled, and followed, and forced him into an oak grove where the branches grew thick and laced too close for Absalom to break through before Joab caught him up. As David had told me, Joab knew his job. Joab struck hard and true, and brought Absalom safely to the grave.
Runners brought the news swift to Mahanaim:
Rejoice, King David’s men have won a great victory! Forty times forty of the enemy lie dead upon the roads, and forty times forty more in the forest. Praise for the warriors, and twice praise for Joab, who avenged the king’s honor!
Rejoice, King David’s men have won a great victory! Forty times forty of the enemy lie dead upon the roads, and forty times forty more in the forest. Praise for the warriors, and twice praise for Joab, who avenged the king’s honor!
David stood tall in the midst of the singing shouting people; the two men who had run all the way from the battlefield to bring the king first word knelt smiling at his feet.
“What news?” asked King David. “What news of my son Absalom?”
“He is dead, lord. Joab slew him in the wood. Praise be to Yahweh, the traitor Absalom is dead, and many of his men with him. A great victory, lord!”
David stared down at them and then put his hands over his face. “Oh, my son, my son!” And then he turned and walked back through all the jubilant people, back into his house.
There was a strange silence; the men who had run so far and so fast to bring him word rose slowly to their feet, looking like dogs that had been kicked.
What kings make, kings break.
Who had said that? It did not matter; something must be done, and quickly. I could not let David risk the crown that would be Solomon’s. So I stepped forward and clapped my hands, and called out as loudly as I could, “Rejoice, for Yahweh has brought us a great victory this day! Rejoice, for King David is king once more!”
Who had said that? It did not matter; something must be done, and quickly. I could not let David risk the crown that would be Solomon’s. So I stepped forward and clapped my hands, and called out as loudly as I could, “Rejoice, for Yahweh has brought us a great victory this day! Rejoice, for King David is king once more!”
It worked, for a time. There was dancing and singing and much rejoicing as David’s men returned and were claimed by those who loved them. Most came safely back from that battle in the forest of Ephraim.
It was Absalom’s men who lay cold beneath the clear night sky.
But David would not come down and show himself to the people; David would not rejoice. David kept within a small room and would do nothing but wail and moan for his lost son Absalom.
And soon the rejoicing grew quieter, and then ceased, and men walked low-voiced and sullen. Well, and who could blame
them, with all their glory tarnished and the king for whom they had fought so well treating them like dogs?
them, with all their glory tarnished and the king for whom they had fought so well treating them like dogs?
I thought David had gone mad, and I told him so. “You are David—would you be Saul? Go to your men and smile upon their victory before it is too late!”
Even my harsh words did not stop his tears. Now I think he was weeping not so much for Absalom, as for David. Perhaps he knew then that the glorious youth that had been his was now lost to him, lost with Absalom, who had been David come again. That David was gone forever. Was that why he wept, and would not be comforted?
I do not know what would have happened if Joab had not come when he did. For David would not heed me, or Nathan, or any of his counselors. He would only wail and mourn for Absalom, until the soldiers who had returned expecting praise began to look mutinous. No man likes his great deeds flung back in his face as if they were dirt.
But at the end of the second day Joab returned from the battlefield. And when he came and saw what was happening, he spoke to David such words that David never after forgave him.
“In Yahweh’s name, David, what is this noise? They can hear you in the marketplace! Wailing like a woman, and over what? A false son who would have killed you if he could!”
“You have slain my son, my beloved son.” David turned away slowly, as if he were already old.
Bathsheba put her arms around him. “My lord, my lord, you have other sons—loving sons!” It did no good; David brushed her aside as if she were nothing.
Joab stood there and stared at David. Then he looked at me, and I knew that I must once more ally myself with Joab. Blind hate does not summon futures.
“Speak sense into his ears, Joab,” I said. “He will listen to no one, and will not even speak to his brave soldiers. Oh, be silent, Bathsheba! He will not listen to you, or me, or anyone else. But
Absalom is dead now, and I am tired of being dragged from Dan to Beersheba. I wish to return home to Jerusalem.”
Absalom is dead now, and I am tired of being dragged from Dan to Beersheba. I wish to return home to Jerusalem.”
“Leave me,” cried David. “All of you—leave me to my grief.”
“No, by Yahweh!” Joab drew his sword and flung it down to crash upon the stones of the floor. “Do you see this sword, David? It has fought for you and killed for you, and kept you on that pretty gilded throne and called ‘my lord king’! It has just won you back your crown and saved your life, and the lives of all your wives and sons and daughters too—and all you do is whimper because a worthless boy is dead. The Lady Bathsheba is right—you have other sons, and better, too!”
David held up his hand, but Joab would not be stopped now.
“Do your men mean nothing? They have followed you and fought for you when all others ran after Absalom. Well, now I see we should all have stayed at home in peace and let Absalom have his way, since you’ve been shouting to the housetops that if he were alive and we all lay dead you’d be pleased!” Joab strode forward and grabbed David’s arm. “Are you as mad as King Saul? Will you throw away a year’s hard fighting now? Come now and talk to your soldiers like a man and a king, or I swear not one man will be at your back by the morning!”
King David looked at Joab for a dozen heartbeats; I counted them. Then David turned and walked out. He did not speak to Joab, but I do not think that Joab cared.
When David had gone, I bent and picked up Joab’s sword in both my hands. I held the weapon out to Joab, and he took it.
“Absalom, his son!” said Joab, and spat upon the floor.
I looked on Joab and smiled. “He can sing about it—later,” I said.
That night King David gave a feast to welcome his brave men and to celebrate their victory over the traitor Absalom. Bathsheba and
I stood on the rooftop and watched great fires light the plain beyond the city wall.
I stood on the rooftop and watched great fires light the plain beyond the city wall.
“Rejoice,” I said. “Rejoice, for now we return to Jerusalem.”
“Yes, to Jerusalem and peace.” Bathsheba sighed. “I am glad—I am so very tired of war!”
“The war is over,” I said. “But the battle has just begun.”
“Battle?” Bathsheba looked puzzled and worried; I laughed and hugged her close to my heart.
“Oh, do not worry, my love—in my battle no blood will be shed.”
But I was wrong; the war was not over. Blood stains deep, and never fades away.
“Nevertheless the king’s word prevailed … .
—I Chronicles 21:4
Women tire easily of war; men do not. What men were tiring of in that year was kingship. Long ago our people had asked for a king, and were warned what a king would be to them. Now they had learned for themselves what a king was. But it was too late now to go back; kings do not hand power away once they have grasped it.
Absalom’s rebellion had failed, but his acts had given others courage. David’s one kingdom had been made by joining two, Israel and Judah. Israel had been the stronger, but King David came from Judah, and so Judah was favored. Now Israel said that King David of Judah was nothing and less than nothing to the men of Israel, and rose up against David.
“I do not understand how they can dare,” Bathsheba said, when we heard the news. “It is what all say, Michal—how can they dare raise their hands against the king? And when he has just won a great victory—why are they such fools—and ungrateful, too, for only think of what the king has done for them—”
So Bathsheba chattered on, while I sat and kept my face an ivory mask. How dare they indeed?
For Israel had only its tents; King David had his walled cities. Israel had its levies to summon up; King David had his army ready-summoned, waiting.
How dare they?
I thought I knew, for I knew how David moved his playing-pieces. And I thought I knew how deep Absalom had
cut David’s heart. Now all would be punished for Absalom’s rebellious folly.
I thought I knew, for I knew how David moved his playing-pieces. And I thought I knew how deep Absalom had
cut David’s heart. Now all would be punished for Absalom’s rebellious folly.
And so I asked, when next I saw David. “All men ask a thing, great king.”
“And what is that, my queen?” David liked to play such games; I let him win them.
“It is a riddle,” I said, and touched his harp where it hung upon the wall. Another new one; a lion of gold guarded taut harp- strings, its beryl eyes unwinking.
“A gift,” David said, his eyes as bright as the golden lion’s. “From the king of Asshur.”
“A kingly gift for a harper king. You should play more, David.”
“A king has little time for such things.” But he took down the lion-harp and ran his fingers across the strings. “I must tune this; music should not jar the ear. Now tell me your riddle.”
I smiled. “It is this: ‘How dare they?”’
“A strange riddle, my queen.”
“Not so strange, O King. Your people are not fools.”
“Some are.” David plucked at the harp-strings, and frowned. “Fools, and worse. Traitors against Yahweh’s anointed. But I will know them, and root them out. My kingdom goes whole and safe to my son.” And David looked at me slantwise across the gilded harp.
So I was right; the men of Israel had been lured into a trap. See David, weak and cruel king. Rise against him, O Israel—and be crushed. Traitors, yes—but Israel’s men would not have risen had they not been lured. There was no need to ask why; Israel had been Saul’s kingdom, brother to Judah. A quarrelsome brother; now it would be nothing.
I was wiser than all the men of Israel; before my eyes David spread net and lure in vain. I did not ask ‘which son, O King?’ I only smiled, and listened as King David played harsh music on an untuned harp.
In the time it took the Israelites to talk and to agree and to summon their men, King David’s army marched upon them. The king’s army was seasoned and all well armed. The rebels were beaten back in a single battle.
The leader of the rebels fled to a city at the end of Israel. It did him no good; Joab and the army followed and camped outside the city walls. Joab demanded the traitor’s head, and got it. That was the end of the war that David himself had started. King David had won—or so he thought.
For the year of Absalom’s death was a year of blood, and it stained David forever. Too many men had risen against him and proved they loved him not. I think it was that knowledge, rather than a king’s cold logic, that drove David to his next slaughter.
My sister Merab’s sons. They, and my father’s two sons by his concubine Rizpah, were slaughtered before the gates of Gibeah, the city where my father had once lived as king. Their bodies were hung upon the city wall, food for crows. David had a reason, of course; he called me to him so that he might tell it to me himself. “I weep for them, Michal—see, tears stand in my eyes even now. A king’s lot is harsh, and Yahweh’s will harsher—” And he held me in his arms and wept into my hair.
I stood cold in his arms. “Was it Yahweh’s voice that gave the order, David?”
“Ah, my queen, you still do not understand. They were traitors; I know it is hard for you to believe. But they were not boys, Michal, but men. And the men of Israel rallied to them—”
David spoke on and on into my ear, but I heard instead words he had spoken long ago.
‘—I swore that King Saul and his house would take no harm from my hands—’
‘—I swore that King Saul and his house would take no harm from my hands—’
And now all that was left of the House of Saul was Jonathan’s crippled son Meribaal. And Michal, King David’s queen.
My eyes were dry; I felt nothing then. Pain would come later. David fell to his knees before me and wept upon my hands; I looked on, heartless as an idol.
David’s tears were real enough. But they were not for Saul’s sons or grandsons.
They are for himself.
They are for himself.
David wept for David. I understood that much, even then. Now I know that David was never again the same, after that year.
That year that some men loved him not.
That year was also a year of changes. King David had always had an army; Joab commanded that. But now David formed a palace guard, all foreigners; command of the guard was given to a man called Benaiah. And Benaiah took his orders only from the king himself.
Joab did not like this, of course. Well, Joab had worked hard enough for his place, after all, and come to it over the bodies of many good men. I spent much time that year watching the king’s great court; I stood hidden behind the grille above the king’s throne when Joab protested.
“There can be only one commander of the host, David. I lead your army, and have these dozen years! Who is this man? He has never served with me.”
David smiled; I could sense it. “He has served me, Joab. And you are still commander of the host; these men are only guards for the palace.”
“What need has the palace for guards? It’s in the middle of Jerusalem! And cannot my men guard a palace, my men who have slain your enemies in their thousands?”
“Your warriors are too valuable to waste idling about the court,” David told him, and would hear no more from Joab. “Benaiah commands the palace guard; the king decrees it.”
I watched Joab’s face, and thought if Benaiah were wise he would never let Joab too near his back. And I thought, too, that if David no longer trusted Joab, then David was a fool to let Joab know it and live.
Joab was given a present of the king’s own cloak, all fine blue wool embroidered with scarlet. A great honor for Joab: the king’s own cloak, embroidered by the queen’s own hands. David gave all the army an extra wine ration and a special feast of fine meats to prove in what regard he held his good men.
And Benaiah’s guard stood in the gateways and walked the rooftops of the king’s palace.
David sat quiet in Jerusalem until the next planting. And then he called for Joab and told him the king had a new use for the army. Joab was to take his soldiers and count all the people of the kingdom, from Dan to Beersheba, and was to take care to number all the able-bodied men.
“Now we shall know how many dwell in my land, and where they dwell. I will know who can spare sons to the king’s army, and who cannot. And I will know who pays their tithes and taxes, and who does not.”
“Numbering the people goes against the Law,” Joab told him.
“The king is the Law.”
“Do the priests know that?”
But Joab did not care greatly about priestly laws; what King David ordered, that Joab did, now as always.
Others cared more. Many of the people feared Yahweh’s wrath, and this fear was fostered by the priests, who feared King David’s power. The Law had lain in the priests’ hands in the days before a king sat upon a throne in Jerusalem. But since the time that Solomon had been born, men had heeded the priests and prophets less, and the king more.
As the king had given the priests more honor, the king had taken more power. And now, at last, even the priests could see the net in which they had been snared. A net woven of gold, and fine meats, and sweet words.
“A great sin, the priests are calling it; I had it from Eglah, who had it from her handmaid Leah, whose cousin Tirzah heard it at the silver-smith’s.”
“To count all the people—the greatest crime a man can commit against Yahweh—the high priest Abiathar said so in the main gate today. I heard him myself.”
“Shall the people be numbered? Does not the Law say to us, number the sheep, and the goats, but not the people?”
“But does not the king make the laws?”
This was all the talk in the women’s quarters of the palace. The king had climbed high and conquered much; would he now be brought down to crash upon the rocks waiting below? No one truly thought he would slip and fall, and so to think of it was exciting. This year was dull, after the last.
I sat in my own courtyard, and listened to all who came by. And when I was asked what I thought, I only smiled. I did not think that Yahweh would care more for this sin of David’s than for any other.
But Nathan cared. Nathan saw his own chance to regain what he had let slip through his fingers long ago. He was wrong; it was too late. King David no longer needed the prophet Nathan.
But Queen Michal did. King David spurned Nathan as now worthless; Nathan had long since served David’s purposes. But Nathan was still prophet. In the land beyond Jerusalem’s thick walls, Nathan’s word still weighed heavy, and was cherished.
So on the day that I sat behind the throne and saw David toss aside this old weapon, I reached out my hand and caught it up. I had thought it would be a hard thing; I was wrong. It was simple as spinning thread.
It was one of the days that King David sat in judgment and any man might stand before him. As Nathan had done before, the prophet came to the open court and foretold doom for the king, did he not bow his head to Yahweh’s will—and that of the priests.
“For you sin against Yahweh! His people must not be numbered—so says the Law. It is a wicked thing, and you will be punished for it if you do not repent.”
And men shuffled, and murmured to one another—but as if they grew restless, and not as if they feared Yahweh’s wrath. Perhaps Nathan had come too often to this well; much he had prophesied had not come to pass. For all the prophet’s talk of destruction and vengeance, David still sat upon the throne in Jerusalem and ruled over all the land from Dan to Beersheba.
But David spoke to Nathan kindly enough. “My regard for Yahweh’s Law is known to all the people. May I be struck down as I speak if I do anything against the Law.” He paused, as if inviting the lightning bolts. “I have thought long upon this, Nathan—yes, and prayed to Yahweh, too. A king is as a shepherd to his people; he cares for them and guides them as a shepherd his flock. How can he guard them against evil if he does not know the least lamb among them?”
“Yahweh’s people are not to be reckoned and counted over, as coins hoarded by a miser!”
“Are not the people more precious than coins? Should they not be cherished, each as a rare gem in Yahweh’s treasure?”
“Yahweh is not mocked, lord king! There will be great harm from this evil deed!” Nathan drew himself up and thumped the floor hard with his staff—the staff that once had been the prophet Samuel’s. The staff that David himself had given into Nathan’s hands.
But Nathan was always too short and round for that fine gesture
to be impressive. If he had not been a prophet, I think men would have laughed, then.
to be impressive. If he had not been a prophet, I think men would have laughed, then.
No one laughed, but David’s voice said he smiled. “Yahweh’s will be done, Nathan. But it will not be done if men are kept waiting for the king’s justice. I will come and speak with Abiathar and Zadok when the court is over, and see what can be done to set their minds at rest. Now, will that content you?”
David spoke as one indulgent to an old man’s folly. Nathan did not like the king’s tone, but he kept his dignity.
“It is not I who must be content, but Yahweh.” Nathan did not give David another chance to make him look foolish, but turned away and walked slowly out of the king’s great court.
And I went swiftly to find a servant to bring the prophet Nathan to me. “Tell him in the queen’s garden, and at once, if he will so honor me.”
For I knew what I had seen, and I knew the time to grasp Nathan was now. Now, before Nathan brooded upon his wrongs, and emulated great Samuel—and walked away from the king in anger to anoint a new king in secret to bring down the old.
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