Bathsheba (22 page)

“Let me get my things.” Uriah whirled about and jogged back to his tent.

Bathsheba worked the distaff and spindle as she paced beneath the tent enclosure of her roof, unable to sit still for a moment since Tirzah had taken her message to the king. Tirzah sat carding the new wool nearby, and Bathsheba could feel the servant’s gaze aimed her way, but she wisely said nothing, knowing there was nothing to be said. The king had gotten her message. Tirzah had assured her that Benaiah had taken it from her hand, and she had waited in the hall until he had walked away to deliver it. Surely the king’s personal guard would not have failed to give the scroll to the king. Surely not.

“You’re going to wear a pattern in the floor if you do not stop moving back and forth like that. You’re making my head twirl about like a nervous dancer, watching you.” Tirzah clucked her tongue like Aunt Talia often did, but it did nothing to lighten Bathsheba’s mood.

“Then don’t watch.” She knew the words were clipped, harsh even, but her nerves were drawn stiff like strings on a lyre. She fingered the wool, spinning it round, at last moving out from beneath the tent’s protection and gazing up at the palace roof.

Why haven’t you contacted me?

Fear-wrought anger held her tongue. She wanted to shout at the man from where she stood, but her words would not penetrate his stone and marble halls, insulated as he was from her world. Did he care?

Her throat thickened as it had done every day since that night, the familiar emotion choking her.
Uriah, what have I done to you?

The sound of footsteps made her pulse jump. Her fingers grew still on the distaff as she watched Anittas approach.

“My lady.” He gave a half bow, then stood stiff and proud, as though speaking at her instead of to her. “You have a visitor. A messenger from the palace.” His dark eyes skipped from her to the palace behind her. “Shall I send him up?”

Bathsheba glanced at her surroundings. Only Tirzah was with her here. It was the most secluded place in her home. If David had a message for her, she would be safest to receive it here. “Yes, send him up.” She looked at the servant, but again his gaze did not meet hers. “Thank you, Anittas.”

“Yes, mistress.” He bowed once more and hurried away, giving Bathsheba another reason to fear exposure. Did Anittas know? If he did, he would surely tell Uriah before she had any possible way to explain herself. While Anittas had always treated her with kindness, he was fiercely loyal to Uriah. If the spirit of jealousy came upon Uriah before she could tell him of the child, Anittas would have no reason to defend her honor. He had seen her go to the palace, and though only Tirzah had met her upon her return, Anittas slept near the outer court. He could have easily watched without her knowledge to see that she had arrived safely home.

She looked up again as a man dressed in the garments of King David’s guards approached. She did not recognize the man, which meant David had not thought her situation dire enough to keep it in strictest confidence. Her spirits sank lower as she struggled to keep her emotions in check.

“My lady Bathsheba?”

“Yes.” Bathsheba stepped closer. “My servant said you have a message for me?” She tried to keep her expression passive, as though whatever he might say was of no import, but feared she was failing miserably.

The guard’s expression gave nothing away, no comfort and yet no censure. “The king has asked me to inform you that your husband is on his way back to Jerusalem and to expect him home by tonight or tomorrow.” With that, he whirled about, strode with clipped steps to the edge of the roof, and descended the stairs.

Tirzah’s hand on her arm made her jump. Her skin felt prickly and a tremor moved through her.

“Uriah is coming home,” Tirzah said, as though Bathsheba had not already heard the news.

“Yes.” She should be glad of it, but the fear snaking through her stole any happiness such news should bring.

“He will be with you, and everything will work out fine.” Tirzah patted her shoulder. “We must take you to the mikvah, henna your feet and hands, and perfume your bed linens. He will be so taken with you, you won’t have to say a word.”

Bathsheba turned and faced her maid but could not return the woman’s smile. “He’ll know.” She could not lie to him, and his one look at her would force her to give herself away.

“He won’t unless you tell him.”

“Anittas will tell him.”

“Anittas knows nothing. He only knows you were summoned to the palace and returned after dark.”

“He acts like he knows more.”

“Humph! Anittas likes to pretend too much.” Tirzah took the distaff from Bathsheba’s clenched hands. “If you love Uriah, you will do this for his sake. For his pride. For his heir.”

“His pride will not want me.” The shaking grew, and she could no longer stand. Tirzah guided her inside the tent to a bench, where she managed to sit before her legs gave way.

“He loves you, Bathsheba. Once he comes, tell him the truth and fall on his mercy. When he is reminded of your great beauty, his heart will win over his head.”

Bathsheb
a stared at her trembling hands and clenched them in her lap. She looked a
t Tirzah, eyes blurring with tears. “You cannot know that. No one can know what Uriah will do.”

“Of course not. But soon he will be home and then you will know. The king has sent for him to fix the problem. Perhaps the king will confess everything to him and save you the trouble.” She sat beside her and patted Bathsheba’s hand. “In the meantime,” she said, her practical nature taking over as it always did, “let’s do what we can and leave the rest to Adonai.”

Bathsheba slowly nodded, but her heart could not agree. Adonai’s law was what demanded her death for adultery. If the law were to be upheld, there could be no mercy.

20

Uriah stopped at the Eastern Gate near the Gihon Spring, sweat making his tunic stick to him like a second skin. He glanced at the royal guard, the man’s exhaustion matching his own. He needed sleep and a good meal before he stepped into the king’s presence, but he would settle for a dip in the spring to wash the sweat and grime from his body. A fresh tunic lay tucked in his pouch, and the time it would take to clean up would be worth the results of not overpowering the court with the stench of his own body’s odor.

“Give me some time here. I won’t be long.”

The guard nodded, standing watch while Uriah quickly scrubbed and changed into his fresh tunic. Refreshed and redressed in his military garb, Uriah picked up his pace beside the king’s guard and marched in silence the rest of the way to the palace. At the outer portico of the king’s house, the guard who had attended him left his side, while two more flanked him, announced his presence, and escorted him into the king’s audience chamber.

“Uriah, my friend, how goes the battle?” The king’s earnest gaze held his, and he leaned forward, as if eager for any news Uriah had to offer.

Uriah stood straight, not used to such attention from the king, carefully choosing his words. “Things are progressing slowly. The Ammonites have holed up inside their city, but daily Joab and Abishai and some of the other commanders try new ways to draw them out. The hottest battles are near the walls, of course, where the Ammonites have a secluded spot near the citadel to shoot at us with their arrows. We have yet to breach the walls, but we have stopped all travel and commerce from reaching them and refilling their supplies. In time we will starve them out, if nothing less.”

The king leaned back, his hands tented beneath his chin. “Good. The plans are all good.” His gaze grew thoughtful, as though he would say something more, perhaps offer a military stratagem, but he seemed to think better of it and gave his head a slight shake. “And Joab? How does the general fare?”

Uriah drew a hand over his mouth, forcing himself not to yawn. He quickly straightened again, holding himself erect, aware even through his weariness and hunger that to be singled out in such a manner had a purpose. “The general is well, my lord. Grouchy as ever.”

The king chuckled at that, and an easy smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “The man is brilliant, I’ll give him that, but ‘grouchy,’ as you say, is putting it kindly. Joab is bullheaded and stubborn and a thorn in the side.” He leaned forward again, his hands gripping the lions’ heads on the arms of his gilded throne, his knuckles showing white.

“As you say, my lord.” Uriah sensed sudden tension in the room and sought to dispel it but wasn’t sure how. He gave the king a slight smile, but he waited to see if he would finally discover the reason he had been singled out and summoned on a courier’s mission.

“And how are the men doing? Are their spirits up?”

The questions seemed normal enough, yet Uriah knew the king was given regular reports of such things. Was this truly the only reason he had been dragged here—to bring such basic news to appease the king’s curiosity?

“The men grow weary with the heat, but their hopes are high that we will soon press the attack and take the city.” He paused, assessing his options. To suggest that instead of sitting here asking for such reports, the king might prefer to return with Uriah and join their ranks seemed worth the risk of offending him, given that David seemed to be groping for things to say. “They miss the king’s songs when they are resting under the stars. Perhaps my lord would return with me and grant their wishes.” He lifted a brow, hoping to spark the king’s interest. But David’s gaze had drifted beyond him as though his thoughts had strayed far from his men or their wishes.

“Soon, perhaps,” the king said at last. “Thank you for the report.” David leaned back in his chair once more and waved a servant forward. The man approached and bowed low. “Take the gift I have prepared to the house of Uriah the Hittite.” He aimed a look at Uriah and smiled while the man backed quickly away to do the king’s bidding. “Go down to your house and wash your feet.”

Uriah stared, taken aback by the sudden turn of conversation. At David’s dismissal, he backed away from the king and left the palace, his mind churning. The king had never in his recollection suggested a man sleep with his wife while on a military mission. Long ago, before Uriah had ever joined David’s band of mighty men, the soldiers had known David’s policy was firm. No interaction with women during wartime. Sometimes that meant even the few days before a battle when they were still in their homes with their wives in their beds. The edict had caused Uriah to sleep on a pallet away from Bathsheba, knowing he could never keep from touching her if she was pressed so close.