Michal (21 page)

Saul lifted his spear as Jonathan shoved the bench aside and backed away from the table. His heart pounded. Which way would he throw the spear?

Saul pulled his arm back, and the weapon flew from his hand. Jonathan ducked and sprinted toward the door. The spear whizzed past and clattered across the tile floor.

Heat flooded Jonathan’s cheeks. He glanced back at the shocked faces of his brothers and the king’s advisors. What madness was this? Did his father actually think he could fight against God and win?

When he reached the ornate door, Jonathan looked one last time at his father, pulse racing, bile rising in his throat. So this was how it was going to be. The king’s blackened gaze still burned, and his face contorted in a disgusted scowl. Jonathan’s eyes settled on him long enough to make his father turn away, then he whirled about and strode with dogged steps out of the palace.

When he reached the cool night air, fresh anguish assaulted him.
David.
A heavy, boulderlike lump lay where his heart should be. What would become of his friend now? He couldn’t stay here. Father would never stop seeking his life.

A large stone caught the lip of his sandal, and he kicked it aside mercilessly. Such a fool he’d been! To think he, heir apparent to the throne of Israel, would somehow be able to just hand the kingdom over to David with his father’s blessing sounded ludicrous to him now. His father had shown little sense since the second year of his reign, when he’d impatiently offered a sacrifice in Samuel’s place. Then there were those two rash oaths Saul had taken during a war with the Philistines.

Jonathan’s shoulders lifted in a heavy, defeated sigh. One of those oaths had nearly gotten him killed. If it weren’t for the people of Israel taking his side in the matter, his father would have executed him to save his own pride.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair and glanced at the winking, starlit sky. His father didn’t deserve to be king. David deserved to wear the crown in his father’s place.

If David lived that long.

His shoulders slumped, and his feet grew leaden with every weary step. He desperately needed to pray before he took the bad news to David.

David stretched his stiff body from its cramped position in a huge rock crevice. Three nights of sleeping in the fields was nothing new. He’d spent countless weeks and months tending sheep and enacting military campaigns in similar spots. But few had left such a resigned ache in his gut.

He tilted his head and stood, rolling his shoulders to ease the kinks in his neck. Beyond the outcropping of rocks, tufts of grass began to glisten with the morning dew.

David crouched, grabbed a stick, and poked the last few embers of the dying fire. His stomach groaned. Only a handful of dates and almonds remained in the sack Jonathan had given him, and the bread was long gone.

A soft, cool breeze tickled the hair on his bare legs. He cinched his striped robe at the neck, closing the gap, and glanced at the lightening sky. Jonathan would come soon. At least then he would know.

The stick exposed a few glowing ashes, and David tossed a handful of dirt on them, killing the fire. One knee touched the dusty earth, and in the next instant David dropped face forward, hands spread in front of him.

“O Lord, my enemies surround me, and my life hangs by a breath.”

Raw emotion scraped his throat. Words he ached to say died on his lips. What good could possibly come from all of this?

The sound of muffled voices in the distance reached him. He pushed up from the ground and stood, brushing the layer of dust from his robe. A man and a boy were walking toward him. Jonathan was early.

The voices grew louder until they were within shooting distance of a bow.

“Now run, find the arrows that I shoot,” David heard Jonathan say.

A zinging dart whizzed past the reddish clay boulder that hid David from easy view. Quick, young feet pounded the earth a stone’s throw from David.

“Is not the arrow beyond you? Make haste, hurry, do not delay.”

The words wounded, their meaning clear.

“Go, carry them to the city.”

Jonathan must have given the lad his weapons. David peeked around the edge of the rock, watching the boy’s back through blurred vision. When he disappeared from sight, David rubbed rough fingers over his eyes, then smoothed his rumpled robe. With hesitant feet, he stepped from behind the outcropping of rocks and walked to the middle of the field where Jonathan stood.

He stopped in front of his friend and fell to his knees. He bowed to the ground three times, then remained prostrate, his face to the dirt. His head lifted at Jonathan’s touch. In an instant, the prince pulled him to his feet and kissed each cheek.

David swallowed the heavy lump wedged in his throat. “I take it your father missed me?” He attempted a wry smile, his nervous fingers raking one hand through his unkempt hair.

“You could say that.” Jonathan’s royal robe flapped behind him, and the wind tugged at his silver-crowned hair. His gaze held no trace of mirth—only sadness.

A rush of emotion again blurred David’s vision. “This is good-bye, then.” What was he supposed to do now? Where could he go where Saul could not find him?

“Go in peace, since we have both sworn in Adonai’s name, saying, ‘May Adonai be between you and me, and between your descendants and my descendants, forever.’ ” Jonathan’s usually steady voice faltered, and his right hand gripped David’s shoulder. “Surely we will meet again someday.”

David searched the prince’s teary gaze. Would that it were true! His throat closed with an ache as sharp as a sword. Thick, stinging tears coated his beard. Jonathan’s muscular arms wrapped David in a fierce hug.

“You must hurry, my friend, before the sun rises much higher in the sky. My father already has his guards on alert, and if you’re not careful, he may have men combing the area soon.”

He held David at arm’s length. “God go with you, David.” He kissed each tear-soaked cheek again.

David bowed low one last time. “And with you, my prince.”

The sun had fully crested the horizon now, and David turned south—away from Gibeah, away from Michal and Jonathan, away from all he held dear. His weary feet picked up the pace as a sudden noise fueled gut-twisting fear.
What
was that?

One swift glance over his shoulder attempted to put his mind at ease. Must have been an animal or bird. But just the same he clung to the shadows and ran through forests and tall grasses of neighboring fields.

His prayers came in desperate spurts, and his blood thudded through his veins like a horse’s pounding hooves.

Help. Please, God, let someone give me food and shelter, at
least until I can figure out where to go and what to do.

The
clop
, hobble,
clop
of Michal using her walking stick on the stone floor reminded her of the crippled old man that begged near the city gate. She’d seen the toothless beggar when she’d ridden her donkey behind her father in a royal parade. Now, bent over and limping, she imagined herself gnarled and old like him. She would be grateful when her foot healed and she could cast the stick to the dogs.

The palace walls gave off an oppressive air today, smothering her. Something had changed. The guards were tense, the servants nervous. Merab had stayed home, and Mother was off somewhere. She’d passed her father’s concubine, Rizpah, when she left the dining hall. The seductive woman had entered the west door with her infant son while Michal had struggled to walk through the opposite way. Otherwise the place held a stony silence.

The family courtyard stretched before her, and Michal tried to walk unaided the last few steps to a wooden bench. If she could just get her foot used to her weight again, she could leave the palace and go home. Home to David. Had he come for her? Would he know where to find her?

She used the strength in her arms to lower her body to the bench. A walk through the connecting gardens would be so refreshing. The garden where she and David had met before their wedding—the night Merab married Adriel and David indicated his interest in her. She allowed the tension in her back to slowly release and flipped the long strands of her braided hair over the bench.

She had to get away from the captivity of her father’s house. Surely David would come for her soon. If only she could get a message to him. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ward off the oppression, to dispel the ever-present fear.

“Michal,” a voice whispered from the direction of the gardens.

Michal’s eyes flew open, and she sat up straight, peering across the wide courtyard. She leaned forward and grabbed the stick, forcing herself to stand again.

“Who’s there?” The
clop
, hobble,
clop
on the courtyard stones almost drowned out the sound of her voice as she walked toward the gardens. Fear raised the hair on her arms, and Michal stopped when she reached the gardens’ gate. “Who’s there?”

“Don’t raise your voice.” Jonathan stepped from the shadows and gripped Michal’s arm. His eyes were ringed in dark circles, and ashes coated his hair and beard. In one swift glance Michal noted his torn robe and bare feet. Had someone died?

Her stomach leaped to her racing heart, and her knees wanted to crumple beneath her weight. “What happened, Jonathan? Is it David?” Her voice came out in a high-pitched squeak.

She felt Jonathan’s strong arms pull her against his chest, and his head bent to her ear. “Shhh . . . Be quiet, Michal.” His older-brother sternness held a certain comfort. “What I’m about to tell you must remain our secret. Do you promise?”

“I promise.” She would do anything for David.

“Father is committed to killing your husband.” Jonathan paused. “I’ve sent him away, Michal. He’ll never be safe in the king’s court again.”

Michal’s stomach dropped and somersaulted, and she bit down hard on her lower lip, fighting tears. “I want to go with him, Jonathan. You must take me to him!”

Jonathan held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes, his own haggard with emotion. “You can’t go with him, Michal. You can barely walk. David will need to run far and fast. You would only put him in more danger.”

He was right, of course.

“When I’m well then. Promise me you’ll take me to him then, Jonathan.”

Jonathan studied her with resigned sadness. “I can’t make a promise like that, Michal. You can see how I came to tell you this. If Father catches me here, there’ll be no end of trouble. He threw his spear at me yesterday.”

Michal’s free hand clutched her stomach. Father tried to kill his own son? Heir to his throne?

Tears squeezed past her closed lids, and Michal sniffed back a sob. “What am I going to do, Jonathan?” she asked. “I can’t stay here without David. I’m going out of my mind in this place.” A slow shudder worked its way through her body, making her tremble uncontrollably. “What am I going to do?”

Jonathan pulled her close again and kissed the top of her head. “We will do what we always do, Michal. We will live with our father’s madness and pray for David’s safety. The rest is out of our control.” He released his grip, looked at her until she acknowledged his words with a nod, and left.

The moment Michal knew Jonathan was out of earshot, her legs gave way and she crumpled in a heap.

David!

She groaned like a wounded animal, wrapped both arms around her knees, and rocked back and forth on the dusty ground. There must be something she could do to help him. He needed her. More importantly, she needed him.

Her tears spent, she dried her eyes on the edge of her sleeve and used her walking stick to force her legs to stand. Tingly sensations ran from her knee to her sore foot, and Michal gently shook it, trying to wake it up and release the added pain. She needed to do something, however small. But whom could she trust?

Clop
, hobble,
clop
. The familiar, annoying sound broke the silence of the courtyard as she made her way back to her prisonlike room. Halfway down the deserted hall, Michal stopped. What if she could get to the stable and find David’s horse? She could ride after him and give him the horse, which would help him go farther faster. Then they could sleep in caves together, alone, away from all the distractions that had plagued their marriage from the beginning.