Michal (45 page)

Just like her father had.

A tremor worked through her. She couldn’t endure that again. Couldn’t live with a king who was driven to madness.

The crowd reached the entrance to the tent, and the priests turned and continued walking. They would be stopping at the front of the tabernacle. There would be sacrifices and feasting and more singing. But Michal had seen enough. She turned from the window and stalked toward the stairs, heart pounding, fists clenched at her sides.

How could he do this to her? He was the king! Kings didn’t act like common people. Hadn’t he learned that by now?

When she reached the bottom step, Michal took the hall leading back to her apartment, seething. David was acting like a fool. The thought seized her and turned her heart cold. She hated him with a fierceness that took her breath away. Then, without warning, a strange peace settled over her, like an unexpected calm before a storm.

David was a simple shepherd, a usurper of her father’s throne. Without her, he had no right to rule Israel. It was time he realized it.

David looked out over the dispersing crowd, quiet joy filling all the spaces in his heart. What a day! God’s mercy had shined on their efforts, and the ark of the Lord now rested in the tent he had prepared for it. Once again the feeling of awe and humility swept over him, leaving his heart open and bare. But he wasn’t afraid anymore. Yahweh had examined his heart, pierced his soul, and cleansed his hidden sins. He felt clean, usable, and the joy of the Lord made his heart sing.

With a parting glance toward the front of the tent where the ark now rested, David turned and walked to the tent opening. Benaiah stood waiting to escort him.

“Your robe, my lord.” Benaiah held David’s gold and blue embroidered robe open, and David slipped his arms through the sleeves.

“Thank you, Benaiah.” He accepted the crown from Benaiah’s outstretched hand and slipped the signet ring back on his finger. “Although I’d almost prefer the humble ephod over this. Brings a man’s thoughts in line with how insignificant he really is, you know?”

Benaiah nodded and fell into step beside David as he moved out of the tent and began the walk back to the palace. “Your actions today endeared you to the people, my lord. But I think you were too concerned with Adonai’s opinion to notice.”

David stopped to look at the guard and smiled. “I’ll take whatever blessings God allows, my friend. I couldn’t help but feel the need to strip myself of the trappings the people place on me when coming before the Lord. He is Israel’s true king.”

The marble steps of the palace loomed before them, and the two walked in silence to the halls leading to the royal family’s private quarters. When they reached the audience chamber, David spotted Michal walking toward them, head held high, eyes flashing. On instinct he stiffened.

“How the king of Israel distinguished himself today! He uncovered himself today in the eyes of his servants’ maids as one of the foolish ones shamelessly uncovers himself!” Michal flung the words at him like sharp barbs, her voice rising with every word.

David stood still under the arch of the covered portico, staring into her hardened dark eyes. The joy of the day vanished under her icy glare, and in an instant David saw into her bitter soul.

She hated him. She stood there acting like his superior, condemning his actions. Why? Because he’d removed the symbols of royalty? How did that make him immodest or shameless? He’d done it for Yahweh, because only Yahweh is king.

But Yahweh did not rule Michal’s heart, nor could she understand someone whose life was lived in devotion to Him. The thought sank to the pit of his gut, making him unutterably sad.

She would never understand him. He saw it all too clearly now.

The moment stretched to an eternity until David finally spoke. “It was before the Lord, who chose me instead of your father and his house, to appoint me ruler over the people of the Lord, over Israel.” He lowered his voice, but it still carried across the room. “So I will play music before the Lord. And I will be even more undignified than this and will be humble in my own sight.” He paused, searching her face for some flicker of remorse, but was greeted only with disdain. “But as for the maidservants of whom you have spoken,” he continued, “I will be held in honor by them.”

“And I suppose if they look on you with respect, you’ll be adding them to our number?”

David almost flinched but caught himself. So that was her problem. She just couldn’t accept the fact that he had taken other wives. What did she expect of him? A king took wives to make alliances, to keep war at bay, to strengthen his kingdom. He had swallowed that bitter reality long ago. If she cared about him, she would understand.

But she didn’t care. He could see it now in her rigid stance and cold stare. Goliath had looked less menacing.

He met her silent glare with one of his own and straightened his shoulders, taking the kingly posture she expected. “If I choose to add more wives to my family, it is not your concern, Michal. Your part is to support me as a first wife should, in being an example to the others. But seeing as you scorn your role and disdain my choices, I will grant you what your heart seems to desire. You will live in my home, but do not expect to see my face again.”

He watched shock register on her beautiful face. But in the next instant, her eyes grew cold once again, her fists balled at her sides.

“Take this woman back to her rooms, Benaiah.” David forced his voice to sound casual, hiding his sense of loss. “She is not welcome here.” With that, he turned and strode with brisk steps to the roof where he could mourn in peace.

35

Grief. That had to be what he was feeling—as though he had lost Jonathan all over again. He should never have allowed the woman to have such power over him. Didn’t he know that? Hadn’t he clung to that belief long ago?

He had no one to blame but himself, of course. If he hadn’t allowed her innocent beauty to entice him, hadn’t succumbed to the longings of youthful love, hadn’t thought that the way to the kingdom might be through marrying into Saul’s family, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

David closed his eyes where he sat among cushions in his rooftop pavilion and buried his face in his hands. It was weakness that made him so miserable. If the truth were known, women held his heart far too easily. And he never should have given so much of it to Michal.

He had loved her once—thought he still did. Until today. But time had changed her. He could still feel the hatred in her glare, see the ice in her eyes.

Could any woman’s love last?

Jonathan would never have turned on him like that. But then Jonathan shared his love for Yahweh. Obviously Michal did not.

Sudden restlessness overtook him. He stood and paced the small room, soon tiring of the confines of the darkened tent. He slipped under the flap and walked along the rim of the parapet.

Was anyone left of the house of Jonathan? He’d vowed he would protect his friend’s family, but in all the struggles to advance the kingdom, he’d forgotten. How could he have been so faithless?

His thoughts lashed out at him, berating him. Maybe he couldn’t change Michal’s heart, but he could do something for Jonathan’s offspring, if he could find them. He walked to the stairs where a guard stood.

“My lord the king.” The guard bowed in respect.

“Summon my counselors. Have them meet me in my private chambers.”

“Yes, my lord.” The man turned to do his bidding.

“Is anyone left of the house of Saul, that I may show him kindness for Jonathan’s sake?” David looked around at Ahithophel, Hushai, Joab, Benaiah, and Abishai, trusted soldiers and friends. If anyone could find this information for him, they could.

“You mean besides Merab’s sons or the sons of Saul by his concubine, Rizpah?” A scowl worked its way up to Joab’s eyes. “Michal has already pushed hard for her nephews’ positions in your kingdom, my lord. You’ve been more than gracious toward her requests by even allowing them to live. Isn’t that kindness enough?”

David heard the underlying bitterness in Joab’s tone and tented his fingers beneath his bearded chin. Merab’s sons were surly, insolent young men, a constant reminder of Saul’s slights against him. He had put up with them for Michal’s sake.

But didn’t Jonathan have an heir?

“Most kings would have killed every member of their rival’s families, my lord,” Ahithophel said. “Besides, if you pursue this, the people may think you need Saul’s goodwill to hold your kingdom together—that you are weak without Saul. And when they find out you’ve banished Michal, they may think you are grasping to hold their favor. With all due respect, my lord, you are stronger without Saul’s family.”

David drummed his fingers on the cushion beside him. “I made a vow to Jonathan, Ahithophel. I am bound by honor and by Adonai to keep it.”

The older man nodded his acquiescence. “In that case,” he said, “I know of a servant of Saul—a man named Ziba. He may be able to answer your question.”

David’s heart lifted. “Thank you, my friend.” He looked toward the standing guard. “Find Ziba and bring him to me.”

“Mephibosheth is coming here?” Michal’s heart thumped at the painful memory of Jonathan’s crippled son. Sometimes, when she lay alone in her bed, Sarah’s distraught screams still rang in her ears, and the twisted legs of her nephew materialized before her closed eyes. She should have sought him out and demanded Paltiel allow her to care for him years ago when his mother died. Why had she let Paltiel’s aversion to his handicap keep her from compassion? And what would David do with him now?