Michal (46 page)

Fear gripped her, making her blood run cold. She looked warily at Keziah. “When?”

“The servants said the caravan carrying Jonathan’s son was seen entering Jerusalem’s gates moments ago, my lady. They should be arriving at the palace shortly.”

Why would David want Jonathan’s son except to harm him? “I have to warn him, Keziah. Before it’s too late.”

Keziah placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Why do you fear, my lady? You cannot stop the king’s decree. Besides, has David harmed your other nephews or Rizpah’s sons?”

Michal stared at the woman, her heartbeat slowing a pace. She was right, of course. David had never done anything to hurt her family. Why should she think any differently of him now?

Except that now she had shown him how much she despised him. Her own loathing fueled her fear. He knew she hated him.

And she knew he must hate her in return.

She turned away from Keziah’s searching gaze and walked into her bedchamber, flinging herself across the bed. Why had she allowed her feelings to overcome her good sense? Why had she spoken such bitter words?

Now it was too late.

David rested both hands on the gilded arms of his throne, watching the crippled son of Jonathan drag his disfigured feet behind him. It had taken six months to find Saul’s servant Ziba and arrange for Mephibosheth to get here. Now Mephibosheth leaned heavily on Ziba’s arm across the length of the audience chamber. Pain beat a path to David’s heart. The son of Jonathan deserved better.

When the young man reached the throne, he let go of the servant and fell to his face on the tiled floor.

“Mephibosheth?” David’s voice filled with compassion.

“Here is your servant!”

David watched the man’s shoulders shake. He motioned to a guard to help Mephibosheth to his feet. When their eyes met, David smiled. “Do not fear, Mephibosheth, for I will surely show you kindness for Jonathan your father’s sake, and I will restore to you the land of Saul your grandfather, and you will eat bread at my table.”

Mephibosheth bowed his head, his voice low. “What is your servant that you should look upon such a dead dog as I?”

David studied Mephibosheth, searching for some resemblance to his old friend. The man was thin and weak limbed, but the somber olive brown eyes were Jonathan’s. He smiled, silently thanking the Lord that he could at last fulfill his vow.

“Ziba,” David said to the servant, “I have given to your master’s son all that belonged to Saul and his house. Therefore you and your sons and your servants will work the land for him, and you will bring in the harvest, that your master’s son may have food to eat. But Mephibosheth your master’s son will always eat bread at my table.” David’s gaze shifted to Mephibosheth, warmed by the man’s awed smile.

“According to all that my lord the king has commanded his servant, so will your servant do.” Ziba knelt, head bowed in respect.

“As for Mephibosheth,” David said, smiling, “he will eat at my table like one of the king’s sons.”

It was the least he could do.

36

Five Years Later

Michal sat in the center of her private garden, fanning herself from the arid heat and staring at the sparse almond leaves and wilted flowers. Two years after Mephibosheth had come to live near David’s home, the famine had set in, and now, three years later, the drought had withered the plants and dried up the soil until the people cried continually at the king’s gate for something to be done.

Surely by now David must realize that God was punishing them. Why else would He withhold life-giving rain and allow the heat to zap the moisture from the already dry land? The thought unnerved her. Could she be the cause? Was Adonai punishing the nation because she had despised her husband?

Her gaze drifted across the garden to the life-size teraphim standing guard on either side of the entrance—household gods she had once vowed she would never look at again. She’d changed her mind when she realized David meant what he said and would never come back. Somehow the sight of them reminded her of happier days when David had belonged only to her.

She choked out a brittle laugh. Even the memories mocked her, and she wondered, not for the first time, why she chose to torment herself with them. She bent to pick up a clump of dry earth and flung it at the teraphim. Her mother had once thought of the images as some kind of magic charm against her father’s demons. But they’d held no power to help her mother or father then or to help her realize her dreams now. They only managed to fuel her resentment. Ishby would have frowned on the images, and Jonathan would have demanded she destroy them.

She bristled, frustrated at her own confused train of thought. If she hadn’t used one as a ruse to help David escape all those years ago, things might have been different.

She brushed the remnants of dirt from her palms and went back to fanning herself. Who was she kidding? If she could do things over again, she would have helped him exactly as she had then. She’d loved him with abandon. And it had been the death of her dreams.

Sighing, Michal stood and walked toward the teraphim, examining the carved wood and intricate gold overlay. David would smash them in a heartbeat if he knew.

You shall have no other gods before Me.
Jonathan’s words haunted her now. She was acting just like her mother. Perhaps Adonai was angry with her. Could her household gods be the cause of the famine?

The thought made the blood drain from her face, and she thought she might faint. She needed air. But the air was oppressive inside and out, and she was sick to death of the small section of the house in which she was allowed.

Cries from outside the palace walls drifted to her on the still afternoon air. Men and women should be resting on their beds until this heat wave ended. But their voices permeated the cedar beams and marble halls until Michal wanted to tear her hair out.

She whirled about, shoved one of the teraphim on its side, and strode into her bedchamber, longing for relief. Guilt nudged her, but she shushed it away. It wasn’t her fault the land was ravaged by famine. How could it be? God wouldn’t condemn a whole nation because of one woman.

And why did she even worry about such things? The problem rested with David. Let him find a solution.

The audience chamber with its marble floors and cedar-lined walls offered little respite from the continuous oppressive heat. David drummed his fingers on one arm of his gilded throne while servants lifted palm branches and papyrus fans to cool the air around him. The prophet Nathan strode across the floor, arms tucked into the sleeves of his brown robe. When he reached the throne, David motioned for him to sit beside him.

“Welcome, my friend. Thank you for coming.”

“I could not have done otherwise, my king. You have something you need from me?” Nathan took the seat offered him and rested his hands on his knees. His aqua eyes sparkled, and his lips curved in pleasure. He was a tall man with a straight black beard and hair extending halfway down his back. The lean prophet, a few years David’s junior, had taken the Nazarite vow never to cut his hair or drink wine. He had joined David’s special council soon after the ark came to Jerusalem.

David studied the simple dress and guileless smile of the prophet and sighed. Such an uncomplicated, joy-filled life Nathan lived, communing with Yahweh day after day.

“I want you to inquire of the Lord for me, Nathan. I need to know the cause of this famine.”

Nathan stroked his beard. “You think the Lord is punishing Israel, my king?”

David sighed heavily. “I wish I knew, Nathan. If He is, I need to know.”

The prophet nodded and stood. “I will seek the Lord on your behalf, my lord.”

David dipped his head in acknowledgment as Nathan walked from the room.

During the evening meal, while David sat with his sons, Mephibosheth among them, Nathan strode into the dining hall. David stood at Nathan’s approach.

“What has the Lord said to you?”

Nathan’s gaze seized David’s, sending chills up his spine. “Thus says the Lord.” The clank of silver goblets and the din of voices drifted to silence. All eyes looked to the prophet. Nathan drew in a slow breath and spread his arms wide. “The cause of the famine is due to Saul and his bloody house because he tried to exterminate the Gibeonites.”

David’s tense muscles relaxed, relieved his own guilt wasn’t the cause of such misery among his people. “Did the Lord say what I am to do about this?”

Nathan shook his head. “No, my lord. This is all He said.”

David sat back in his seat, his thoughts sifting through the possibilities. He would confer with his counselors and send for the leaders of the Gibeonites. There must be some way to make amends so the land would be blessed once again.