Michal (47 page)

The walled gardens directly opposite his bedchamber usually gave David a welcome respite from his hectic court life. But even here the drought reached, making fig trees fail to produce and normally shiny flowers droop, their petals falling like teardrops to the dry earth.

David flexed his fingers and raked one hand through his thick hair. How could Saul have sought to kill these people? For as long as David could remember, the Gibeonites, protected by an ancient covenant with their ancestor Joshua, had been a peace-loving tribe. They didn’t try to push their territory beyond their borders and weren’t violent or trouble-making men. So why on earth would Saul murder them?

David began a slow walk along the smooth stones of the garden path, hands clasped behind him. Memories of Saul’s bloodthirsty order to kill the priests flashed in his mind’s eye. Though he hadn’t been there, David had imagined the gory details many times in his nightmares. As with the priests, Saul had also killed the Gibeonites because he cared only for himself.

He stopped in front of a spreading tamarisk bush and ran one hand over the prickly branches. They needed water. Barley harvest was about to begin, and David wondered if his family’s normally lush land in Bethlehem would produce enough grain to keep them fed. Three years was a long time to go without a good crop.

Please, Lord, put an end to this famine.

He’d uttered the same prayer a hundred times. Turning on his heel, he headed back toward his room, glancing at the sundial along the way. The Gibeonites should be arriving in Jerusalem within the hour, if his sources were correct. Maybe then he would finally have some answers.

The trumpet sounded, announcing David’s arrival, and the hall grew quiet as the people waited for him to take his throne. Moments after the normal preliminaries, a scribe announced a contingent of foreigners, whose leaders strode forward as a group and bowed low at David’s feet.

“May my lord, King David, live forever.” An aged man with silver hair and a bent back straightened as best he could and stepped forward, touching the scepter David extended to him.

David assessed the men before him. “What shall I do for you? And with what shall I make atonement, that you may bless the inheritance of the Lord?”

The old man averted his gaze a moment, staring at the mosaic floor, then lifted his head and sighed. “We will have no silver or gold from Saul or from his house, nor shall you kill any man in Israel for us.”

David felt a measure of relief rush through him. “Whatever you say, I will do for you.”

A collective breath suspended over the room at his announcement. David looked to his sons and advisors. At the sight of Mephibosheth, he paused, reading fear in the man’s gaze.

“As for the man who consumed us and plotted against us, that we should be destroyed from remaining in any of the territories of Israel,” the man said, commanding the attention of the entire hall, “let seven men of his descendants be delivered to us, and we will hang them before the Lord in Gibeah of Saul, whom the Lord chose.”

A trail of gasps moved around the room, and David watched all color drain from Mephibosheth’s face. He looked back to the spokesmen as the crowd stilled.

“I will give them.” David’s voice cut the silence of the court.

“Thank you, my lord,” the old man said.

David turned to his scribe and whispered directions, then spoke to Benaiah. “Go, send for Armoni and Mephibosheth, the two sons of Rizpah . . .” He glanced again across the hall at Jonathan’s son. “I will spare Mephibosheth, son of Jonathan, and his son, Micha, for Jonathan’s sake.” David’s eyes met Mephibosheth’s before turning back to Benaiah. “And send for the five sons of Merab, whom she bore to Adriel the Meholathite. These seven I will give to the Gibeonites, that the Lord may lift the famine from Israel.”

“No! He can’t have them. I won’t let him!” Michal pushed past Keziah, who had delivered the awful news, and hurried down the corridors, slithering by unsuspecting guards. Her whole body trembled.

Please, God, let it be a lie.

She reached David’s audience chamber, determined to force her way in, when one of the guards caught her arms, bringing her to a sudden halt.

“Hold on, mistress. You can’t go in there. You do not have permission.” His grip tightened as she fought to free herself.

“I have to see the king. He’s made a terrible mistake. I must see him!” Michal pounded her fists against the guard’s chest until he grabbed her wrists to stop her.

“The king does not wish to see you, Michal.” Benaiah spoke from behind her.

Michal turned stricken eyes on the burly warrior, head of David’s private guard, the man who had once tried to free her from her father and take her to David—in another place, a lifetime ago. The sight of him now did not hold the same hope it once did. He was wholly devoted to David, and David didn’t want anything to do with her. The thought made her heart sink and tears sting.

“Benaiah, you must speak to him for me. They’re going to execute my nephews—all five of them. Please, Benaiah, I have to stop him before it’s too late.” Her broken sobs made her breath come in short gasps. The guard loosened his grip on her. She fell to her knees before Benaiah, hands clasped in front of her. “Please, Benaiah, take me to him.”

“I have orders to keep you away.”

The quiet words tore at her heart.

“Please!” She was sobbing now, not caring what anyone thought of her.
Malchi, Benni, Rueben, Jacob, Joel.
Her heart cried out their names, remembering each young face despite the fact they were grown men. She hadn’t seen them in two years, not since David had banned them from the royal court. Still, they were like sons to her. She couldn’t lose them now.

“It’s too late, Michal.” David’s voice broke through her sobs, arresting her breath. “The Gibeonites asked for seven sons of Saul to stop the curse of the famine, to pay for the harm your father brought on them when he tried to exterminate them. Sometimes a few must die for the good of the people.”

The compassion in his voice gave her courage to look into his still charmingly handsome face. “Are they . . . are they . . .”

“They’re already dead.”

She didn’t want to cry, to give him the satisfaction. Hadn’t he done enough damage?

“Why my nephews, David?” The bitter words came out before she could stop them. “Why choose so many from one family, leaving none to console me? Did you do it to spite me? Am I so odious in your eyes that you had to kill the only men I could call sons?” She rose to her feet, hands clenched at her sides. When she took a step toward him, Benaiah restrained her.

She tried to wrench free. “Let me go!” She turned on him, fury making her beat his thick chest with her fists. “What’s the matter? Are you afraid I’ll hurt your precious king?”

David’s cool voice from behind tamed her flailing arms. “You haven’t changed.”

Michal twisted her head, her body still held in Benaiah’s iron grip, and met David’s level gaze.

“Take this woman back to her rooms and post a guard. See that her needs are met.” He turned and walked in the opposite direction without a backward glance.

37

Michal paced the lengthy chamber, perspiration beading her forehead, her fists clenched. She wanted to scream and wail, but the sounds stuck in her throat. How had her life come to this? She was secluded from all happenings in the palace, the city, and the nation. Except for Keziah, she had no one to talk to on a regular basis, and she would never be held in a man’s arms again. The ache of it all made her ill to the core. Seeing David dressed in his finest with a glittering crown on his head, looking down on her with compassion, had made her yearn for him again with a fierceness she thought long dead.

She would have given anything to feel the touch of his fingers against her cheek, to hear his whispered words soothe her grief. And then she had ruined it. Her bitterness had bubbled to the surface before she could stop it, and she’d shown David the side of her she now despised—as much as she had once despised him.

Oh, God, what had she done? How could she ever make it right? Her feet found their way to her bedchamber, and she fell to her knees beside her bed. She didn’t really know how to pray. Oh, she had heard David speak words to Adonai many times, but he’d spoken so easily, as though he knew Him. Michal realized with sudden clarity that she did not know the God of Israel. Not the way David did.

She snatched a pillow from the pristine bed and hugged it to her chest, leaning against the wooden frame. Why should she care whether she knew the Lord or not? Adonai had stolen everything—every man she’d ever held dear. Even David. But she could hardly blame God for that loss.

She buried her face in the pillow and rocked back and forth, moaning. Anger nearly choked her as the bitter tears wet the fabric. Why was God so mean to her? Was He punishing her for the way she’d acted, for the lies she’d told?

Was He trying to tell her something?

The thought had never occurred to her before, and with it came a sense of longing. How could David know
Adonai
El Elyon
, the Lord Most High God, so well? Was it possible . . . could she know Him too? The thought sent a shiver of fear up her spine.

Did she want to?

What if she came to Him and gave Him everything she had left, and He took the rest? If she’d learned one thing in her life, it was that God could not be trusted. Every time she’d wanted something and begged Him for it, she’d lost it soon after He gave it. Her father’s times of peace never lasted. David never stayed home, and after he left her, he never came back, no matter how many prayers she’d uttered.

She gulped a sob and pushed up from the floor, flinging the pillow onto the bed. Sullenly, she wandered into her adjacent gardens and sank onto a wooden bench. Her fingers stroked the clay pot that had once held her favorite rose of Sharon, now dried up from lack of water. Relentless tears smarted again, and she sniffed away the emotion. God had taken the beauty from her only place of refuge.

Why, God? Why are You doing this?

Her thoughts drifted again to her early days with David, the joy they had found in each other’s arms. How short-lived it had all been. David was supposed to have been the means to her gaining control of her life and one day ruling at his side. What had happened to it all? She curled both fists and squeezed them, closing her eyes.