Queenmaker (19 page)

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Authors: India Edghill

BOOK: Queenmaker
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Yes, it was a great day for King David, to have Jonathan’s son come to him. That was the day King David spread all his prizes before the people, that men might look upon them and marvel. And this time I saw all for myself, for I was there. I was King Saul’s daughter.
I, too, was a prize.
 
 
Once more I saw the king’s great courtyard, where he sat to pass judgment. Now David sat there to show his power and his mercy. The king’s chair was set before a glazed garden of lilies and reeds and lotus-flowers; tiles brought from Egypt for David’s hall. A wild cat hunted birds among the painted reeds.
I sat upon a leather-padded stool by David’s feet. I wore scarlet, and gold, and a circlet of sea-pearls about my head; a queen’s image gracing King David’s rich court. I did not like to show myself so, before so many men’s eyes. But David wished it, and my life now was lived at David’s bidding.
Nathan stood beside David’s chair; Yahweh’s blessing upon King David’s handiwork. I looked at Nathan once, and then away. Nathan had not listened to me; he had not known truth. Samuel
would have listened, and known. But Samuel had not taken gifts and honors from the king’s hands. Samuel had not dreamed of glory.
David had the day as closely planned as a wedding of twin brothers to twin sisters.
First came men of Israel, men to beg King David of Judah to wear the crown of Israel also. They had brought a crown with them; a thin circle of gold. They knelt before David and held the crown out to him, pleading as if he might choose not to take it.
David sat quiet as they spoke, and then he rose to his feet. The king’s chair sat upon a slab of marble a span higher than the floor; when David stood, even those placed far away could see him.
“It is a hard thing, to be a king,” David said, “and a harder thing to hear of a brother’s death. King Ishbaal was my brother, as his sister is my wife. You all know how I care for her, and how I punished Ishbaal’s murderers. Before I take his crown from your hands, I would know if it was King Ishbaal’s wish that I be his heir.”
“It was King Ishbaal’s wish,” said the man who held the crown of Israel in his hands. His head was bent; he looked at the floor, and not at David.
“Are you sure it is so?” David asked, and his voice rang sweet as springtime through the great court. “For my brother Ishbaal had no living sons, but his brother Jonathan had a boy with a better claim to Ishbaal’s crown than I.”
“We are sure,” said the man, and the others with him all agreed. They all nodded their heads; yes, yes, it was King Ishbaal’s wish; it was so.
David stood silent for the time it took to draw three long breaths. “I would not take what is Meribaal’s. Meribaal is only a child, but he is the son of Prince Jonathan and the grandson of King Saul. Are you sure it is not Meribaal you would have for your king in Israel?”
“Yes,” said the man, and for the third time swore it was David they would have as king. “For Meribaal is not fit to rule over us.
You are king of Judah, King Saul’s daughter is your wife. You are the man chosen by Yahweh and by King Ishbaal to follow after him. You are the king we would have in Israel. You and no other.”
It sounded like a lesson the man had learned to recite, each word clear and perfect. David bowed his head.
“I am humble before the Lord. If it is Yahweh’s will, I must obey, for I am only his servant.”
“Yahweh’s will be done,” Nathan said, and David turned to the prophet and knelt while Nathan poured oil on David’s hair. Nathan smiled wide; I think he was truly happy that day. Well, as I later learned, Nathan believed that day brought peace to the land. “Yahweh’s blessing is upon this act.”
David rose to his feet; I thought he smiled. The man who held the crown of Israel rose and came forward. I thought that Nathan would place the crown upon David’s head, as Samuel had once placed a crown upon my father’s. But David took the crown into his own hands.
“This crown does me honor,” David said, “but I will not wear it.
He waited for the exclamations to cease, and then he smiled, broad, for all to see. “This is the crown of Israel,” he said, and held it high above his head in both his hands. “I wear already the crown of Judah. Two crowns—but now I shall wear only one. For I shall take them both, and they shall be melted down and recast into one—one crown and one king, for one people. For Yahweh’s people!”
Even David could not stop the shouting, after that. It was the first time I had heard such a noise confined by walls; waves of sound beat against me like eager hands. But for all his fine words, David set the crown of Israel firm upon his own head before he sat in the king’s chair once more.
I alone neither moved nor praised. I sat quiet upon my stool at David’s feet; I must have looked proud, or lifeless.
At last the noise became less; before it ceased David raised his hand and waved them all to silence. “This is indeed a day for all
men to rejoice. And today I too rejoice—for Jonathan’s son has come to me, that I may love him as I loved his father.”
And then David motioned with his hand and Meribaal was brought before him. That was the moment I learned what hate truly was. That moment in King David’s great court when first I saw Jonathan’s son Meribaal.
A sound rose from the assembled people, a murmur, low but swelling, like wind before the rain. A sound of grief, or of pity. At first I did not understand, and then Meribaal’s litter was carried into my sight, and laid down on the floor before the king.
Meribaal lay almost at my feet, and so I saw all clearly. His feet were thickly bandaged; even so, it was clear they were twisted and broken. Meribaal would never run free. It would be a wonder if he could walk.
That was bad, but it was not the sight of those broken feet that pierced me, and made me bleed once more when I had thought myself all unfeeling stone. It was Meribaal’s eyes.
They must have looked like Jonathan’s eyes, once. They must have held light, and love, and happiness. Now they held nothing. Meribaal was not blind, but he did not see. His eyes stared or wandered, aimless as air.
I thought of Jonathan sitting beside me when I had dwelt in Phaltiel’s house, speaking of his boy. “He runs so swift his nurse can hardly catch him, and he is clever as a little mouse!” Jonathan had laughed, then, and so had I.
The murmur of sound ceased; there was a hush, silence before a storm. David looked upon Meribaal, and put his hands over his face. “Is this all that is left of my beloved Jonathan? Is this to be his only legacy?”
Then David looked at Joab and demanded to know what had happened to cause this sorrow. “Who is to blame? How did Jonathan’s son come to this?”
Joab stood straight before David’s throne and neither smiled nor blinked. “It was no one’s fault.” Joab had a voice like stone, yielding to nothing.
“When we marched into Ishbaal’s city there was great alarm, and no one watched the boy. He ran up to the rooftop to see what was happening. He must have leaned too far, for he fell to the street below. We called Ishbaal’s own physician, but there was nothing to be done. Now the boy is as you see him.”
David wept, then. He sat still upon his throne, and wept.
While all men watched the king’s grief I alone dared to move, and to speak. I slid forward off my stool, to rest upon my knees beside my brother’s son. “Meribaal,” I said. “Meribaal, I am your father’s sister. I am your Aunt Michal.”
Meribaal did not answer; I do not know if he even heard. And if he had, my words would have meant nothing to him. He was crippled now, in mind as well as body. Meribaal would never know me or anyone else.
I stroked Meribaal’s hair; it was soft and brown like Jonathan’s. And when I pushed his hair gently back, I saw the bruise upon his temple. A mark the size of a fist, or of a sword-hilt; dark purple at the center, paling to greenish yellow as it spread away.
Boys run and jump—and fall. Caleb had often done so; I had tended his cuts and bruises. I knew the look of a fall’s injuries. And I had been a warrior’s daughter, a warrior’s sister. I knew the look of a blow.
I looked up, then. Joab was not looking at me or at Meribaal; he looked only at David. Joab’s face showed nothing, neither sorrow nor triumph. Joab’s eyes were flat and keen as the sword-blade he carried at his side.
My body froze, my flesh cool and unfeeling as marble, while my blood rushed and beat under my skin like a river in full flood.
Joab,
I thought.
It had been Joab. Joab who had struck down Phaltiel. Joab who had slain Abner. Joab who had crippled Meribaal.
Joab—David’s sword, striking at David’s bidding.
There was a rustle beside me; David had stepped down from his throne. He bent and took my hand; he lifted me up.
“Do not grieve, my queen. For Meribaal will dwell in peace
beneath my roof, and never shall he want for anything. All men will see how I do him honor, for his father’s sake.” That is what David said.
But I did not grieve; I had gone far beyond sorrow.
Learn,
David had told me.
You must learn, Michal.
Now I had.
I had learned hate, and hate was stronger than grief. Hate flowed over my skin; hate coiled in my loins and around my heart. Hate strong enough to topple kingdoms, cold enough to turn blood to ice.
Hate almost too great for me to bear, for there was nothing to ease its press upon my bones.
I stood free before all the chief men of David’s stolen kingdom—the judges, the priests, the warriors. I could cry out the truth now, quick and loud, before even David could silence me. But I did not, for no one would believe me. David had seen to that.
Men would not draw back from David in horror. Men would call me mad, and murderess. And then for me it would be the stones, or the endless dark. And King David would still reign free, beloved. That was useless to me; that would not slake my new hunger.
“I am glad that Jonathan did not live to see this day,” David said, as he looked down at Meribaal.
I too was glad; David’s evil would have broken Jonathan’s loving heart.
“Do you remember how happy we all were together, when your father King Saul still lived?” It was not said in quiet sorrow for my ears only. David’s voice was a weapon, casting words as once his sling had cast stones. Words that rang clear through the great court, drew tears from those who heard them.
Then David reached out his hand to me, as if we shared our joys and our sorrows. “Do you remember, Michal?”
“Yes,” I said, and my voice told nothing, smooth as a bowl of milk. “Once we all were happy.”
To bring down David’s happiness as he had brought down
mine—I felt his fingers close over my hand and I trembled with the strength of my new desire, as I once had trembled in Phaltiel’s arms—and in David’s.
I thought again of words, and of stones. Five smooth stones, so David’s song ran. Once Yahweh had put five smooth stones into David’s smooth hand. With them David had brought down a giant—and won a kingdom.
Five smooth stones
—ah, if only Yahweh would put into
my
hand five smooth stones … .
I looked again at David. His head was bent once more; tears flowed free upon his cheeks. His sweet-oiled beard shed the teardrops as easily as David shed guilt.
Give me vengeance against David,
I begged of Yahweh.
Let me bring him down to tears and sorrow as he has brought me and mine.
That is all I ask.
 
 
“Michal … despised him in her heart.”
—II Samuel 6:16
 
My hate pressed always against my skin, behind my eyes, so that I could not find true rest until that pressure was eased. I must murder David’s heart as he had mine; all the people must see him as he really was; he must be reviled and spat upon and stoned in the marketplace. Nothing less, I swore at first. Nothing less will satisfy me. Nothing less will bring me peace.
David had everything, now. But I swore I would find a weapon to use against him. I did not know what that weapon might be; I knew only that I must find it. Perhaps I would chance upon my weapon as once David had chanced upon his five smooth stones.
The moon changed three times; I walked and slept always with my hatred as if it were a twin sister. Hatred ate at my stomach like bad wine; filled me like stones so that I could barely eat or drink.
And Yahweh sent nothing—save a sign that King David was Yahweh’s best beloved, dearer to him than all the world. David brought the Ark into Jerusalem. The Philistines, who had held it captive for so many years, had surrendered the Ark into King David’s hands. Because Yahweh had set terror into the Philistines’ hearts and made them humble, David told the people. Perhaps Yahweh had.
Others saw only the Ark; heard only Nathan’s voice shouting praises in the gates. I saw sun on David’s hair; heard David’s voice
as he boasted of his treasures.
“I have jerusalem, and I have King Saul’s daughter; and soon will have the sacred Ark as well … .
”
King David, and the sacred Ark of Yahweh’s covenant. What sign could be clearer, or easier for all to read?
I read that sign of favor clearer than most; my hate had given me a seer’s crystal eyes.
 
 
The sun was a golden apple; the sky a perfect azure bowl behind it. A cloudless sky, a flawless day. Even the heavens smiled upon King David when he took the Ark from the Philistines and brought it to rest safe within the walls of his city.
Men and women too, had come from all the land around to see the Ark as it traveled up the road to Jerusalem and passed through the streets of the city. No one had seen the Ark in two men’s lifetimes; they would tell their children of this, and their children’s children.
David had set up a tent of purple and scarlet for the Ark on a hill at the far end of the city for all to see; the tent stood higher than the king’s house. It blazed brilliant in the sun, like a beacon-fire.
All the world rejoiced, that day, and none more wildly than David. He seemed to forget he was the king, and threw aside his royal robes to dance through the streets of Jerusalem, naked before the Ark and all the people.
He had oiled his body; his skin shone brighter than sun on water. I was on the palace rooftop with all his other women to see his triumph. I saw how he caught and kept all men’s eyes on him; the women’s eyes he had already.
That was how it was; David danced first, and the Ark followed behind him. David danced, and sang, and clapped his hands, and made all the watchers clap and sing as well. He led the Ark into Jerusalem, through the streets, up the long hill to the glorious tent he had built to enclose it.
I stood silent on the palace rooftop and watched David dance. His other wives and his concubines all made a great noise, crying praises and flinging flowers down upon his head. David looked up once, as he danced on past the palace wall; he looked straight at me, the only one who neither moved nor called.
I remembered the day David had first come through my father’s s gate, walking close beside Jonathan, covered in dust and glory. David had looked up at me that long-ago day; he had smiled, and I had thrown fresh-picked flowers at his feet.
David looked up and smiled now; I looked down with my crystal eyes.
Ghosts danced before him in the dust. Saul, Jonathan. Ishbaal and Abner. The son’s love Caleb once had given me. The Meribaal who might have walked, and run, and laughed. Phaltiel.
I had no flowers for King David. I put my hands to my head and lifted the broad circlet of gold from my close-braided hair. A queen’s diadem, David had called it when he had placed the circlet there.
“The people like to see us so, Michal. You will wear it, to please them and me.
”
I held the golden circle in my hands; I held my queen’s crown out, over the waist-high wall; I opened my hands and let it fall. The golden crown glittered as it spiraled down through the clear air. There was no noise when it hit the stones by David’s feet. There was too much rejoicing for so small a sound to be heard.
David saw, but his mad dance never faltered. He only clapped his hands harder and danced on, leading the Ark away, toward the high hill. It had been only a moment, after all; a few heartbeats between one turn of his dance and the next. No one had noticed. Only Michal, and David, and the ghosts who went before him, clearing the path for David’s dancing feet.
 
 
David came to me afterwards, swollen with pride and demanding my praises, as if he had no other wives to flatter him. As if only my admiration would content him.
“This day went well, my queen—you saw how the people loved me.”
“Yes, I saw.”
He took up a braid of my hair, his fingers working it free of the woven knot my maids had taken so much trouble over that morning. “And they saw how you loved me, Michal. How you took the very crown from your head and cast it before me, that I might tread upon it as if it were less than the dust beneath my feet. That the good people might take its gold up for themselves, a gift from my generous queen.
Once again he shaped truth with false words. I said nothing. David toyed with my braid, began to unweave my close-twined hair. I did not move. “But was it a wise gift, Michal?”
He did not say more; he did not need to. I knew what he meant. David could make my act a proof of my love for him—or only another proof of madness.
“No,” I said, past pain that I thought would rip my throat open; words were tearing teeth. “No, it was not wise.”
My braid was now only a loose skein; David let my hair fall and smoothed it over my breast. “Do not let it trouble you, my love. It was unwise, but wisdom can be learned. And you will learn it, as I did.”
Never,
cried my heart. Never would I learn David’s wisdom. But there was another voice within me. A voice that whispered soft, like silk being drawn through rough fingers, like an adder sliding over sand.
You must.
Bow before him,
that soft voice told me.
Give him what he wants now, and wait. Someday,
it hissed.
Someday.
But to obey that command I needed skills I did not own; I thought of Zhurleen, of how she had walked to silent music. Yes, Zhurleen’s skills were what I now must have. I slanted my eyes down, and then up. I smiled.
“How glorious was the king this day! Surely there is no dancer like the king in all the land.” I made my voice sweet as poppy-syrup. I raised my hand and placed it over David’s where his fingers lay
heavy upon my breast. “But was it wise of
you,
O King, to show yourself so before all the maids of Jerusalem?”
David laughed, and turned his hand under mine to catch and hold it. “What, are you jealous? But yes, it was wise, Queen Michal—to dance before all the people, for the glory of Yahweh—”
“And for the glory of his king?” It was easy to shape words to please David. Phaltiel had liked me to speak my mind; David liked me to speak his.
“You are still clever, Michal.” He pulled me close, to hold me beside him as if we were loving man and wife. “Yes, the people must see how great the king is as well, and how Yahweh smiles upon him.”
I looked sideways through my lashes, in the way that shows a woman thinks a man handsome as well as wise. “Surely all can see David’s greatness, lord?”
“Not everyone,” David said. “Not yet. But they will, for I have right and might on my side—and the Ark within the walls of Jerusalem.”
“With the city you hold the land, and with the Ark you hold the people. You have good reason to be pleased—all my father ever won were battles.” And even those words fell pleasant from my lips.
“King Saul did well enough for his day, but I mean to do better for mine, and leave a true kingdom for my son and my son’s sons. Now come, let the king and queen dance their own dance to the glory of the Lord. If ever there were a day for the king to beget a king, it is this.”
And I smiled again, and turned within the circle of David’s arms. I reached up, and cradled his face between my hands. I thought again of Zhurleen, whose hands had been bird’s wings, and waves. Zhurleen, who had tried to teach me, and now was gone.
“Yes, this is a great day, David. Let us see if Yahweh loves you as much as I.”
I was not cold when we lay together; I was not quiet and accepting.
That day my blood ran hot, as if I were a warrior whose enemy fled close before him. Hot for victory, and the kill. That day I learned that hate, too, is passion.
Hate drove me harder than love ever had. I was fierce and wild as a wounded leopardess; I marked David as a hunter marks prey. I let him have nothing from me that he could not earn. And that was nothing at all, in the end.
It was a battle between us—and David never knew he fought it, or what he had lost. He could not tell love’s fire from hate’s. That was when I first wondered if David knew the difference between them.
In that raging hour, I held power David did not. In the end, I was stronger than he.
 
 
David got no son upon me that day, either. I had prayed daily that he would not; I took joy in telling him as soon as I was sure. The news hurt him, as if he had been denied a gift his by all right.
“Perhaps Yahweh did not care overmuch for your dancing, my lord king.” I rejoiced too much; my voice betrayed me.
That was the only time David ever struck me. I deserved the blow, if only for my sheer folly.
I remembered Zhurleen; I wept, and flung my arms around his knees, and blamed the words on my own sorrow at not giving him what he most would have. It was no more than any proper wife would say and feel; David forgave me easily, for he liked always to be the granter of favors.
I was not so foolish a second time.
Wait,
my hate told me.
Watch, and wait.
And I obeyed that inner voice.
Long days slid by, and hate walked with me always. A silent companion, a cruel one. Love feeds the heart; hate poisons it, and leaves it still empty.
Long days, and then long months, and the hate that had seemed so strong, that had promised so much, proved itself as
faithless as David himself For as slow time passed and still it seemed I could do nothing, I began to wish for less.
Autumn passed, and winter, and then spring again. And all the while King David basked in the sun of the people’s love, the priests’ approval.
I watched, and waited—and the hate that I had cherished so dear grew weary. It forsook me, sliding away to coil beneath my heart, a viper sleeping beneath a rock.
Slow time; full moon after full moon, until a year had passed since Phaltiel’s death. My grief was a poisoned sore that would not heal; hatred had betrayed and abandoned me. Without its power, I was too weary to do more than lie upon my bed, or to sit upon my balcony.
Once I had wished to see David stoned to death at noon before the city wall. Once I had wished to sharpen the stones myself until they would slice his flesh like razors. Now even a pebble to bruise his foot would have pleased me, and made me smile.
And that was when Yahweh granted my prayers at last, when I had ceased to pray. But he did not send stones to my hand.
He sent Bathsheba.
 
 
King David did not sit idle upon his throne while I waited a year away. He had told me he wished to leave a true kingdom to his sons; during that year I learned what that meant, and so did all Israel. A true kingdom meant war.
Oh, my father King Saul had waged war, and almost every season, too—but only when we were threatened. In my father’s time, we had waited to be attacked before striking.
Now all that was changed. Enemies surrounded his kingdom, King David said. If they had not yet attacked, they soon would. Israel, said King David, must strike first.
And so King David raised up an army. And he called to him not only our own people, but foreigners. Any man who could
fight hard was welcome to King David, whether he was a follower of Yahweh or not. Any man who brought his own weapons was twice welcome. And a man such as Uriah the Hittite, who came to King David with ten well-armed fighting men at his back, was embraced and kissed as a son, and given high rank in the hosts of Israel.
Now no nearby land was safe. Aram, Edom, Moab, Zobah—David swooped down upon them and made them a high road for his chariot wheels. Already his kingdom was twice that of Saul’s, and still David was not satisfied.

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