The fool! Did he think he could insult Israel with impunity? Did he think there would be no repercussions? David would not ignore what had been done to his men. He couldn’t afford to ignore Hanun’s foolishness and risk losing the respect of his men. Worse, the nations around them would hear of any leniency shown and take it for weakness instead. If David didn’t act soon, the Ammonites would think Israel was ripe for invasion. He didn’t need to ask Ahithophel for advice. He knew what he had to do: teach this arrogant Ammonite king a lesson so that no one else would dare insult or attack Israel.
They will know there is a God in Israel!
He’d just defeated the Philistines, he’d crushed Moab and the Arameans under King Hadadezer, and he’d established garrisons in Edom to maintain control of the land. And now, Hanun threw oil on a banked fire. Hanun would burn in the blaze he set!
How long, oh, Lord, how long must I be at war? How long will I have to raise my sword in battle before the nations know there is a God in Israel? I long for peace! I would rather spend my life writing psalms and singing praise to You, my Lord and king, than leading these men of violence into war again. They are too much for me to manage! I’m tired. When will I have rest?
“David,” Ahithophel said quietly.
Gritting his teeth, David shut his eyes, struggling for control over his rage and frustration. He knew what his men wanted: war. How they loved battle! How they delighted in shedding blood! Joab and Abishai were like wild donkeys, kicking and fighting the restraints of peace. And many of his mighty men were as bent upon violence as they. They stood restless, discontented with peaceful pursuits, eager to go out into battle where they could unleash their passions. They sought any excuse, and now Hanun had given just cause.
Oh, Lord, how I yearn for the days of my youth!
He wanted to weep as he remembered the freedom of tending his father’s flocks. In those days, he had spent countless hours meditating on God’s precepts and the Law. He’d walked over pasturelands by day and gazed at the stars by night, experiencing God in everything around him. No one had interfered with his thoughts. No one had distracted him from his praise. Hour after hour, he had delighted in the Lord and felt the presence of God all around him.
Now, burdened with responsibilities, he had to struggle to find time alone. He ached to write psalms for God and set them to the music of his harp. He longed for the days when he’d been no more than a shepherd over his father’s flock, responsible merely for finding food and water for his sheep and protecting them from predators. Now, he found himself surrounded by predatory men!
Bowing his head, he gripped the back of his neck. Oh, Lord! Will there ever be an end to war? I am so tired of living among people who hate peace!
“Sire,” Ahithophel said, stepping closer.
David raised his head. He felt bone weary and depressed. Every decision he made cost human blood. And yet, what other choice had he? He was the king!
“We’re going to war again, Ahithophel.” He saw the man’s dark eyes catch fire. “Come into the inner chamber and we’ll discuss it.” David motioned to the messenger to approach him. “Joab, Abishai. Both of you as well!” He saw the eagerness in them.
He drew the dusty messenger close. “Rest tonight and then go back. Tell my ambassadors to sojourn in Jericho until their beards grow back.”
He was going to make Hanun regret he’d ever laid eyes on them.
* * *
King Hanun hired Aramean mercenaries to come to his aid, but David went out against them, defeating them and moving on the Ammonites without mercy. They fell by the thousands. The following spring, David gave Joab orders to lay siege to Hanun’s city, Rabbah.
Bathsheba stood with her mother at the city gates as the men mustered yet again. David remained astride his mule as he spoke to his commanders and captains. As Uriah stood among them, she felt pride in her husband’s position. The thirty mighty men dispersed and returned to their units.
Every time the Ark was carried out of the city and into battle, Bathsheba felt strangely vulnerable. She knew that God could not be put into a box, and yet the Ark represented His presence among the people. And God’s presence was going with the army.
Her mother wept when Bathsheba’s father marched by. “Each time he leaves, I wonder if I’ll ever see him again,” she said through her tears. All the women were solemn as fathers, brothers, and husbands went off to war. Bathsheba wept as well. Uriah had given her a home of her own on the street beside the palace, although the palace itself was where he spent most of his time. Sometimes Uriah surprised her with gifts of jewelry to show he loved her. She was proud of the respect he commanded, even more proud that he had earned the respect of her father and grandfather. Many men were courageous in battle, but few had the integrity of her husband. Uriah was a man of his word and a favorite among the king’s captains, many of whom had spent an evening in her home, eating a meal she had prepared, while she sat in her private chamber with her maid.
If only she loved him . . . if only she could feel more for him than just affection and respect.
She had only to look at David to know her feelings for him had not diminished with time.
Her mother took her hand. “I pray Uriah will come home to you safely.”
“God protect him.” She noticed that David was turning his mule away, riding back into the city instead of going out with the men. “David isn’t going with them?”
“No. Your grandfather hoped he would change his mind, but David said he’s tired, and tired men make poor decisions.”
Uriah had said nothing about this.
“You needn’t worry about your husband, my dear. Joab and Abishai have proven their ability to command. I suppose the king didn’t feel his presence was necessary.”
Bathsheba heard the gravity in her mother’s voice. Was she criticizing David after all these years of thinking him above reproach? “Is it so wrong for him to remain behind?”
“Unwise. But who am I to say what a king should or shouldn’t do?” Her mother turned her face away and spoke wistfully. “If only all men were sick of war! But it seems that will never be. Men live to fight, and women live to bear sons for a king’s army.”
Bathsheba took her mother’s hand and squeezed it. “Perhaps it will not always be so. Perhaps God will allow David to conquer all our enemies and we’ll have peace on all sides.”
“No good comes from an idle king.”
Bathsheba let go of her. “David has never been idle!”
Her mother looked at her. “No, he hasn’t. But whom can he conquer inside his own palace walls?” She walked away.
* * *
The days passed slowly for David. He couldn’t recline for a simple meal without hearing constant bickering and whispered complaints from wives and children. His daughters and sons competed for his attention until all he wanted to do was escape to a quiet place and be alone. And when he was alone, restlessness took hold of him. He was discontented and uneasy. Was this all there was to life? He tried to write psalms, but no words would come. Every note he plucked on his lyre was discordant. He tried to rest, but the more he slept, the more tired he felt. Soul tired.
A messenger came with news that Joab and Abishai had defeated the Arameans and were following David’s orders to lay siege to Hanun’s city, Rabbah. David felt no jubilation. He knew months would pass before the Ammonites would be starved into submission. Attacking the walls might hasten their destruction, but it would needlessly cost lives. He was sick of war!
Bored and melancholy, the king walked the palace walls, gazing out over the city named in his honor, desperate for distraction.
* * *
The days crawled by as Bathsheba waited for Uriah to come home from the war. When word came that the army had laid siege to Rabbah, she had no illusions that this meant the war was over. Many months could pass before the Ammonites surrendered and Uriah returned home. If he returned home. Each time he marched away to war, she lived with the uncer
tainty that he might be marching out of her life forever, leaving no son behind to carry on his name. She longed to have children. But how could she conceive when her husband was seldom home?
Loneliness became her greatest enemy. It grew to an intolerable ache inside her. Sometimes she sat in the quiet of her chamber and wept over her plight. Yet, what choice had she? Happiness was out of reach.
The city felt empty, populated only by women and children, a few men too old to go into battle, and a king who had decided to remain home, while the war raged on elsewhere.
When she looked up at the wall of David’s palace, she imagined him surrounded by doting wives and concubines. A dozen sons and daughters would be delighting him with their attention. Who could be unhappy with so many family members surrounding him? But here she sat, childless and alone, her husband away. How many months had it been since she had laid eyes on Uriah? How many months since she had felt his arms around her? How many more months would come and go, her chance for having a child passing with each one?
She cupped water and pressed it to her flushed cheeks. She knew what was wrong. Every time her menses passed and it was time to take the ritual bath of purification again, self-pity took hold of her. What was the point of making herself ready for a husband who was never home? Another month would pass and another and another, and her arms would remain empty of children. Tears welled. Anger stirred. Frustration abounded.
“Your bath is ready, my lady.”
Bathsheba removed her gown and stepped into the basin prepared for her in the privacy of her courtyard. Beneath the gauze canopy that protected her from the harsh afternoon sun, the handmaiden slowly poured water over her body, while Bathsheba washed. She stepped out of the basin and stood waiting as her handmaiden emptied it. Enjoying the coolness of the drying droplets on her body, Bathsheba lifted the heavy mass of curling hair from her back and shoulders. Her handmaiden returned and Bathsheba stepped into the basin again. She drew in her breath as the refreshing water cascaded over her heated flesh. Bathsheba closed her eyes and lifted her head as she stroked the water from her body.
The city was quiet, so quiet she felt a strange sense of expectancy.
Her skin prickled strangely. She sensed someone looking at her. Disturbed, she glanced up and saw a man standing on the wall. Gasping, she covered herself with her hands and ducked beneath the gauzy shelter that did little to hide her. It was afternoon, a time when most people were inside their homes resting and avoiding the heavy heat. What was the man doing on the palace roof?
Angry, she leaned forward to see if she recognized the guard intruding upon her privacy. Uriah would hear of it, and when they returned so would her father and grandfather. As she peered up, her heart jumped.
It was not a palace guard staring down at her, but a man in a white linen tunic with purple trim. David!
Her heart pounded as she hid beneath the transparent canopy. Yearning flooded her. Even the sound of the canopy flapping gently in the wind made her senses spin. She remembered how David had looked at her the day she was given to Uriah in marriage and felt all over again the shock of attraction she’d seen in his eyes. If he had noticed her sooner, he could have taken her as his wife instead of looking at her like a starving man.
She knew she should flee to the privacy of the house and complete her bath later, but hurt and resentment filled her. Why not let him see what he had let slip through his fingers? Let him think back to the skinny, sunburned child who had followed him about like an orphaned lamb after its shepherd! She boldly looked up. Would he wish now he’d asked for her instead of leaving it to her father to find a husband for her?
As David stared down, Bathsheba’s anger dissolved in a wave of sadness. Why was he standing on the wall and looking down into her courtyard? Why look at her at all with so many beautiful women at his beck and call?
“My lady?”
Startled, Bathsheba turned away, heat surging into her face. Her handmaiden glanced up at the wall. Bathsheba felt a wave of relief when she glanced up and saw that David was no longer there.
“Are you all right, my lady?”
“I was praying.” Shame rose inside her. Mortified at what she’d done, she snatched the cloth from the girl, wrapped it around her body, and ran inside the house. Slamming the bedroom door, she leaned against it, holding the damp cloth tightly. She gulped in air as she crossed the room and sank down onto her bed.
What had she done? What could she possibly have been thinking when she allowed the king to gaze upon her? She pressed her hands against her chest, wishing she could calm the wild beating of her heart. Her feelings tumbled one over another—shame, excitement, sorrow, anger, self-loathing. What must David think of her now?
Curling on her side on the bed she shared with her husband, she covered her face and wept.
* * *
David had seven wives and numerous concubines, and yet, not one could compare in beauty to the woman he had just seen bathing on a rooftop courtyard near the walls of his palace. He had found himself mesmerized by the curves of her body and the grace of every movement. Eve could not have been more perfect!
He knew the moment the woman sensed his presence above her, for she had paused and cocked her head like a hart ready for flight. She looked around slowly and then raised her head. Seeing him on the roof, she drew back quickly beneath the gauzy canopy. For an instant, he was embarrassed to be caught staring at her during such private ablution. But only for a moment. He was the king, after all, and it was his roof. He had every right to stroll it whenever he pleased. She could have bathed inside her house instead of setting up a canopy in her courtyard. What possessed her? His breath had caught in his throat when she looked up at him. He’d never seen a more beautiful woman.
Pushing back from the wall, David strode the battlements until he spotted one of his guards. “Joram!” When the soldier glanced up, David beckoned him.
“My lord the king?”
David took him by the arm and pointed. “There is a woman in that house. Find out who she is.”
Startled, the guard quickly left to do his bidding.
David expelled his breath slowly. Gripping the edge of the wall, he watched until the guard appeared on the street below. David turned away and went down the steps hurriedly. Waving away several of his children, he summoned another guard. “When Joram returns, send him to my private chambers immediately.”
“Yes, my lord the king.”
Alone in his bedroom, David waited. As the minutes passed, he drummed his fingers impatiently. Uneasy, he rose and ran his hand through his hair. He had never felt such fierce desire for a woman. He was troubled, but he chose to ignore the niggling discomfort. Closing his eyes, he imagined the woman again, her small hands open, her head lifted up as though in prayer, and her body, oh, her body . . .
He bolted from his seat. “What’s taking so long?” He paced, agitated and annoyed by the delay. He wanted her and he would have her, whatever the cost.
Someone tapped at the door. “Enter!” Joram stood on the threshold. “Come in and close the door behind you.” David waited, hands on his hips. “What did you find out?”
“The woman’s name is Bathsheba.”
“Bathsheba?” Why did that name sound so familiar? “Bathsheba . . .”
“She is Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam and the wife of Uriah the Hittite.”
Oh no! David felt his stomach drop. He remembered a skinny little girl who used to sit on Ahithophel’s knee and stare at him across the fire. No! It couldn’t be! Little Bathsheba, who, as a child, had worshiped him and followed him to the stream at En-gedi. “I want to talk with you.” Her heart had been in her eyes. Bathsheba, married to one of his best and most reliable friends, daughter of a man he trusted and who trusted him, granddaughter of Ahithophel, Israel’s most able military adviser. Could anything be worse? He remembered looking into her eyes on her wedding day and feeling as though someone had punched him in the stomach. He’d made sure from th
at day on never to look at her again!
He expelled a hoarse laugh. Turning, he gripped the back of his neck. The old weariness and depression rose up once again. “You may go, Joram.”
“Is there anything you wish for, my lord the king?”
David clenched his teeth. “Nothing I can have.”
“Nothing is out of your reach, sire. You are the king. Whatever you want is yours.”
David lowered his hand and raised his head. He was the king. Furthermore, his army was miles away at Rabbah. Uriah, Eliam, and Ahithophel had been gone for months and would not return for many more to come. His heart began to pound. What if he did summon Bathsheba to his private chambers? What if they did find pleasure in one another’s arms? What harm could one night do? Who would ever know?
His desire for Bathsheba burned hotter.
“What is your wish, sire?”
“Bring her to me.” He felt a pang of guilt as he spoke his lust aloud, but he quickly squelched it with thoughts of the night ahead. Still, he must be prudent. “Wait until dark before you go for her, and take another soldier you know can keep a secret.”
“And if the woman resists?”
“She won’t.” Bathsheba had loved him for years. She’d followed him around the camps at Adullam and En-gedi. He’d thought she was a pesky little fly then, but now . . .
“But if she does . . . ?”
She was a common woman and he was a king. “My order stands.” Joram bowed and left. David knew Bathsheba would come to him. She had been extending him an invitation when she had so boldly met his eyes during her bath. If she regretted her impulse, he would take pleasure in swaying her.
It would be hours yet before Bathsheba was brought to his bedchamber. Time enough to bathe and anoint himself with scented oils. Time enough to order a small feast prepared. Time enough to burn incense to tease her senses. Time enough to think about the pleasures of the night ahead.