The birth attendants left, but Bathsheba heard their voices buzz just outside her door.
Abigail entered soon afterward. “Would you mind if I stayed with you for a while?”
Bathsheba wept at her kindness. “I understand their hatred of me, but my son is innocent!”
Abigail brushed the hair back from her face. “Hush now, for the child’s sake.” She tucked her hands beneath the infant. “Let me have him. I’ll wash him and rub the salt in gently so he’ll be safe from infection. Then I’ll swaddle him and present him to the king.”
Where her grandfather, Ahithophel, would see and know . . .
David had offered him many gifts upon his return from Rabbah. David assured her that all was well between them, but she knew David would be dead by now if he were not king. Her grandfather was shrewd, but he was also as unforgiving as Joab. She feared what went on in the mind of her grandfather. When David had returned at the head of his army with Hanun’s crown upon his head, she’d watched her grandfather from the palace wall as he came into the city at the head of the military advisers. He looked up and saw her where she stood. He didn’t smile and raise his hand. His eyes fixed upon her like a target.
Bathsheba could only hope her father hadn’t been told the whole story when he’d been transported home after being wounded in Rabbah. Had her mother taken pity upon her as her father lay suffering? Surely she would not have been so cruel as to tell him his daughter had committed adultery with the king and caused the murder of her husband! It would have been an act of kindness to tell him simply that his daughter had been taken into the palace as the king’s wife after news of Uriah’s death—and omit the rest of the sordid tale.
She had frequent nightmares, awakening in a cold sweat and expecting to see her grandfather leaning over her with his curved knife. Sometimes she dreamed she was standing at the door of her father’s house, hearing her grandfather swear to his son in her hearing, “Oh, my son, my son! They will not go unpunished! Though David be king, I will lay him low! And if I meet failure, may my life be forfeit!”
She tried not to think of what the future might hold. She tried to forget the bad dreams and separation from David as she held her son in her arms and nursed him. Perhaps this would be enough.
David was pleased with her son. He sat with her and cupped the child’s head tenderly, then looked into her eyes. She decided to live for each infrequent moment in David’s company, basking in his love, even if it proved inconstant. Her son would be different. She relished his warmth in her arms, the tug of his mouth at her breast as he took his sustenance from her. Never had she loved anyone as much as she loved this child of her body. She dedicated herself to him. Night and day, she watched over him, entrusting his care to no one else. She kept him close, aware of his every movement and sound. A child existed to be loved, and she poured her love out like an offering upon him.
And then the prophet Nathan came to set things right.
* * *
David was informed the moment Nathan approached the palace, and he came into the court to offer the elderly man warm welcome and greeting. He tensed when he saw the fire in the old prophet’s eyes and realized that Nathan had come with less than pleasant words to impart. “What brings you to the palace?” David said, taking his seat and resting his hands on the arms of the throne. “What can I do for you?”
Nathan stood before him, feet planted. He was far older than David’s forty years, but life shone brightly in his eyes. The presence of the Lord could be felt in the room the moment he opened his mouth and spoke in a deep, clear voice for all to hear.
“There were two men in a certain town. One was rich, and one was poor. The rich man owned many sheep and cattle. The poor man owned nothing but a little lamb he had worked hard to buy. He raised that little lamb, and it grew up with his children. It ate from the man’s own plate and drank from his cup. He cuddled it in his arms like a baby daughter. One day a guest arrived at the home of the rich man. But instead of killing a lamb from his own flocks for food, he took the poor man’s lamb and killed it and served it to his guest.”
David slammed his fist upon the arm of his throne. “As surely as the Lord lives, any man who would do such a thing deserves to die! He must repay four lambs to the poor man for the one he stole and for having no pity.”
Nathan’s eyes blazed. “You are that man!”
David went cold, his skin prickling.
Nathan stepped forward. “The Lord, the God of Israel says,” he said in a voice all the more powerful because of its quietness, “‘I anointed you king of Israel and saved you from the power of Saul. I gave you his house and his wives and the kingdoms of Israel and Judah. And if that had not been enough, I would have given you much, much more.’”
Fear gripped David until he shook.
“‘Why, then, have you despised the word of the Lord and done this horrible deed? For you have murdered Uriah and stolen his wife.’”
All those in the court gasped and stared at David. Drops of sweat formed on his brow and dripped down his temples. His ears were opened! For he heard the truth Nathan spoke. His eyes were opened fully to the evil he’d done, and he cried out in horror. How could he have been so blind? How was it possible to love God so much and be captured so completely by sin? David bolted out of his throne and threw himself to his knees at the feet of the prophet, his heart thundering as he felt the eyes of God upon him.
“‘From this time on,’” Nathan went on, “‘the sword will be a constant threat to your family, because you have despised Me by taking Uriah’s wife to be your own. Because of what you have done, I, the Lord, will cause your own household to rebel against you. I will give your wives to another man, and he will go to bed with them in public view. You did it secretly, but I will do this to you openly in the sight of all Israel.’”
Sorrow filled David. “I have sinned against the Lord!” He deserved death. He remembered the look in Uriah’s eyes before he turned away and went to face his death. How could I have done it? David wept. My friend! My friend! He waited for God to strike him down.
Instead, he felt Nathan’s hand gentle upon his head. “Yes, but the Lord has forgiven you, and you won’t die for this sin.”
David’s head came up in amazement. Nathan stroked his hair as though he were a child, his eyes grieved. “But,” he said sadly, straightening, “you have given the enemies of the Lord great opportunity to despise and blaspheme Him, so your child will die.”
David’s stomach dropped. He stared into Nathan’s eyes and saw there would be no compromise. His chest tightened as he thought of the cost to Bathsheba. Shutting his eyes, he bent over and covered his head as Nathan turned and walked from the court.
* * *
Bathsheba was alarmed when her baby wouldn’t nurse, then frightened when he became feverish and cried pitifully. She did everything she knew to bring the fever down, but it raged unabated, sapping the child of strength. She held him and rocked him. She walked with him in her arms. When she became too exhausted to hold him, she lay upon her bed with the baby nestled against her. And she wept, hour upon unending hour, for fear of losing him.
“Where is David? Does he know . . . ?”
“He knows, my lady,” the eunuch told her. “He’s fasting and inquiring of God for the child.”
Bathsheba felt a flicker of hope at this news, for hadn’t the Lord always heard David’s prayers? Hadn’t God always helped David?
She didn’t dare beseech God herself.
Each day, the child lost strength. On the seventh day, while Bathsheba was holding him and pleading softly, the baby stopped breathing. For a long moment, Bathsheba felt as though her own heart had stopped. She didn’t cry out or tear her hair or rend her clothing. She lay quietly upon her bed and curled her body around her dead child, and closed her eyes.
God, I know You’ve taken my son. Why didn’t You take me instead?
Some of the women who’d lost children pitied her. But others took cr
uel pleasure in God’s judgment upon Bathsheba’s baby and her anguished silence. “She deserved it,” they whispered. “See what God does to sinners!” they gossiped. “She’s getting a taste of the bitterness she’s caused others.”
Abigail sat with Bathsheba, weeping and stroking her hair, but saying nothing. The older woman simply held her as the little body was taken from her. Bathsheba wept hysterically.
Finally, exhausted and heartsick, Bathsheba lay staring at nothing. “David never came. Not once. I sent word. He knew our child was dying. And he never came. I thought he loved us.”
Abigail put her hand on Bathsheba’s shoulder. “He’s been fasting and praying for seven days. He beseeched God’s mercy continuously, Bathsheba. The priests were afraid to tell him that your baby has died. They thought he might kill himself.”
Bathsheba sat up, frightened.
Abigail shook her head quickly. “Don’t be alarmed. I was told David already knew what had happened when the men came to speak with him. He arose from the ground, washed, anointed himself, changed his clothes, and went into the house of the Lord to worship. He returned to the palace and is taking a meal.”
Bathsheba sank down again and turned her face away. “God is so cruel.”
“You mustn’t say that.”
“Why shouldn’t I say it? He should’ve struck me down instead of killing an innocent child! Let God strike me now!” She pulled her hair, her chest heaving with the rising sobs. “It was my sin—mine! Why take out His wrath on a helpless baby?” She gulped breath as she cried. “My son . . . oh, my son . . .”
Abigail cupped Bathsheba’s cheek. “You’ll become sick if you go on like this.”
“Let me be sick unto death!” Weeping, Bathsheba drew her knees into her chest and covered her head. “Why did God let my son suffer for my sins? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Abigail said.
Desolate, Bathsheba turned her face to the wall and said no more.
* * *
David’s advisers were quick to give their opinion, speaking to him hurriedly as he finished his meal. “It would be wise, my lord the king, to establish separate quarters for the wife of Uriah. You must see no more of her.”
David raised his head, seeing the way the wind blew. It was always easier to attack the weak.
“The people,” another said. “You must think of the people.”
He was thinking of his people. The impact of his sin upon them weighed heavily on his mind and heart. How could he have been so blind? How could he have done the things he did without seeing the evil in it? The men surrounded him like old hens, looking for someone to peck to pieces.
“Of course, you must assign guards to protect the woman from those who will want to take justice into their own hands.”
“Cloister her as you have cloistered Michal.”
“It might serve you better if you sent the woman to live in Hebron or Jericho.”
David shoved his plate away and stood. “I’ve listened to your advice.” He glared at his advisers. “Bathsheba will not be punished for sins I committed. I confessed before God and repented. And I will make the truth known to the people.”
Those who loved him quickly capitulated, but there were others who merely bowed their heads and pretended obedience. David knew them well. Hadn’t he spent years in the desert with these men? Fine clothes and houses hadn’t changed them. There would always be those inside the palace who crouched like hungry lions, seeking an opportunity to devour their prey.
“Nathan said God has forgiven me for my sins.”
“Yes, my lord the king. The Lord has forgiven you. God said nothing in regard to the woman.”
The woman. Amazing how two words could convey such contempt. “Bathsheba is innocent of Uriah’s death.”
“Is a woman ever innocent, my lord the king? Was it not the woman in the Garden of Eden who drew the man into sin?”
He looked into their eyes and was chilled by their lack of mercy. How quick they were to absolve him because he sat upon the throne but pour blame for everything upon a defenseless woman.
“You are beloved by all Israel,” one said, but David knew his flattering tongue was dipped in poison.
“I was the shepherd who led the lamb astray.”
“You are king, and the nation is at stake, my lord. Isn’t it an unblemished lamb that is offered as atonement for sin?”
David’s eyes filled with tears at the hardness of their hearts. “The Lord chose the lamb. He took our son.” He turned his back on them and went straight to the women’s quarters. He had neglected Bathsheba for too long, serving these men who devised evil plans against her.
His heart broke when he entered her room and saw her curled on her side facing the wall. He dismissed her handmaiden with a nod of his head and sat on the edge of the bed. “Bathsheba.” Her body jerked and she covered her head with her arms. “Bathsheba.” He turned her and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry.”
“Our son . . . our son . . .” She clung to him, sobbing, her fingers clutching at his tunic.
David pressed his face into the curve of her neck and wept with her. “The sin is upon my head,” he said hoarsely.
She pulled away from him violently, her face ravaged by grief. “No, no. It was me.”
“Bathsheba . . .”
“Who was it who followed you around the camp? Who was it who could look only at you when her groom sat beside her? Who was it who stood naked in her courtyard so that you could see her? Who was it who went into your arms without a thought for her husband?” She beat her fists against her heart. “Me! It was me!”
David caught hold of her wrists. “God didn’t punish our son, Bathsheba. He took him out of the reach of evil men.” Like those he had just left. Like others within his own house who would use this to rise against him. “How many would’ve used the circumstances of our son’s birth to blaspheme against God? The Lord has kept our son from harm.”
“I want my son! I want to hold my son!”
David gripped her head and looked into her red-rimmed, tear-drenched eyes. “He’s in the Lord’s hands, my love. I can’t bring him back to you.” He pulled her close again, rocking her as though she were a child in need of comfort. “Someday we will go and be with him.”
Bathsheba relaxed against him. “The Lord must hate me.”
“No.” He tenderly combed the dark lank hair back from her face. His heart squeezed tight at the pallor of her cheeks, the suffering in her eyes. “I misused my authority, Bathsheba. When I saw you, I asked who you were. Did I have a thought for your husband or your father or grandfather? I remembered the little girl who had followed me about the camp with her heart in her eyes. I saw the beautiful woman you’d become, and I wanted you. Nothing mattered but to satisfy my own lust. I gave no thought of the cost to others, especially the cost to you.”
“I should’ve been like Abigail, warning you . . .”
“I was a different man when Abigail confronted me, Bathsheba. Young and on fire for the Lord. I was running for my life in those days. Look around you. You see the way I live now. When I saw you from the roof, I was a king blinded by pride.” Pain filled him as he saw himself clearly now. He had shirked his duty as commander of the army. He’d grown bored and restless while living his life of leisure in the palace. When he saw a woman of unusual beauty bathing, he sent soldiers to bring her to him. Why shouldn’t he take whatever he wanted? He was king!
What a fool he’d been.
“I was so conceited! I thought I held all power in my hand. I thought I could have whatever I wanted. So I stole you from another, sired a child, then tried to use my friend to hide the evidence of my sin. Uriah proved himself more righteous than I.” He felt her shudder in his arms.
“He knew,” she said softly.
“Yes, he knew.” He shut his eyes, stricken again. “The judgment is on my head, Bathsheba, because I shed innocent blood.” He was filled with self-loathing and grief. “After all the L
ord has done for me, I allowed lust to control me and turned away from the One who had given me victory on every side.”
“I share the blame. I used love as an excuse to sin.”
“You didn’t kill Uriah.”
“A man’s heart can die before a spear ever pierces him.” Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. Uriah had been a good husband, an honest man, and she’d crushed his heart and been the motive behind his murder.
David pressed her head against his heart, unable to speak. How was it possible for two people to know and love the Law and yet sin so abominably? How and when had sin first crept into their lives and spread like a plague until it killed their consciences? Had the seeds of sin been planted years ago, when he’d realized she was no longer a child and wished he had asked for her before Eliam gave her to another man? Had the seeds planted then been watered with his own fantasies?
Yet, what he felt for Bathsheba wasn’t lust. Not entirely. He loved her.
Tipping her chin, David kissed her. Her lips trembled, and he sensed her hesitance. He kissed her again and felt her respond. When he lifted his head, she leaned against him again with a soft sigh. “God has forgiven us,” he said, closing his eyes and giving silent thanks. “The Lord has shown His great mercy in giving us our lives. And He did not say I had to give you up.”
“But how shall we live, knowing what we’ve done and the harm it’s brought to others?”
“We will live one day at a time and face whatever comes.”
“It’ll never be over. Oh, David, I see so clearly now, and it hurts so much. We won’t be the only ones to suffer.” She drew back, looking up at him. “If only we were the only ones . . .”
He cupped her cheek. “Nathan proclaimed the word of the Lord. I know what is to come.”
She went into his arms and clung fiercely. “I love you, David. I’ve always loved you. No matter what happens, I always will.”