Whispers from Adullam
He speaks where you’re vulnerable.
Fingers of sunlight played on the psalmists through the lattice window above a high-backed cedar chair covered with sheepskin and leopard fur. The chief psalmist stepped forward, dipped his head before the chair and nodded at a young man who sat astride the royal harp, hands at the ready.
Dawid smiled faintly. The strings of the harp sang softly and swept melody across the banquet hall like frankincense. He looked at the harpist who had surrendered to the instrument with his head resting on the gopher frame, fingers gliding along the strings. The young man’s eyes were closed and Dawid remembered another time and place.
Long before becoming the unified king, Dawid had mastered the harp. His callused fingers stroked the leopard fur at the recollection of his days sitting with a harp before King Sha’ul. If he had lost himself to the harp like the young man, he’d have died on the night Sha’ul went berserk.
“I cried out to Elohim with my voice, and he gave ear to me…” The chief psalmist broke into his thoughts with a baritone commanding attention. In both song and speech, Asaph’s voice shook the soul awake. “In the day of my trouble, I sought Adonai…”
But Dawid was having none of it. Not today. And this had been the case for months. Raising a hand, he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with the other.
“My lord?” The chief psalmist looked up from the hymnal scroll.
“Asaph, your baritone gives me a headache.”
The harpist, who was seated to Dawid’s right, recoiled from the instrument and coughed. He glanced up at Dawid’s chair, then at Asaph. Dawid chuckled and said, “Yonah, you’re a fine prodigy. The harp listens to you like sheep to shepherd. But take your leave, son. You can play some other time.”
Dawid turned to Asaph. “Forgive me, my friend. My soul is awake quite alright, but it is inattentive…adrift.” He looked beyond Asaph, “The rest of you psalmists can go. My butler will tend to you with food and wine.”
Long banquet tables and chairs had been cleared to one side of the hall to make room for the psalmists. Dawid sat on a platform overlooking the clearing where Asaph stood.
“Get a chair and come up, Asaph. On second thought, I’ll come down and grab one.”
“As my lord pleases.”
“Drop the formality. You and I have come a long way.” Dawid grabbed two chairs by their armrests, placing them at the foot of the platform. He sat down and tapped the other, “Sit, my friend. Sit.”
For a while, Dawid stared into space. “Music makes us brothers, you know. It doesn’t care if you are king or commoner.” He gently tapped his chest with his fist, “The heart is what it is after.” Then he said, “I think when Adonai bent to breathe into man, it sounded like many flutes.”
Asaph grinned, “You are indeed Adonai’s beloved.”
Dawid sighed.
“What troubles you, my lord? Since I have been permitted to speak freely as with a friend, I’d say you’ve been restless since after the siege at Rabbah.”
“I thought music was my path to calm. And Adonai is silent. There’s no brotherhood among the dead…,” Dawid looked up and stared at Asaph. “I am rambling right?” He exhaled through his mouth. “Adonai is silent. It breaks my heart that Adonai is silent.”
Asaph leaned in and balanced his folded hands on his knees. “What happened during the siege?”
There was rustle and a dull clang. Asaph turned to see a maidservant walk in with a tray bearing a wine flask and two cups. “Thank you, Neriah,” the king said as she placed the tray on the banquet table and left.
“I should have been on the battlefield. A war cry is better than this tempest in my soul. Are you thirsty?” Dawid got up and filled the silver cups with pomegranate wine. He handed one to Asaph but stayed on his feet.
“To think that my hands were itching to strangle a wealthy man who roasted his neighbour’s only lamb…” Dawid said and gulped the wine in one go.
Asaph’s thumbs rubbed the palm trees and clusters of grapes embossed on the cup. Sometimes, in distress, the king hid behind the curtains of language. Listeners were like fish and the sympathetic ones were caught in the hook of his vague lines until he made his confession. The chief psalmist knew that King Dawid, despite being a feared warrior, did not like to be criticized.
“Respectfully my lord king, I’m deeply worried by your statements. Please make them clear.”
Dawid sighed. “You know me too well, Asaph. Even Yehonatan, Adonai rest his soul, would be envious.” He sat down and said, “Alright then. Enough of my babbling.”
***
The rain had stopped a while ago.
Small balls of raindrops rolled down the palm fronds brushing the railing round about the roof of the palace. The evening air was fresh as mint, sharpening the scent of saffron, lavender and hyssop.
Dawid yawned and cinched his robes as he climbed the stairs leading to the roof. He wriggled his nose at the prickly scent, resisting the urge to sneeze.
All was quiet and this was unusual; it was wartime season but here he was, relaxing on a recliner distanced from the railing and away from the gates of Rabbah.
Spring was a favourite but he hated the mud and dampness. He sometimes swayed to the imagined rhythms of the rains pounding the ceramic covering of the roof. A long time ago, he had gone in search of a lamb when it began to rain. As he headed for the sheepfold with the lamb balanced across his shoulders, he started dancing and forgot the bleating poor thing. He came to himself when he slipped and slammed his face into mud and dung while the lamb scampered away.
Dawid smiled at the memory. The fronds rustled, sprinkling droplets on the railing and the floor. A red bird, having a small piece of frond in its beak, landed on the beam of the railing and shook its feathers; it looked askance at him, hopped twice and flew off.
Making a mental note of the intrusive fronds to inform the gardener, he approached the railing and walked along its length. The palm tree had so much reach that it hid a good portion of the roof from view. He walked to the western side and watched the sun going down.
From that point, he had a bird’s-eye view of Yerushalayim: the streets, the markets, the quarters and…he looked intently.
A woman.
The woman’s skin was the colour of bronze glistening even in the dying sunlight. Dawid watched her scoop water with a jar to wash off the soap suds. He turned his back to the scene, his throat suddenly dry; his heart skipped when he heard the splashing of water.
He tried to unsee as he sat on the recliner and couldn’t tell if the splash was imagined. Everything seemed to have heightened around him, including the scent. What he just saw had ruined Shimshon the Strong.
The woman was a stunner.
And Dawid knew he was done for.
***
Could this get any worse? She was daughter and wife to Eli’am and Uriah respectively, two of his elite soldiers ranked among the top thirty.
Dawid couldn’t count how many times he paced and sat in his bedroom while a servant went to fetch her. On one count, he knocked down an ink bottle, spilling ink on a psalm half-finished. What was this? The hand that had struck Golyat the Giant with a flying pebble was incapable of a simple task.
He laughed at himself, at the heady fragrance of jasmine. Moments before, he had rubbed his head and beard with the ointment. If Yehonatan saw him now, he’d shake his head with that lopsided smile and say, “Dawid my brother, you are better off killing bears than wooing women.” He missed Yehonatan, son of King Sha’ul.
Footsteps approached. Dawid was up in an instant, adjusting his robes and smoothening his hair and beard. A servant called from the anteroom, “My lord king, the Lady Batsheva is here as summoned.”
“Was her coming discreet?” Dawid asked.
“Yes, my lord king,” came the reply.
“Bring her in and sit her at the dining table. I’ll be out shortly.” Dawid tried to keep his voice steady.
Dawid couldn’t see Batsheva’s face because of a shawl she had on. She stood up as he entered.
“My lord king,” she whispered.
He moved around the table and stood in her space. The scent of citrus and something else clung to her. He hesitated before reaching for her shawl and gently lowered it.
Batsheva’s beauty sizzled in the firelight.
***
“When I removed her shawl, the beastly urge to possess seized me. I couldn’t get enough, couldn’t let go,” Dawid said.
Asaph sipped but said nothing. He hadn’t said anything since the king’s narrative began.
“It did not matter that she was married. It did not matter that I had a harem of wives and concubines. I was so convinced that if I did…I did not ravish her body, I’d go mad and nail a man to a wall, just as King Sha’ul nearly did me in with a javelin.”
“Shimshon the Strong uprooted a city gate and carried it up a hill, a jagged hill, but Dalila’s beauty crushed him,” Asaph said. Tsking, he added, “Batting eyelashes and a seductive voice are deadlier than Egyptian asps.”
“Batsheva is not to be blamed, Asaph. She had no wiles, no agenda, unlike Dalila. Her innocence was that of a ewe lamb and I pounced on it.”
***
I am pregnant.
Three words on a letter strung so tight Dawid had to cut it loose with a knife. Two aggrieved men before him, arguing about land encroachment. One hand gripping the letter as though it’d purge out the words.
Dawid heard nothing the men said. He summoned a councillor, handed over their case and retired to his bedroom.
There was only one way to unearth this seed of scandal from his garden. He sat down behind his desk, rolled out a fresh parchment and scribbled a note to General Yoav.
Send me Uriah the Hittite. I have an assignment for him. Treat as urgent.
The king rolled the parchment and sealed it with his royal emblem. Every month since the war began, the army received a supply of barley loaves, arrows and spears. He called for Yosef, the officer in charge of the supply, and handed the letter.
“I want this delivered to Yoav. See that it gets to him as soon as possible. You know the route better than any man, Yosef. Tell the stable master to give you the best horse in his keep.”
This had to work. Uriah hadn’t seen his family for months. He’d be doing the man a kindness. Besides, Uriah was also known to be an excellent diplomat; he had settled skirmishes in the city without lifting a sword. As a cover, Dawid would send him to help the city police on his arrival.
But first, Uriah had to go spend the night with his wife.
He thought of Batsheva’s letter and sent for her. Adonai help him! He feared the woman’s surreal looks. So, he arranged the meeting to take place on the roof of his palace.
“The Lady Batsheva, my lord.”
That orangey scent had quickened his pulse before she was announced. He turned and regarded her in the torchlight. Where had Batsheva been hiding all this while? If Uriah hadn’t married her, he’d have called on the priest.
“You sent for me,” she said.
Her terseness punched him in the gut. And it took his wounded gut to look her in the eye. Surprisingly, he found no hatred, only concern. Or was the torchlight playing tricks?
“Uhm,” he cleared his throat. “Yes, I did. We…we need to talk about the obvious.” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word pregnancy.
Batsheva did not break her gaze. He imagined a crystal-clear lake with depths that could be seen from the heights. This woman invaded his soul.
How dare she look at him? Couldn’t he deny the affair and have her stoned according to the law? Wasn’t he king? He felt like an impostor and wondered if that was what drove men to tyranny.
Dawid pursed his lips and looked away. “You’ll have to seduce your husband when he returns. I have sent word to Rabbah.”
She said nothing.
He expected to see disgust when he looked at her. Her oval face was unreadable.
“I do not dishonour you Batsheva, but this must be done.” He swallowed hard. “You know the penalty. This is the only way.”
***
Uriah rode in at dusk two days later. It had rained all afternoon. The king watched from the balcony of his throne room as the drenched soldier dismounted from his horse.
Holding a small leather bag, Uriah stood in the drizzle and looked around the empty courtyard. A stable boy ran up to him and took the reins from his hand.
Dawid turned away and mounted the dais. Soon Uriah would walk into the throne room and he’d face the man whose allegiance, despite being a foreigner, was without question.
The herald announced Uriah’s presence a little later. He had changed his garment but still looked battle-ready. Weapons were not allowed in the throne room, so there was no sword in his scabbard.
“My lord king, may your days be long on the earth,” Uriah said.
“How are things on the warfront?” Dawid asked.
“Morale is high under General Yoav’s command, my lord. We are confident of victory.”
“That is pleasing to hear, Uriah. I have an assignment for you, but first you need to rest. I saw you ride in drenched. So go home and get refreshed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Uriah bowed.
“I have asked them to package some food and wine for you. Please go home and rest.”
Dawid sighed after Uriah had left. However, he needed to be sure the man went home and ordered the servant who bore the food and wine to watch him.
***
“Uriah did not go home that night. I couldn’t sleep and waited for feedback. Later, I was informed that he went to the guard post to chat with the palace guards.”
Asaph had lost count of how many cups the king had downed. Dawid’s speech was a bit slurred. The king was about to refill his cup when Asaph stretched his hand over it.
“I think you’ve had too much wine, my lord,” Asaph whispered, taking away the cup and jug.
Chuckling, Dawid got up. “The wine helps my tongue wag freely. But you’re right; enough for tonight.
“I summoned Uriah to know why he hadn’t gone home. He said he couldn’t because of Yoav, the soldiers and the Ark of Adonai.”
***
On the third day of Uriah’s return, Dawid paced before the desk in his room. He could not sit still because Uriah was a thorn in his buttock. Yesterday, he invited the soldier to dine with him; he had hoped wine would loosen him up and make him suggestible, but the man staggered back to the guard post.
What was he going to do? What if he got Uriah out of the way and married Batsheva before her belly bulged? But how? He could frame and execute him. Ah, that wouldn’t work. The people loved Uriah and he was well respected in the army.
The army? Yoav.
Dawid stopped pacing and drew back the chair. His chest tightened at the thought that had sprung up. The quill hovered above the parchment and his body rocked as he cried. He wiped his eyes and the ink that had spattered on the parchment.
It had to be done. His guilt was a tremor compared with the scandal that would erupt if he didn’t act fast.
To General Yoav:
Take Uriah and some of your men to where the battle is fiercest. Withdraw from him as soon as the Ammonites charge so that he will be killed. I trust your discretion on this. Send word when it is done.
His Majesty King Dawid ben Yishay
Yoav was not easily given to sentiments and followed orders that were not in the way of his interests. Dawid trusted his general on this and he’d have Uriah deliver the letter.
He sealed the parchment and stared at the inky red smear on his palm.
***
“That was how I ordered the death of a loyal soldier. News got to me that they found Uriah’s body riddled with arrows, just by the gate of Rabbah. They say he was a porcupine killing Ammonites till he fell.”
Asaph hung his head.
“Asaph, I became a stranger to myself, lost in my own body.” Dawid rubbed his forehead. “What I had done seemed like news of someone else’s actions, someone far away.”
Crickets chirped in the silence that followed. The king, shoulders hunched, had buried his face in his palms.
“It was a way to cope, my friend. Even though peace is never found there.” Asaph sidled his chair to the king’s and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Adonai didn’t go silent; you stopped hearing. He speaks where we are vulnerable, where we admit we’re nothing but dust.”
“And man became a living soul,” Dawid whispered. “I see why he sent Natan the Seer since I was lost to conscience. A man without a conscience cannot restore that of another.”
“Yes, my lord king. We fall short of hearing, but Adonai speaks regardless. If we are deaf to conscience but still hear a man speak, he is merciful to send someone with a voice as gruff and stern as the seer’s.”
Dawid laughed. He looked at Asaph’s toothy grin and laughed again. “You know walls are no barrier to Natan if Adonai wills it. Be careful what you say.”
“Ah, the seer’s ears are not for petty matters,” Asaph smiled.
The king stood up and sat astride the harp. He leaned his forehead on the frame and sighed. “You know, I hear Natan’s words now, ‘Adonai has put away your sin; you shall not die.’” He glanced at Asaph, “Though it grieves me that I have invited death into my house. May his mercy prevail.”
He fingered the strings of the harp and his eyes grew moist. “Adonai, show me mercy according to your lovingkindness; may the waters of your tender mercies erase my sins.” He rested his head on the frame again, lips quivering, and groaned.
The sight of the king shredded Asaph. He wiped his eyes and sang, “Adonai, you do not despise the broken-hearted. You are full of compassion and forgive our iniquity.”
“The voice of Adonai is better than the sacrifice of cattle on a thousand hills,” Dawid mused.
“So is a broken, contrite heart,” Asaph said.
“Hmm,” Dawid nodded. “A psalm is taking shape already. Need to write down the words before they are lost like the dew.”
Just as Dawid was about to stand, Neriah hurried in and bowed. “Queen Batsheva urgently requests your presence, my lord king.”
“What about?” Dawid asked.
“The baby isn’t breastfeeding and he has a fever.”
Dawid felt a tightening in his chest. Would Adonai spare his son? The seer had spoken of the infant’s death.
He got up and hurried after the maidservant.
THE END
