Michal (2 page)

“Send for the singer,” Abinadab said, coming up behind them. “At least the house has some peace from the madness when he plucks those strings of his.”

“I sent for him yesterday.” Jonathan stopped at the entrance to their father’s harem. “How badly was she hurt?” he asked Michal.

“She had a cut on her arm, maybe a few bruises. I sent for Marta.”

“With that temper of his, it’s a wonder he didn’t kill her.” Abinadab scowled.

“Keep your tone respectful, Brother. He’s still our father and king.”

“He doesn’t act like a king.” Michal tensed, wishing she could retract the words.

“Maybe not, but we must still keep in mind that he is the Lord’s anointed.”

Michal sighed, feeling far older than her fifteen years. A guard emerged from her mother’s chambers, the king leaning on his arm. They stepped to the side, allowing the king to pass. His eyes held a dazed expression, as though he looked through them instead of at them.

“He’s not a good king,” Michal whispered, when their father had turned down the hall leading to his own chambers.

Jonathan’s hand on her arm made her look up at him again. “We have to trust the Lord in this, Michal.”

He walked on toward their mother’s room. His earnest expression brought a sliver of hope into her heart, but in the same moment the old doubts rose to haunt her.

“Then why has the Lord forsaken our father?” she asked, hurrying to keep up. The question had burned within her since the day their father had returned from a battle with the Amalekites, shaken to the core. He’d never spoken of it, and she was desperate to understand. “Please, Jonathan, do you know why the Most High seems to torment Father rather than help him?”

Jonathan crossed the threshold to their mother’s chambers, where Michal could see the woman resting on her couch, Marta at her side.

“The singer will ease Father’s worries,” he said. “Don’t trouble yourself with the rest.” He touched her arm. “I’ll handle things here.”

Michal nodded, relieved to be free of the whole ordeal. Grabbing up her skirts, she raced to the outside of the palace kitchens where stone steps led to the lookout area on the flat roof.
David.
If Jonathan had already sent for him, he could be coming up the hill from Bethlehem. She might be able to spot him from the rooftop.

She rounded a corner closest to the clay ovens, where scents of garlic and leeks mingled with the yeasty smells of baking bread. One sniff made her stomach growl, but she pressed a hand to her waist and grasped the rail. She raised her foot to climb the first step when the echoing sounds of her father’s screams sent her hopes plummeting.

Her sister, Merab, came up behind her, dark hair flowing beneath a blue veil, arms crossed in her arrogant older sister pose. Sometimes Michal saw glimpses of her father in her sister’s cold eyes and tight smile. She shuddered at the thought.

“There you are. Mother needs you,” Merab said.

Michal let out a sigh. “Jonathan is with her. She doesn’t need me.” She had to get away from her mother’s demands.

Merab lifted her chin. “Of course she does. It’s always you she wants.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “You best hurry—you know how she gets.”

Yes. She knew only too well.

A feeling of rebellion made her pause. Of late her mother had grown almost as unreasonable as her father, even going so far as to bring teraphim into the palace. The household gods made her shiver every time she looked at them.

Michal glanced up at the roof, then back at her sister. “I’ll be there soon.” Before Merab could protest, Michal scurried up the stone steps to the lookout place between the dual towers.

A brisk breeze whipped her head cloth behind her while she gripped the stone parapet. She bent forward, straining to see against the glare of the fading sun.

David.

She swayed to the music of his name echoing in her heart. Leaning her weary limbs against the stone tower, she released an unsteady breath. Below her, ricocheting against the granite walls of the palace, the sounds of her father’s raving madness carried through the open windows.

Any moment now the harpist, straddling his father’s gray donkey, would trot through the imposing gates of Gibeah, straight to her father’s side.

Oh, please hurry!

The incessant pounding of her heart increased at the sound of a sudden, earsplitting scream. She clamped her hands over her ears and rocked back on her heels.

Why, God? Why does my father act this way?

Michal bit back a sob and stretched farther over the rail’s edge, begging her eyes to find the object of her desire, of her desperation. Truth be told, she needed the magic of the singer’s music almost as much as her father did. Maybe then her fears would subside, her anxious thoughts cease.

She rushed to the other end of the roof. Her fingers trembling, she flipped her braided hair behind her back and peered around the towers toward the hills. For a moment the beauty of the sunset calmed her tattered nerves.

Please come. Don’t make us wait another day.

Her father’s guttural wail coming from below reduced her fragile peace to ashes. She raised her fists in the air and screamed.

Cushioned couches lined the south wall of the king’s court where Michal reclined beside her mother and sister, her gaze fixed on the singer. Though it was long after dark, David had finally come. His sweet music wooed her, and the strings of his harp mimicked the melodic trill of a nightingale. She closed her eyes, picturing the cascading blue-green waters of En Gedi.

Tension slipped from her shoulders, and her restless fears vanished.
David.
Had she spoken his name aloud? But David’s gaze was focused on her father. King Saul was no longer the crazed madman of a few hours ago. His eyes were clear, and his lips curved in a smile.

Michal’s heart stirred with something akin to compassion. She could almost love the king when he was like this.

The music drifted into stillness. David’s head lifted, and he glanced in her direction. Michal’s breath caught when their eyes connected. His casual, dimpled smile nearly made her heart stop. Could he read her thoughts? Could he tell how her heart yearned for him? His gaze moved past her and lingered on her sister. Michal shifted in her seat, catching the blush on Merab’s cheeks.

In a suspended moment, Michal glanced from Merab to David, who had turned away to face Jonathan and the king. But not soon enough to hide the look that had passed between them. A look that told her more than words could begin to say.

David—the man who had captured her heart—was in love with her sister.

2

David’s right hand clutched the sling circling in a wide arc, his grip tightening on the leather strings. Eyes fixed on the target—a chipped vase sitting at a distance on a natural rock projection—he twirled faster with easy, practiced determination, until finally he let loose the stone.

The air rang with a high-pitched
whoosh
, and the vase exploded with a handful of clinking pops.

“That was dead-on!”

“Glad that wasn’t my head.”

“Good thing he’s on our side.”

David heard the shouts of admiration amid the friendly backslapping as he stepped aside to allow the next of Saul’s twenty-four armor bearers to take aim at another target. He turned at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. Prince Jonathan stood at his side.

David dipped his head. “My lord. I did not hear your footsteps.”

“Never admit such a thing to your superiors, David. A warrior never lets his guard down.” Jonathan’s brown eyes danced.

David dropped a stone in the flat leather pad of his sling and glanced quickly in all directions. “Is that better, my lord?” He smiled, palmed the stone, and slipped it into the pouch at his belt. “I had assumed I was among friends.”

Jonathan shifted the quiver of arrows at his shoulder, his angular face taking on a somber expression. “These days it’s hard to tell friend from foe.”

David followed Jonathan’s gaze to the fifty men broken into smaller groups spaced about the field and practicing with bow and sling. His attention stopped at the pillarlike stone structure where the targets were placed by one of the young men at the edge of the field. They’d dubbed the stone
Ezel
, or “departure,” due to its proximity to the road heading south of Gibeah—toward home in Bethlehem.

“So are you cleared to stay a month this time?” Jonathan asked.

“My father is pleased to allow me to serve the king as long as my lord wishes.”

Jonathan nodded, turning east toward the stone palace fortress. “Let’s walk.”

David tucked the sling into his belt and followed the prince in the opposite direction of the practicing captains and armor bearers. A quiet camaraderie fell between them as the warm breeze blew puffs of white pollen into the air and rustled the dry grass beneath their sandals.

“I see your nephews followed you here again.”

David nodded. “Joab and Abishai. I can’t seem to lose them.”

Jonathan laughed, his somber expression replaced by a wide smile. “We have another thing in common then. I have at least one family member I wouldn’t mind losing for a while.”

David glanced at Jonathan. “Things have not improved while I was away.”

Near the edge of the palace grounds, Jonathan turned west toward a plateau where a large terebinth tree shaded the ground. They sat in the dirt among the gnarled roots, the wind playing with the leaves above them.

“Things will never improve until my father repents of his sin,” Jonathan said, setting the quiver and bow between them. “You have heard the rumors, have you not?”

David looked up, meeting Jonathan’s gaze. “Rumors, my lord?”

“About my father and the Amalekites and Samuel’s prediction. You are aware of this?”

He knew, of course. But the prophet Samuel had warned him not to reveal his knowledge. Only a handful of people had heard Samuel’s prediction to King Saul, and as long as Saul was in power, the less David should tell. So how much should he reveal to the future king of Israel—his rival?

“I know Samuel was unhappy when your father refused to kill all of the Amalekites.” He picked a twig from the dirt and stole a glance at Jonathan.

The prince removed his leather helmet and ran a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. “Not even my brothers know this. But I was there that day. I heard Samuel’s prediction.” He faced David then. “Tell me, David. Have you met the prophet?”

David’s heart skipped a beat. He forced his gaze to hold steady, to keep from revealing the turmoil coursing through him. “Yes.”

“When?”

David’s stomach knotted. “A couple of months ago . . . before I was summoned to play for your father.” He paused. The chirping and echoing response of two birds broke the silence. “Why?”

Jonathan stroked his beard. “Samuel told my father that the Lord had torn the kingdom from him and would give it to another, his neighbor—someone better than him.” He looked beyond David as though deep in thought. “I do not wish to pry into your affairs, David. But there is one thing I must know.”

The hairs rose on David’s arms. “What is that, my prince?”

Jonathan’s hands stilled, resting on his knees. He looked into David’s eyes, unwavering. “Did Samuel anoint you?”