Warrior Poet (14 page)

“How is he?” David asked, dropping on his knees beside them. Jahra opened his eyes and gave David a wan smile.

“His fever has lessened, thanks be to God,” said the young man. “My master told me to give him the best of care. I gave him some herbs to drink to help with the fever. I also put fresh wrappings on his leg, with a honey poultice.”

David nodded gratefully. “His name is Jahra, by the way; mine is David.”

“I am Adriel of Meholah.” He emphasized his place of birth as if it held some significance. It meant nothing to David. “I heard what you both did for the prince.” Adriel’s words were as precise and measured as his pointed black beard. “And that you were given an audience with the king.” His smile was wide, but there was a contradictory coolness in the words. David was surprised to notice a sharpness along the corners of Adriel’s dark, glittering eyes. He reminded David of a bantam rooster preparing to strike. “The queen mother will be very grateful,” Adriel continued, showing more of his white teeth. “It would have simply destroyed her if the prince had died. And, it goes without saying, his younger sister as well.” A possessiveness had crept into his voice. “Had the Philistines killed him, I fear what she might have done. Members of the royal family are highly sensitive, you understand.” His expression made it clear he was sure that David did not understand.

“Do you mean Michal?” David asked sharply, riled by the young man’s condescension.

“Why, yes,” he responded, giving David a sharp look. “I ordered a messenger to deliver the good news to Princess Michal.” He licked his lips, then continued. “I am the royal physician’s chief assistant and am responsible for the welfare of the extended family. I have treated her on not a few occasions, and she has been very grateful for my help.” He looked coolly at David, stroking his beard lightly. His attention was diverted when Jahra moaned. He took another rag from the bowl beside him, wrung it out, and replaced the one on Jahra’s forehead.

“I only want what is best for her,” Adriel said, touching his chest lightly as though emphasizing the depth of his concern. There was hostility lurking beneath the careful words. It was becoming clear. Ahimelech’s assistant was not bragging as much as issuing a warning.

Adriel rose to his feet and plucked pieces of grass from his tunic. “I have done all I can here,” he said. “Your friend should continue to improve, but if he does not, you are to alert me immediately. I will be staying in the tent next to the king’s.”

“Thank you for your help. We are very grateful.” David looked down at Jahra, who was nodding in appreciation. “He looks much better already.”

When Adriel had walked away, David felt Jahra’s forehead. It was much cooler, and fever no longer glowed in his eyes. His smile was broad and genuine.

“You had me worried,” David said. “But looks like you’re going to be just fine. Thankfully you’re as tough as an old donkey.” He lay on his back next to his friend and closed his eyes. He felt drained.

Jahra poked him in the ribs. David looked at him. His friend was pointing toward the tree where the hanging had almost occurred.

“So you heard the commotion?”

Jahra nodded vigorously.

He laid his head back and began telling Jahra what happened to the prince. At some point before completing the story, exhausted, he fell asleep.

And at some point the nightmare came.

The cave is familiar. It is cool and dark. The deeper he walks, the cooler it becomes. He is naked, of course. He is alone, except for the wolves that pursue him, though he cannot see them. The skin on his back crawls, the dread worse than actual sight. He keeps moving forward, compelled by an inner necessity. His feet slide on the greasy film covering the stones. The tunnel narrows; he feels his chest constrict. He can hear the padding of feet; they are at his heels.

His pace quickens.

The walls press in upon him. He stoops to keep his head from hitting the ceiling as his elbows scrape against the sides. His heart in his throat, he bursts into the room. It is still and dark. Gnarled talons of wet stone rise up from the uneven floor and reach down from the glistening ceiling. They are grasping for him. The thudding of his heart and the hollow echo of drops falling into shallow, dead ponds drown out the sound of the hungry predators.

Amber eyes leer at him. Narrow faces with gray snouts smile, exposing sharp, wet fangs. The eyes are fixed on his unclothed body. The beasts amble forward silently. There is a mocking humor in their eyes that makes him feel unclean.

That is when he sees her. The female saunters into the shaft of bluish light that transects the cavern. A thrill of horror scurries through him as she approaches. There is a coquettish sway to her body. Her eyes burn into his. In their depths is an allure that terrifies him. Unhurried, she reaches out gently to paw him. He can see the tip of her red tongue between grinning lips. The taste of acrid black smoke fills his mouth, and his whole body begins to shake.

Chapter Sixteen

“David! David!” His eyes opened. Shimeah was above him, motioning for him to get up. It was evening, but the sun had not yet set.

“The prince wants to see you—and Jahra, too, since he is over whatever was ailing him.” Shimeah gestured toward Jahra, who was leaning on a crutch and had a twig in his mouth, maneuvering it with practiced movements of his tongue and lip. The sight of it was all the proof David needed to know his friend had recovered. His hair had been brushed, and he wore a tunic David had never seen before.

“Come on, we have been celebrating for hours,” Shimeah said, pulling him to his feet. “You made quite an impression, little brother.” The warmth in his voice sounded a little forced.

David’s head was foggy, and he was having trouble dragging his thoughts free of that forbidding cave.

“I suggest you clean up and comb those twigs out of your hair. You will be meeting the king after all.” Shimeah gave a hollow laugh. A cold shiver froze David’s insides, and the memory of the nightmare vanished. He bent down to thrust his hands into a bowl of water on the ground, then ran wet fingers through his matted hair.

Shimeah adjusted his own tunic, pulling it down so that it lay flat over his portly stomach. He sighed, then cocked his eyebrow at his brother. “Rumor has it that in attendance will be a certain raven-haired member of the royal family, who also wishes to make your acquaintance.”

As David prepared to leave, Jahra held up a forefinger, then began riffling through his pile of cloth. Motioning for David to turn around, he tied his hair back with a green strip. Then he wrapped a wide red and yellow cloth around his waist. Nodding approvingly, Jahra picked up his crutch and pointed toward the noisy crowd.

“Wait,” David barked as Jahra was preparing to lead the way. “Look at me.”

Jahra turned with a questioning look.

David reached out and pulled the wet twig from his friend’s mouth and threw it away. “That’s better.
Now
you won’t look like you just fell off an ox cart.”

A cacophony of voices pummeled them as they approached the campfires that filled the grounds and were scattered haphazardly around a dais in the center. Soldiers were shouting, singing, and laughing. Loud voices held sway, recounting daring exploits.

The raucous men took no notice of them as they approached the table of honor. The aroma of roasting goat and sheep filled the air, mingling with garlic, olive oil, and bread baking in the coals. The smells reminded David that his last meal had been only a simple breakfast hastily eaten early that morning.

The crackling flames and sounds of popping fat dripping onto the wood lent a peaceful, companionable atmosphere to the celebration. He looked around enviously at the soldiers’ brash, comfortable camaraderie and imagined what it must feel like to be able to swagger up to a spit, make a coarse joke, and slice off a piece of sizzling meat as the other men grumbled good-naturedly. The image made his chest feel as hollow as a dried ram’s horn. He was suddenly glad that he had not caught sight of his other brothers.

Tall torches set on pikes blazed around the makeshift platform where the royals and senior staff sat at a long table. At the center of the table was King Saul with General Abner to his left. They were lifting bronze mugs, shouting out slurred toasts toward the six commanders sitting to Abner’s left. Two of them were tall and looked like they could be Jonathan’s brothers. But the only one David recognized was his cousin Manoah.

Jonathan was to the king’s right. He was turned away from his father, his attention taken by a beautiful girl seated next to him. Her black hair was woven in a thick braid that was wrapped tightly around her head. It glistened in the torchlight like an ebony crown. Next to her was Adriel, who wore a tunic that seemed to glow in the light of the torches. His eyes—dark, brooding caverns—were trained on David, and his hand rested strategically on the back of Michal’s chair. Next to him sat Ahimelech and several other men David had not yet seen. One was wearing a wide purple turban. David suspected that this was Eleazar, the guardian of the ark.

Behind them, a cluster of servants stood around a fire, over which the remains of an ox revolved on a spit. Strips of grilled meat hung from the skeleton, curling and turning black at the tips. David wanted nothing more than to rip them off and shove them into his mouth. He had to tear his eyes away from the carcass. Sisha was bustling about, peering at the plates laden with meat and grilled vegetables. He was also making sure that the soot and charred edges were removed from the steaming loaves of bread being taken from the coals.

Shimeah and David halted several paces from the dais. Jahra was two paces behind. They stood awkwardly, waiting to be recognized.

David’s attention was drawn back to the girl leaning in toward Jonathan. She had her older brother’s chin, lips, and fine nose. Her eyes had more of an almond shape, the corners slanting upward, and her hair was darker, but the resemblance was undeniable—this was Michal. She was looking up at the prince, as if savoring every word. As she listened, her expression alternated between horror and delight.

When Jonathan turned to pick up his cup, he noticed David and gave him a wide grin. He whispered something to his sister, and she leaned her head back, laughing. David felt his cheeks growing warm and wished he were back in the Judean hills, alone with his sheep. But though he felt foolish, he could not keep from staring at the girl. Her glistening hair and soft lips aroused in him dangerous desires.

Jonathan lifted his hand toward David, indicating that he should wait. When David looked back at Michal, she was looking at him. David felt the breath squeeze from his lungs. It was like being startled awake from a dream in which he’d been falling. But it came with a stab of pain, as if he’d torn open a wound.

Her dark eyes with their heavy dark lashes widened slightly, and her lips parted. For the briefest moment, she looked surprised, as if she’d seen someone she had not expected. It was a look of recognition and … something that seemed like relief.

David felt a tug on his tunic. “Look down, you idiot!” Shimeah commanded in a sibilant whisper. “If he sees you gaping at his daughter, King Saul will run a stake through you and roast you slowly over the coals.”

David ignored him. Heat went through his chest, to his stomach and lower. Strangely, despite his physical reaction, the embarrassment faded, leaving him with confused feelings of weakness and longing and power.

Michal’s lips twitched, but instead of a smile there was a flash of dismay, followed by the tilt of her head as she shoved herself away from the table. David was stunned. Then he saw Adriel reach out to right the cup of wine he’d knocked over in front of her. He offered profuse apologies as the maidservants hurriedly wiped off the table. Adriel gave him a quick glance before nervously peering at the king. Saul and Jonathan were speaking to each other and took no notice.

Shimeah shook his head in a quick gesture of warning. “Do not say a word until the prince speaks to us.”

Saul turned his watery eyes toward the three standing in front of him. He blinked several times as if trying to bring them into focus. “You may approach,” he finally growled after what felt like an eternity. With two jabs of his index finger, he indicated that he meant David and Jahra. He dismissed Shimeah with a wave.

David took a few steps forward, his heart pounding. He felt the absurd need to run off so he could relieve his bladder. When they were within arm’s length of the table, the king unexpectedly addressed Jahra. “How is your leg, young man?” His smile was a little crooked, and his words slid over themselves as if coated in oil. His smile wavered as he waited for the quiet young man to reply.

Jonathan leaned over and spoke something into his ear.

The king swallowed hard, looking past Jahra, who was nodding vigorously. “Well, then,” the king continued, the lines between his eyes more pronounced. “I’m sure you will be fine.” He smiled tightly, trying to cover his embarrassment. Cautiously, Saul placed both hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. He leaned toward David, weaving a little. “So you are the young man who saved the life of the prince.”

David craned his neck to meet the king’s eyes, feeling like he was staring up at one of the Gittites.

“No, my king. I was …” David’s protest was interrupted by the flick of impatient fingers.

The king tilted a little, then quickly dropped his hand to the table. “My son told me that you are modest to a fault. You are too young to know that when fame comes, you grab her with both hands.” He again smiled, but now with a look of cool appraisal. “She’s like a filly, unpredictable and fickle. You never know how long she will stay by your side.” He motioned David closer. Then, gathering himself, he reached down with his right hand. David raised his, and the king grabbed his forearm.

King Saul pulled David toward him, the stoop of his broad shoulders even more pronounced. Sweat broke out on David’s forehead. “I am grateful to you for saving the life of my son,” the king whispered, his face very close, his breath smelling of wine and garlic. He stared into David’s eyes with disturbing intensity. Saul’s hand gripped more tightly. “You have performed a great service to your nation. And you have the king’s gratitude.” He now looked more like a genial grandfather patting his favorite on the head. David felt the king’s weight shift again as he released his arm and dropped into his seat with a grunt. David looked toward Michal, but she and Jonathan were again talking to each other. Adriel was the only one at the table who was still staring at him.

David returned the king’s gaze, surprised at how calm he had become. This king he had expected to be a formidable terror seemed less threatening than his own father. “It was my privilege,” he said, drawing back his shoulders and straightening himself. “I would do anything for you—and the prince.” Then lowering his eyes he added, “I am your humble servant, my king.”

Saul pursed his lips as if weighing the words. He looked at the nearest clump of soldiers, whose faces were outlined by firelight, and gave David a tight smile. His face had taken on the crafty look of a merchant who has bested a gullible buyer. “That being the case, I take it that you and your friend won’t mind playing us that song you composed after the Philistines’ defeat.”

David’s jaw dropped, and his insides turned to ice. Once again he felt the hot prickling of shame spread over his cheeks. The mortification nearly gagged him.

“The prince tells me that it was the most moving victory song he has ever heard.” Saul gestured at his men. “If Jonathan is correct, it is the ideal way to help us commemorate our triumph.” He pointed at some men in colorful tunics near the dais who were quietly strumming their instruments. “The music we were treated to earlier was quite forgettable.”

David racked his mind for some way to avoid this public humiliation, but there was no escape. Without waiting for a response, the king barked an order at Abner. “Tell the men to be quiet.”

David prayed that a deep hole would swallow him as it had done to Korah when he rebelled against Moses hundreds of years earlier. He was very grateful for the headband Jahra had given him. It was keeping the sweat from dripping into his eyes.

The general stood and, with a voice that sliced through the noise, demanded silence. As Abner shouted again, Jahra gestured at the group of men in bright-colored clothes and made a strumming motion with his hand. Then, pointing at himself, he repeated the motion.

After a moment of confusion, one of the musicians walked over. Strips of yellow and blue silk were hanging from his shoulders, and his turban glowed as if stitched with gold thread. He handed Jahra an ornate fourteen-stringed harp, along with a piece of polished bone. David heard him refer to it as a plectrum, a tool for use in strumming the instrument.

As the soldiers grew quiet, a nervous stillness tightened over them like a noose. Though the king was still a figure to be revered, it seemed nobody was certain what to expect from their leader, who’d begun exhibiting dangerous signs of instability.

When they were all staring at the dais, the king stood and began to speak. “Today is a day of rejoicing, for the God of Israel has given us a great triumph!” There were scattered shouts of agreement. “This day, those uncircumcised Philistines”—some of the soldiers leaped up, cheering—“felt the full weight of our fury.” The entire army was now on its feet, roaring its approval.

He waited, then gestured for them to sit. “There have been many acts of bravery on this historic day, but one stands above the rest.” The king halted the shouting with a wave. “My son Jonathan, with his shield bearer, confronted the garrison on Geba and defeated it. Two brave Hebrews against twenty Philistines—and look what happened!” He gave his audience a few moments to respond, then again quieted the soldiers.

“That will be an exploit which will live on in the annals of courage.” Saul stopped, wanting to put special emphasis on his next words. “Let that be an example to all of you.” His voice hardened as he glared at the crowd filled with returned deserters. “As my son so aptly said, the God of Israel is able to save by many or by a few.” The response was now scattered and less effusive. “Let
that
be a lesson as well.” Here and there, hoarse shouts of affirmation broke out.

“The victory did not come without cost. Not only was my son’s armor bearer killed, but he almost lost his life as well. However, he was rescued by this young man from Bethlehem in Judah and his servant.” The Judite soldiers jumped to their feet, waving their fists and shouting out their approval.

Saul waited for quiet. “It was the prince’s desire to introduce them to you.”

Jonathan got up, walked around the table, stepped off the platform, and stood between David and Jahra, one arm around each of their shoulders. “First of all, thanks be to God, who delivered us from the hand of those who hate us and who delivered me from death.”

David was no longer listening. He was rehearsing lyrics from the songs he’d recently composed. He was desperately afraid that he would forget the words and look like a fool in front of Michal and the army.