Warrior Poet (20 page)

Michal looked into the dim interior. “It’s only a jug of wine,” she whispered to David, a hand on his forearm. Her eyes were wide. He could tell she was trying to keep the terror from her face. She snapped her fingers, and both guards looked at her. One of them nodded and picked up a harp lying against the outer wall. It was the same size and shape as David’s kinnor, except that it had eight strings. David’s mouth went dry, and he clenched his fists to keep them from shaking. It might have looked identical to the untrained eye, but two fewer strings made it a completely different instrument.

“Remember, start playing as soon as you step inside,” she said. Her fingers brushed his as she handed him the instrument. “Dishon will remain inside with you. You can trust him.” Though she seemed ready to break down, her voice was surprisingly steady. He looked down at her long fingers, aching to touch them. She hurried away, her hand covering her mouth.

A bald guard with a massive chest stepped aside as David walked into the room. Beads of sweat shone on the guard’s head. The room was as dark and dank as a cave. All the window curtains had been drawn, but a few creases let in vague shards of the late afternoon light. David stepped into one of them and began to run his fingers over the taut strings, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Finally he was able to see the king’s huddled shape in the far corner of the room, on a small mountain of pillows across from a large brass bed. A servant was mopping the floor amid pieces of pottery. The bedroom stank of menace and sharp, spiced wine. And over it all was that pungent stench of charred and putrid meat.

David’s fingers were shaking. The notes from the harp were muddled and muffled.

“Curse him!” came a childish voice that did not come from a child.

“Yes, curse him!” said the other.

“Curse … them … all,” they repeated in a terrible, reverberating unison, as if two dissonant strings were being strummed together.

“They … are … cursed … traitors. The … lot … of … them.” It was only one voice again.

“Yes, you are right—all they want is my throne. But they will never, ever get it. Will they?” A cackling laugh came from the king’s throat. David’s fingers jerked.

“It … is … yours … only … yours.” The words ran out of Saul’s mouth like thick oil, obsequious and sly.

“Mine! Mine! Mine!” the king roared. David saw light glint off something hard and reflective in the king’s hands. Fear squeezed his chest, and he nearly raced from the room. The pressure released as Saul lifted the object to his mouth and kissed it. It was the golden crown. He was clutching it with both hands as if it were threatening to vanish.

“Only mine,” Saul moaned with a quiver of ecstasy as he hugged the crown to himself.

Though terror was clawing up David’s back and seizing his throat, he knew he had to sing. He held in his breath, then let it out very slowly. As he did, he groaned out a quiet prayer. “To You, O Lord, I lift up my soul, O my God. In You I trust. Let me not be put to shame.”
40

Immediately he knew. Not all of it, but enough to begin. He would once again have to step over the cliff and trust that there would be arms to catch him. It was to be a song for the king about the king. Of that much he was sure. He sat down cross-legged in the middle of the room.

Again he whispered, “My God, let me not be put to shame,” then ran a slow, heavy hand over the unfamiliar strings. Though not the most creative opening, it got the king’s attention. As the discordant sound bounced jaggedly off the stone walls, Saul grew still, and his mutterings stopped.

The king was crouched on all fours. He looked like an animal bracing itself to pounce. From the dim corner where he lurked, two burning orbs stared at the young singer. David shut his eyes, let his fingers pick a few chords and find their own way, and began to sing. The words were slow and tentative as he fought to keep the quaver out of his voice.

Yahweh, the king rejoices in Your power;

what great joy Your saving help gives him!

You have granted him his heart’s desire,

not denied him what his lips entreated.
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He strummed a few more chords, feeling his fingers grow more confident.

For You have met him with choicest blessings,

put a crown of pure gold on his head;

he asked for life, and You gave it to him,

length of days forever and ever.
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Heat was beginning to flow over him, like Samuel’s anointing oil. It ran down from his head, warming his chest, arms, and hands. The fear had dissipated, replaced with pity. An almost brash confidence flowed into his lyrics.

Great is his glory through Your saving help.

You have loaded him with splendor and majesty;

yes, You confer on him everlasting blessings,

gladden him with the joy of Your presence.
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At this, a whimper broke from the king’s mouth.

“Shut … up … you … pathetic … weakling!” came the doubled hiss.

There was a coughing and hacking. The king was weeping. He was lying on his face.

“Stop … it! Shame on you!”

David was unsure if this was directed at him or the king. He did not care. Anger rose inside him at the sinuous, dark power destroying Israel’s once mighty ruler.

Yes, the king puts his trust in Yahweh,

By grace of the Most High may he reign unshaken.
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The whimpering was growing louder. And with it, the contrasting sounds of snuffling and growling. David clenched his teeth and kept singing.

Your hand will unmask all Your enemies,

Your right hand all who hate You;

You will make them like a blazing furnace,

the day that You appear.
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Shrieks pierced the room, doubling, tripling, and twisting themselves from the king’s throat. They were the tormented wails of a band of furious demons. David barely heard them. He was burning with an implacable fury. The words boiled out of him.

Yahweh will engulf them in His anger,

and fire will devour them;

You will wipe them from the earth,

their offspring from among the sons of men.
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There was a gagging cough, followed by a low moaning. David could not tell if the king was laughing or crying. Standing, David walked resolutely toward the prostrate form.

Rise, Yahweh, in Your power!

We will sing and play in honor of Your strength.

Rise, Yahweh, in Your power!

We will sing and play in honor of Your strength.
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From the figure in front of him came an exhausted groan and a hoarse sigh of relief. The king grew quiet, and then David heard slow, labored breathing. He was standing over the king, who was lying in a ball on the embroidered pillows, his arms wrapped around himself. The crown was several paces away, partly obscured by a drape. It must have rolled out of his hands when he fell asleep. David walked over and pulled the crown from where it was hiding, laying it on an ornate chest at the foot of the king’s bronze bed. The darkness in the room was still dense with evil, and eyes seemed to be boring into him, though he could not tell from where. He did not want to wake the king, but he decided to slide back a drape and let some light in. As the shaft widened and the darkness dissipated, a weight seemed to lift, and the king’s breathing eased.

A heavy hand on David’s shoulder made him jump. It was Dishon the guard. He inclined his bald head toward the doorway. When David turned to follow, he stumbled and caught himself on the wooden chest, almost knocking the crown back on the floor. His legs had gone numb.

With a quick glance at the king, the soldier pushed the crown away from the edge and led David to one of the rooms off the hallway on the first floor. The floor was not tiled but made of smooth stone. There were some folded clothes on the floor and a cushioned bench in front of the single window. The thin cloth that had been drawn across the narrow window was swaying gently in the evening breeze. Beneath it was a small round table with two jugs, a bowl, and a mug. Unlike those in Jonathan’s room, they were of simple design and made out of reddish-brown clay.

As the door closed behind him, David filled the cup from the closest pitcher and emptied it. The wine was tart. It soothed the dryness of his throat and washed away the acrid taste of evil. He looked at the couch and realized that the only thing he wanted to do was sleep. The muscles in his legs felt as if he’d run all the way from Bethlehem. He slipped under the sleeping cloak that lay over the couch. Two malevolent flickers of light stared at him through a round hole in the center of the wooden door. Turning on his other side, he closed his eyes, too tired to care.

As his mind was drifting into sleep, he saw the image of his twin brothers mocking him for the song he’d sung to them years earlier. And he heard a whisper. It made him smile: “So much for your vow.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

David’s eyes flew open. He looked down at his chest to see if blood was splattered on his tunic. He could still feel the rock in his hand. The back of his throat was raw, as if he’d been screaming. The couch on which he’d fallen asleep was tipped over on top of him, and the cloak was wrapped around his legs like a death shroud. Terror still clung to him along with the anguish of betrayal. He kicked his feet, pushing the couch off him, and looked quickly around the room. He was alone. Warm sunlight was filtering through the cloth that hung across the window, but he could not rid himself of that sense of menace. It was like a cold mantle stuck to his skin.

He had never had a dream this vivid, not even the nightmare of the wolves. It was as if the colors, sensations, and sounds had been distilled and concentrated. The strange thing was that even as he was asleep he had suspected he was in a nightmare, but he had been incapable of waking himself.

It had begun innocently enough. Jonathan had asked him to accompany him on a hunting trip. “There was an attack on Father’s flock last night. It looks to be from the bear that has been savaging our animals.” The prince’s voice had sounded as if he were talking into a shofar, and as he spoke, the floor undulated beneath their feet.

“How big are the tracks?” David asked.

“The size of both my hands,” Jonathan said, as though a bear twice the normal size were the most natural thing in the world. “You’ll be my armor bearer. You can take Asa’s place.” He threw David a sidelong glance. The room they were in was no longer swaying, but David felt a ripple of apprehension.

Tracking the beast had been too easy. The animal had dragged the sheep, leaving a trail of blood and broken twigs. Everything was in sharp relief; the sun seemed to have burst out after a brief but violent summer’s rain. David’s eyes were drawn to droplets of blood that had splattered the stark, white flowers of a cumin plant. The flowers were bent over, as if weeping. Jonathan was loping ahead of him as though trying to outdistance an opponent in a race. When Jonathan stopped, at his feet David saw the carcass of a sheep. Its shiny entrails protruded from the mauled body.

David’s pulse began to race. He raked his eyes across the terrain. They were in a narrow valley with boulders scattered on all sides.

“You go ahead,” Jonathan muttered.

No movement came from the rocks ahead, but the bear’s blundering trail erased all doubt. The beast was hidden inside its den somewhere in front of him. The thudding of David’s heart sounded like the beat of a war drum.

He reached for his belt, but his sling was gone. Warily, he crouched to pick up a rock. It was the size of a small melon. He froze. A low, menacing growl rumbled dangerously near him. He looked back. Jonathan was standing and clapping with a smirk on his face. There was another rumble—this one louder and more threatening. It came from the rocks in front of him. The valley had grown still. All sound had fled. David held his breath, ears straining. He looked around for Jonathan.

The prince had vanished.

David’s foot slid forward, but a roar spun him around. As the animal pounced, it let out a bellow that slammed into him with the force of a rockslide. The ambush had been so sudden, and his turn so quick, that he lost his balance and was falling backward as the beast landed on top of him.

Something hot and sinuous seemed to pool and gather in David’s chest. It coiled, gathering strength, kneading all his rage into a dense, dangerous mass. He clutched the rock in his hand and slammed it into the side of the monstrous head above him. He struck again and again, the animal’s blood spraying onto his arms and face. Finally, with a shuddering sob, he stopped. His fingers dropped the weapon, and he pushed the inert body off him. He lay motionless, his chest heaving as he drew in great gulps of air.

That was when he had felt the hard edge of the couch on his shins and forced himself awake.

He gave the couch one more kick and untangled himself from the cloak.
I’ll sleep on the floor from now on
,
he promised himself, giddy with relief. He righted the couch and found the kinnor underneath. He set it in the corner and walked over to the small stand and poured water from one of the jugs into the bowl. He was throwing the cool liquid on his face when he heard a cautious knock.

“Come in,” he said, drying himself with a soft cloth.

A servant pushed his head into the room. “The prince asked that you join him and the king for a late breakfast.” His inquisitive gaze made David wonder what kind of information had begun circulating through the palace.

“Is there something more you wish to say to me?” David asked, more pointedly than he’d intended. Images from his nightmare were still troubling him.

The young man’s face reddened, and he looked away, shaking his head. He shut the door quietly. Through the hole in its center, David could see the servant stop and then move quickly away.

The courtyard was empty except for the king and Jonathan. They were seated on pillows around a low square table under one of the canopies near the fountain. On the table, which was set for three, were colorful lacquered plates with matching small bowls and mugs in front of each. The centerpiece was an oblong dish heaped with small loaves of brown bread. Saul was speaking—but so softly that David could not make out the words. His son was sitting stiffly to his right, looking down at the food. A steady stream of servants wearing brightly colored tunics were coming and going, bringing trays of fruit and cheese, thinly sliced dried fish, pistachios, and almonds. Sisha was standing behind the king. He was holding a jug from which he was filling the empty cups with an unusually colored liquid.

David stood uncomfortably across from the king, waiting to be acknowledged. The palms of his hands were damp. Saul lifted a cup to take a drink and took notice of David. Beyond the dark smudges beneath his eyes, there was nothing to indicate what had occurred the night before. The king seemed a different person. For an awkward moment, Saul stared at David without recognizing him. Imitating what he’d seen others do, David placed his right hand over his heart. He pressed hard, trying to keep his fingers from trembling.

“This is David, Father,” Jonathan interjected smoothly. “He is the musician who performed for the army”—he stopped for a beat, as if weighing how to continue—“and sang for you last evening.”

“Ahhhhh.” A brief cloud passed over Saul’s face, but confusion and embarrassment quickly gave way to a practiced courtesy. “Yes. Yes. The musical shepherd.” He inclined his head slightly, as if grateful to be able to place the young man. “Sit down. Sit down.” He pointed to the pillows opposite him, sounding not so much like a king but like an affable host.

“Please try our cook’s specialty. I drink it every breakfast.”

Tentatively, David sat down on the cushions. As he did so, he surreptitiously rubbed his hands dry on the soft material. Then he picked up the cup to the left of his plate and took a sip.

“No! No!” roared the king.

David nearly dropped the cup onto his lap.

“Don’t drink it like an old woman,” Saul urged. “Take a manly swallow. It will not harm you.” He demonstrated by draining his cup in one gulp.

David felt himself blush and drank deeply. He could taste grape and pomegranate juice, and a little honey. But there was a tang he could not identify. He smiled widely, unable to hide his exuberance. “That is delicious!” Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “May I have some more?”

The king grinned broadly, looking as though he would have thumped David on the back if a table was not separating them. “You certainly may. By the way, I had a hand in the recipe.” Jonathan glanced at David, nodding at him encouragingly. “My own special touch is the crushed lime—for tartness.”

David took the prince’s hint. “King Saul, this is by far the most refreshing drink I have ever tasted,” he enthused, taking another drink.

The king lowered his head, acknowledging the compliment. When he lifted his eyes, he stared at David, not saying a word. Jonathan cast a nervous glance at his father but kept quiet. The silence stretched and was becoming uncomfortable, but David could not think of anything else to say. He waited, growing increasingly anxious.

“You are a fine musician,” the king said eventually. “By far the best in the kingdom.” He took a long, slow sip from his cup, swirling it around in his mouth.

It was David’s turn to beam.

“I want you to be a part of the royal court.”

Had he not already been sitting, David would have probably dropped to his knees. The blood rushed from his head, and everything seemed to be swaying in front of his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His tongue felt like leather. Not knowing what to do, he drew his shoulders back and placed his hand fervently over his heart.

Saul’s eyes gleamed. “My son tells me that you are a gifted slinger as well. According to him, despite being a Judite, you are on par with our Benjamites, who, as I’m sure you are aware, are the best in the land.” He gave David a sly smile.

“Though they are from my tribe,” Saul continued, “I will say this: they have a tendency to strut about as if they invented the weapon. They are good—and they know it. Till now, they have been the only members of my personal detail. I want you to join them. You will be the first Judite in the group of armor bearers.” He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “It will do them good to know they cannot make exclusive claim to excellence. It is not a wise thing for a servant of the king to grow overconfident.” There was steel now in Saul’s gaze.

David swallowed hard. The tart drink was souring in his stomach.

Jonathan looked at his father in surprise. “Father, I had intended to select David for myself—we agreed—as a replacement for Asa.”

The king raised his hand to dismiss his son’s concern, but he stopped himself, shame creeping into his eyes. He threw up his palms in mock surrender. “Well then, I shall not take him from you.” He thought for a moment. “We shall appoint him to both. When we go on maneuvers and the forces are split, he can go with you. Otherwise he will be part of the Benjamites.”

Jonathan’s jaw stiffened and his eyes sparked; then, with obvious effort, he gave an acquiescent nod. “Very well, Father. It shall be as you say.”

They ate in cool silence until Sisha whispered in Saul’s ear. “I have matters of state to attend to,” the king declared without preamble, almost knocking over his cup as he lurched to his feet. Jonathan did not respond. Saul turned to leave, then stopped and looked at his son. “My apologies for yesterday,” he growled. “It will not happen again.”

His expression softened as he glanced at David. “Young man, your music is a gift from God.”

David pushed himself away from the table to rise to his feet.

“No need for that,” the king said, gesturing for him to remain sitting.

Saul ran his fingers through his beard, looking over David’s head. David stared at the king awkwardly, waiting, unsure whether some kind of response was expected. Jonathan was taking a bite of fish and not offering any help.

“I thank you for your singing last night. I sometimes don’t know what comes …” For a moment, Saul seemed about to continue, but instead he shook his head, turned heavily, and shuffled out of the courtyard. Two guards followed at his back, holding their spears across their chests.

“He is very taken with you,” Jonathan said when the king’s chamber door shut. “And, I must admit, he is not the only one.”

David looked down at the plates of food on the table. He did not trust himself to speak. His chest felt like it would burst. He knew that if he tried to say anything, his voice would betray him and make him sound like a child. To hide his discomfort, he took a bite of the dried fish.

“What you did last night was nothing short of a miracle. My mother is extremely grateful. She made me promise to convey her appreciation. She wanted to tell you herself but is not feeling well.”

The fish was so good, David took another piece.

“Here, try this,” Jonathan said, holding out a cake of raisins and figs. “It’s one of my favorites.” David took a bite. The flavor was unexpected—sweet and tart as if the fruit had been dusted lightly with salt. He did not much care for it. “My sister is anxious to meet the new hero,” Jonathan continued. “And I am not referring to Michal, of course.” Jonathan’s face was inscrutable. “You have already made her acquaintance.”

David looked at the dark, sticky mass of crushed dates and raisins in his hand. He was beginning to feel slightly nauseous. Not wanting to offend, he raised his hand to put all of it into his mouth. Suddenly a question came to him. “But, Prince, how can I stay here without my father’s permission?”

Jonathan smiled. “The messenger is on his way to Bethlehem at this moment. My father sent him before breakfast. He will deliver news of the royal appointment directly to your father.” He stood, and David followed his lead. “I think that suffices for our breakfast. If you are going to be armor bearer to the king as well as to the prince, you will need to put in some practice with the bow. And you don’t want too full a belly, I can tell you. If you get good enough, maybe we will go bow hunting later. There is a bear that keeps attacking the flocks. I have told the guards that I want to kill him myself.”

A shiver ran through David. “That would be an honor,” he said with a weak smile.

“Knowing how you prize that lyre of yours,” the prince added, striding ahead of him down the hall toward the palace entrance, “I’ve given instructions for the messenger to bring it back with him.”

“I appreciate that, my prince.”

Jonathan had turned a corner and did not hear him.

For the remainder of the day, he and Jonathan worked with the royal trainers. David learned more about the bow and arrow than he had thought possible. He was introduced to one of Jonathan’s younger brothers, Malki-shua, who was in a small group working on spear throwing.

By early afternoon, David was near the bull’s-eye on more than half of his attempts with the bow and arrow. When his fingers had grown sore from pulling back the gut string, he began work on the use of the sword and shield as weapons of offense and defense. By the time the first session was over, his arms felt as if they had been battered by a thousand clubs.