Warrior Poet (21 page)

“Excellent work,” Jonathan said, clapping David’s back. “You began as a novice and reached the level of mediocre in only one day.” He laughed. “Don’t take me so seriously. I was joking. You have a natural skill with weapons. The instructors were impressed, and that is not easily accomplished. Even Uriah spoke well of you, and he rarely compliments anyone. You should be pleased.”

Inside the palace’s entryway, Jonathan gave David’s shoulder a squeeze. “I am very glad that you are going to be part of the royal court.” He looked up the three stairs to the courtyard, where one long table had been made out of the separate tables scattered about. He gestured apologetically. “The evening meal is reserved for immediate family, unless it is a special feast. Then we have nearly a hundred milling about. Tonight you are free to eat with the guards if you desire, or the servants can bring you your food. It is your choice.”

“I’m exhausted,” David responded quickly. “My arms and legs feel like boiled cucumbers. If it’s not too much bother, I think I’d prefer eating in my room.”

“Fine,” Jonathan said. “Maybe we can go hunting tomorrow. Give you a chance to work on your marksmanship,” he said, heading for the staircase to the upper chambers.

A servant brought David a plate heaping with food that he recognized from breakfast that morning. David was delighted; it was better food than he had ever tasted, and the quantities were impressive. On the table the servant also set a round lamp twice as large as Lydea’s.

David ate sitting on a bench, looking out the narrow window. Saul’s palace was built on the highest elevation in Gibeah. Lights from scores of houses stretched out beneath David. Pride and excitement were bubbling inside him. He could not believe how much had changed in one day. Behind him, in the center courtyard, he could hear children’s voices and maternal scolding, along with the clinking of dishes and knives. He turned around to listen in. It was impossible. There were several conversations going on at once. Getting up, he walked to the door and put his ear against the hole in the center.

He could now hear Jonathan’s voice, interrupted by male laughter and female gasps, as the prince recounted his attack on the Philistine garrison. David recognized the voice of Malki-shua, Saul’s second-born. David had not yet met the two other boys. He listened carefully but could not hear Saul’s voice. Everybody seemed to be talking over one another.

David walked back and blew out the lamp so he could not be seen as he peered out through the hole. The king was partially obscured by the curved trunk of a palm tree. He was sitting at the head of the table, his back to David as he ate slowly and thoughtfully. At the foot of the table, David could see a woman whom he assumed to be Saul’s wife, Ahinoam. She was heavyset, with high cheekbones that still bore traces of youthful beauty. As she bent toward a little boy sitting next to her, David saw her face light up. Her smile was stunning.

David felt a pang. He had never been part of a family meal like this. It was the happiest, most tranquil scene he had ever witnessed. There was the sound of more laughter, and he recognized it as Michal’s. It soared like a swallow on quick wings, settling in the palm branches above. He could just make out a head of dark hair and a band of silver cloth. All at once, he felt utterly alone. His throat tightened, and his eyes stung.

He moved away from the door, feeling terribly tired. Recalling what had happened the night before, he removed the cushion on the sleeping couch and placed it on the floor. He was asleep as soon as he lay his head on it.

He was awakened within moments, or so it seemed. A hand was shaking him. He opened his eyes with a start. Sisha was holding an oil lamp in his hand.

“The king is sick.” The old man’s voice was taut. His hand trembled, causing the lamplight to dance drunkenly on the walls. “You need to come immediately.” His deep-set eyes looked like empty caverns.

David glanced out the window. It was well past midnight. He pushed himself up and, as he was about to follow Sisha, noticed that his kinnor was lying on the round table next to the two jugs. He looked inside, saw that the broken string had been fixed, and closed the bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he walked out of the room. The darkness in the palace was lit by torches hung on the corner columns of the courtyard. David followed the guttering light that seemed to float several paces in front of him. Unlike the gentle flame suspended before the golden ark, this one jerked and twisted as if straining to fling itself at him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sisha stood at the entrance to the king’s private chamber. The doors were open, and the guard was barely visible in the shadows. The gaunt servant was holding his lamp in front of him, directing its light into the dark interior. He turned his head and stared at David without uttering a word. Icy fingers tickled the back of David’s neck. The flickering lamplight was carving deep furrows along the sides of Sisha’s face. He looked like a corpse. David took the lamp and stepped into the doorway.

Grabbing his arm, Sisha whispered, “Set it on the table next to the door. Bright light hurts his eyes. It makes him furious.” Sisha released his grip, and the doors closed behind David with a muffled thud.

Strangely, Dishon was gone. David set the lamp down, trying not to make a sound. He waited for his eyes to adjust. The pile of cushions was empty. The curtains were pulled back, and through a large, triple-arched window a harvest moon measured him with a cool, unblinking gaze. On the rug in the center of the room, the shape of the arches was illumined by moonlight. Two measured steps placed him inside the patch of silvery light. He looked down at his feet and gave an involuntary start. The claws of a bird of prey woven into the rug looked like they were grasping at his sandals.

He shifted sideways and glanced around the chamber. He was able to make out the king’s profile hidden in shadow. He was sitting on a wide couch in the farthest corner, staring down at an enormous two-handled cup on a low table next to him. Saul’s back was bowed, and his disheveled hair looked like a crane’s nest. He lifted his hand to push back a loose strand that hung into the cup in front of him. He could have been over a hundred years old.

David sat in the center of the illumined patch to take advantage of the light. He slid his instrument out of its bag and with a gentle, sweeping motion stroked the ten strings. His kinnor was in perfect tune.

It began with that familiar tingle as the warm presence descended, melting away his anxiety as quickly as the morning sun dissipates a summer mist. His fingers danced lightly over the strings. Lyrical notes merged together. David closed his eyes, envisioning the links of an intricate golden chain circling around the still figure of the king and resting lightly on his shoulders.

Saul let out a low, plaintive moan. His shoulders bunched as he pressed the palms of his hands against his face. David kept playing, weaving the spell, using the music to push through the king’s pain and drive back the oppressive darkness. With shaking hands, Saul reached for the cup and emptied it. He squeezed his palms back over his eyes and mumbled some indistinguishable words.

David strummed more softly, trying to hear the king. He was able to make out a simple plea: “Please. Please.” It sounded like someone at the edge of an abyss, knowing that a push will send him hurtling down. It was the appeal of a broken man who has lost hope. Unexpected tears formed at the corners of David’s eyes. He wondered if this was what it felt like to love a father, if this was what he should feel for Jesse. He shoved the thought aside.

Help me, O Lord!
he whispered. As he fingered an elaborate musical phrase, it came to him:
If King Saul can’t pray for himself, I will pray for him.

The petition simply arose out of him.

God, hear my cry for help,

listen to my prayer!

From the ends of the earth, I call to You,

with sinking heart.

To the rock too high for me,

lead me!

For You are my refuge,

a strong tower against the enemy.
48

He sang the words for Saul.

Let me stay in Your presence for ever,

taking refuge in the shadow of Your wings.

You, God, accept my vows,

You grant me the heritage of those who fear Your name.
49

Now he found himself singing his own plea for the shattered warrior sitting in front of him.

Let the king live on and on,

prolong his years, generation on generation.

May he sit enthroned in God’s presence for ever!

Assign Your Love and Faithfulness to guard him!

So shall he always sing of Your name,

Fulfilling vows he has taken, day after day.
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When David was finished, Saul lay down on the couch without saying a word. David picked up a cloak that was lying on the floor, draped it carefully over the king, and walked toward the door. Before he could raise his hand to knock, Saul’s weak voice interrupted him. “David … you have the king’s thanks.” It was the voice of an old man drained of all strength.

The next weeks followed an almost identical pattern: after spending the day training with Jonathan and eating with the fighting men, and the evening working on his music in his bedroom, David would go to sleep and more often than not be awakened to ease the king’s distress. During the daytime, whenever the king saw him, he would stare at David in silence, fatigue showing in dark smudges beneath haunted eyes.

Saul only rarely engaged David in conversation, but Saul’s appreciation was evident in the way his face softened when he caught sight of David. Occasionally, David could detect gratitude battling with humiliation, and several times he had felt a prickle on his back and turned to catch the king staring at him with cold appraisal. This did not alter David’s feelings of sympathy. Though Saul was no longer the heroic warrior he’d daydreamed about in the Bethlehem hills, David had begun feeling a fierce protectiveness for this worn-out old man burdened by suspicion and by terrors that were destroying him.

The king’s fits rose and fell like the waxing and waning of the moon, but slowly their frequency abated. When they did return, however, it was with redoubled intensity. They seemed to withdraw only to gather strength and resurface with greater malevolence. After another drawn-out and exhausting episode, David was adjusting the kinnor’s strap around his neck, preparing to leave, when the king grabbed his forearm. It was so unexpected, David nearly tripped.

Saul’s voice was choked with emotion. “If it weren’t for you, I think I would have lost my …” He stared away into the cold darkness, then tightened his hold on David’s arm. Though the voice was weak, the grip was not. “David, you have become like a son to me—”

Warmth flooded through David. It was pride and gratitude that somehow comingled with a profound sense of unworthiness. But as soon as the words registered, Saul’s body went rigid. His fingers clamped down so tightly that David’s arm began to tingle, the thick royal ring feeling as though it were bruising his bone. The temperature in the room dropped, and David felt the old, familiar dread begin creeping up behind him, tracing the tip of a cold knife up the middle of his back.

“—but I’m glad you are not,” the king continued. His voice bore a hint of malice that had not been there earlier. His bloodshot eyes, now hooded and mistrustful, shifted around the room. “If you were, where would that leave Jonathan?” Saul leaned forward, staring at him with a wild and sudden ferocity. “You see my point, don’t you?”

“Yes, my king,” David managed to say.

Saul’s fingers were embedded in David’s flesh as he pulled David toward him. “Not so long ago, Samuel said something that has made me wonder.”

The back of David’s neck grew clammy with fear.

“He prophesied that my throne had been turned over to another.” The king was so close that when he spoke, saliva sprayed David’s cheek. Impossibly, the angles of Saul’s face were sharpening and elongating, his jaw sliding forward grotesquely. David shivered, expecting at any moment to see a thin, red tongue flick out of the king’s narrowing lips.

“Are you my rival?” Saul’s eyes glowed with a menacing light, but he was staring at David with a warmth that sickened him. The question was as soft and gentle as a cat’s purr.

“No! Never, my king. You are the anointed of the Lord, and I am your faithful servant.” The words leaped out of David without conscious thought.

Though he did not release David’s arm, the tension eased from Saul’s face. He blinked as if waking from a dream. “Promise me, David. I want you to promise me.” The note of entreaty in the king’s voice was distressing.

David found himself kneeling before Israel’s once-mighty leader. Pity and tenderness washed over him as he saw the fear, the inadequacy, the desperation and confusion in those weary eyes. “I give you my word, O king. As long as you live, you have nothing to fear from me, your humble servant.” He bent down and kissed the ring.

“You may go … my son,” Saul whispered, loosening his hold to rest his hand on David’s head. “Were that there were hundreds more like you in my kingdom.”

During these weeks at Saul’s palace, David did not speak with Michal. The prying eyes of the courtiers made that impossible. She sent him notes through Tirzah, her maidservant. Mostly they expressed frustration at the vigilance of those surrounding her, especially the guards, whom she believed had received special instructions to watch over her.

“I don’t think it is Father,” she wrote in one of her notes. “He is too sick and too tired to pay much attention to anything, especially to what his youngest daughter may be doing. He can barely keep his focus on the affairs of the nation. But, thanks be to God, your music seems to be helping him a great deal. It is obvious that he is improving.”

In another note, she wrote, “Father is much better. Your music is magic. Mother says so. She is convinced that the gods are using you to drive away the evil spirits that are afflicting him. She prays to them every night. The teraphim were given to her by her mother as a wedding present and are some of the most powerful Canaanite gods. When I am married, I will be given the largest one. I pray for Father, of course, but even more for you.” Michal concluded by warning him that it was too dangerous to send a written response, but Tirzah could be trusted with any verbal messages.

He was actually relieved that he could not write. Despite his strong physical attraction to Michal, he was confused. She was easily the most beautiful and beguiling creature he had ever met. His longing to hold her was sometimes so intense that it hurt. He knew she was ready for marriage, but he was unsure if he was. Her feelings for him were clear. It was what he felt in return that troubled him. Everything had changed so drastically, and so quickly, that he was still trying to adjust to his new circumstances and responsibilities. He needed time to find his way; then maybe he would know what he felt and what to tell her.

Since the notes were written on wood or leather, he burned them in the fire pit, but despite the risk, there was one he kept in the pouch with his rounded stones. It had been written in great hurry: “I wish you were holding me again. I want to be near you. I can only imagine that I am. For now that will have to do. But not for long.” Whenever he traced his fingers over the letters, his pulse began to pound.

The following day, her note confirmed what he had suspected: “I found out who was behind the order. It was Adriel! I don’t know how, but he found out about us. Either that or he merely suspects the truth. He is a sneaking, loathsome, sharp-nosed lizard. I told him that if word got to Father, I would make his life an absolute misery—forever. I hate him!”

A few days later, he found a note folded beneath his pot of goat stew. “Tirzah was stopped by Sisha. Adriel must have told him about us, but she is sure Father has not been informed. I wake up every morning with my heart in my throat. In case I have not made it clear by now—I love you.”

The next message came through an unexpected source. At breakfast, the courtyard was crammed with army officers. While he was eating with the trainers, David caught sight of the prince looking at him across the room over General Abner’s head. He gave David a troubling look and pointed with his chin toward the hall that bordered the palace’s central square. Jonathan pursed his lips emphatically, indicated that David should not speak until they were out of sight.

When they were positioned behind one of the corner columns, Jonathan grabbed the neck of David’s tunic, glaring at him. “I know about you and Michal,” he whispered, pulling David up to the tips of his toes.

David felt his saliva turn to acid with dread. Jonathan had twisted his tunic; David could barely breathe.

“What did you think you were doing? Did you really expect you could keep it secret?”

David had no idea how to respond. The tunic was like a noose, and he was beginning to see stars.

“Tell me, what were you thinking?”

David tried to speak but could not squeeze anything out.

Jonathan’s expression of rage melted into a mischievous grin. “By the bulls of Bashan!” he swore, releasing the tunic. “The look on your face was priceless.”

David bent over, taking a ragged breath.

“I was hoping to have you pleading for mercy. But I just couldn’t pull it off.” Jonathan shook his head ruefully. “I’m afraid I still have to master the art of deception.”

“I’m glad for my sake that you haven’t,” David rasped. “As it was, I thought my life was over.”