Abigail, page 17
She looked at Ahinoam as she donned a fresh tunic and tightened the belt of her robe. She knew the answer. Sometimes David had been gone for a month or more at a time, something she thought she’d gotten used to. Until now.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Abigail asked. It was time they discussed Ahinoam’s condition. As much as Abigail longed to bless David with a son, apparently Ahinoam would have that privilege first. She steeled herself for the answer as she handed Ahinoam a robe. “Well?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? I am with child.” Ahinoam’s face drained of color, her once haughty expression replaced with worry. “What if David dies and never knows?”
“He’s not going to die.” Irritation tickled her spine. She was unwilling to admit how close Ahinoam’s thoughts came to her own of late. “You must stop thinking like this. David is Adonai’s anointed. Nothing will happen to him.” It was true. She must believe it.
Ahinoam bit her lower lip while sweat beaded her forehead. Abigail could see why David had taken her to wife. She was lovely, with hair the color of wheat and eyes the color of husked almonds, soft and round as a doe’s. When she wasn’t whining or complaining, her laughter could be infectious.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t worry. I don’t want to harm the child.”
Yes, the child. David’s firstborn. The thought stung, bringing Abigail’s own longing for a son to the forefront again.
Shouts from the direction of the city gate interrupted her straying thoughts. Perhaps a messenger, or even David and his men returning. Her father would be on watch now along with a handful of young boys, the few David had left to guard the women. But if David had returned, the guard at the tower would have blown the shofar. Something was amiss.
“I’m going to the gate. Perhaps another quarrel has erupted.” If the shouts had to do with the women and their constant quarrels, perhaps she could help. At least the women listened to her most of the time.
“I’ll come in a few moments. I don’t think I can stand yet.”
“Take your time. Eat some figs or drink some goat’s milk when your stomach settles. I can handle the women.” She nodded and smiled at Ahinoam, hoping the jealous twinge she felt did not come through her tone or expression. David would want her to care for Ahinoam, to keep his child safe.
She shoved the thoughts aside and moved through the house to the courtyard. She stopped, her stomach tightening and then plunging at the sight of men on horseback wearing the red and black robes of foreign Bedouins and riding straight for her. In the distance, the sound of screaming women and crying children reached her ears. She turned and looked down the dirt road to the houses of her neighbors, catching the terror-stricken faces of the women around her and hearing the wild, hysterical screaming as the foreigners tossed the wives of David’s men over the backs of their mounts like sacks of grain.
Leather whips cracked against the backs of resistant women. Mothers strained against their captors, clawing at air and desperately reaching for their children. The cries echoed amid the screams as boys and girls were dragged from the houses and thrown into separate wooden carts, whimpering for their mothers.
Abba! Her father was on guard at the gate. Had they killed him in order to enter? The thought sickened her even further, and hot tears filled her throat. She swallowed them down.
Across the street, she glimpsed a handful of young boys sitting on low branches of oak trees and on the roofs of houses, whipping stones from their slings at the intruders. Hope that they might do some good sprang up but then died moments later as burly soldiers swung heavy whips high enough into the trees to force the boys down. Those on rooftops ran from house to house before they were caught and tossed into the carts with the rest of the children, their wrists and feet bound.
Abigail’s throat ached and her body shook as she fought an intense urge to weep. The dream—this was her nightmare, not David’s. God had been warning her, and now here she stood, helpless to stop them. Wild-eyed Bedouins grabbed her mother, Talya, and Micah and shoved them into an already full cart. Joab’s wife Marta, Abishai’s wife Deborah, and Ahinoam were each tossed up to a waiting soldier and made to ride in front of groping men on the backs of pawing horses.
Oh, Adonai, protect David’s child. God forgive her, she didn’t feel so fiercely about the mother, but David would not want to lose a son.
The lead horseman reined in his mount at her side. The man hopped down, then reached a hand up to the woman sitting behind him and swung her to the ground.
Abigail studied the man, then the woman, who was dressed in finer linen garments of brightly woven threads. Jewels adorned her headdress, and her painted eyes and lips gave her an exotic look. Abigail glanced away for the briefest moment, then looked back, a spark of recognition causing her stomach to clench with dread she could not escape.
Zahara.
Clammy fear took hold of her as the burly Bedouin leader who stood beside Zahara walked toward her, turning a whip over in his hand. She fell to her knees and buried her face in the dust. She’d seen that look before. From Nabal.
An arm reached down and jerked her to her feet. “You are the Israelite’s wife.” His heavy accent made him hard to understand, but Abigail caught enough to discern that the Israelite he spoke of must be David.
“Yes.” She swallowed, barely able to choke out the word.
He snarled, leaning toward her until she could smell his stale breath and feel the heat in his gaze. “You will come.” He tucked the whip into his belt, and before she could respond, he lifted her over his shoulder. Wisdom told her that to resist would be foolish.
Moments later he stopped and set her on her feet. She stood straight, head bowed. The man on the horse before her was decked out in greater finery than the one who had carried her, telling her that her earlier assumption of leadership was mistaken.
“You will ride with me.” His clear diction spoke of education, his stiff gaze of hardship.
She nodded her assent but kept silent, praying, pleading with Yahweh for mercy.
The first man lifted her again—and none too carefully—to the other man, up over the horse’s back. The leader’s eager hands grabbed her and pulled her close, his breath touching her ear. “Soon you will be mine.”
A sick feeling settled inside her. Please, Adonai, no!
“Zafirah tells us you are the wife of the infamous David. As I have heard he has many wives, I am sure he will not mind sharing one.” His brittle laugh made her skin crawl. “You remember Zafirah, don’t you?”
“I’m afraid I do not know this Zafirah, my lord.”
“The man who found you first is my captain, Kadar. Zafirah rode with him. Surely you recognize your personal maid.”
“Zahara.” She understood now. But who were these people and what did they have against David?
“Yes, Zahara.” He spat the name as though it tasted like bile. “Troublesome Israelite name. Zafirah suits my sister better, wouldn’t you say? And Kadar, her betrothed, thanks you for taking such good care of her.” His sarcasm was unmistakable, and she cringed at what Zahara must have told them. But what had she done to cause Zahara to do this, to lead these people straight to Ziklag?
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the soldiers ransacking their houses, piling possessions in with people in the wagons. Terrified cries still filled the air, and the horse pawed the ground beneath her. Abigail felt the man’s fingers probing her through her robe, and panic rose to choke her.
Moments later she saw Zahara approach her brother’s mount, heard her angry shouts in a language Abigail did not understand. But the look in Zahara’s eyes told Abigail that her former maid was not happy with the man. Her brother seemed not to care, his own response bitter as he tightened one hand around Abigail’s waist. He lifted the other hand to his mouth, turning toward the crowd of fellow Bedouins. “When you finish pillaging their valuables . . . burn Ziklag.” Hot tears stung Abigail’s eyes.
“Amalek will defeat Israel yet. Today is just the beginning.” The words were perfectly clear, meant for her ears alone.
No wonder Zahara had kept her nationality secret. She was of the hated Amalekites whom God had commanded be destroyed. She must have been captured when Saul failed to wipe out her people, and somehow Nabal had purchased her.
The stench of burning wood and bricks filled Abigail’s nostrils. She could hear wild, joyous hollering of hundreds of men as Ziklag went up in flames. Moments later the man behind her pulled her against him again and kicked the horse’s flanks. The beast took off at a fast gallop at the head of the troupe and marched beneath the city gates, with Ziklag going down in flames behind them.
25
Evening shadows danced in rhythm to the swaying trees above the tents of David’s men. Fires dotted the landscape, stretching like stars across the expansive valley floor. David warmed his hands at the small fire pit in front of his tent and listened to the voices of his men. The discontent seemed to have lessened among them, but the clammy closeness of so many of Israel’s enemies still felt like thick fog at dawn.
He turned his hands over, examined the calluses in the faint light, and rubbed his thumbs over the rough edges of his fingertips. Warrior’s hands. Musician’s hands. Shepherd’s hands. Were these the hands of a king as well?
A touch on his shoulder made him jump. Annoyed that he’d allowed himself to be so unaware, he looked up into the faces of Asahel and Benaiah.
“You have news.”
Asahel’s expression was too readable; it was so easy to determine his thoughts and intents. He nodded. “The Philistine lords have left the tent of Achish. The king requests your presence. His guards are headed this way even now.”
David looked beyond his nephew toward the Philistine tents, where Achish’s guards could be seen coming his way. “We’re looking for David son of Jesse,” one said to the sentry at the edge of the Israelite encampment. The sentry turned, and David approached.
“I am David.” He crossed his arms over his chest, assessing them.
“King Achish would speak with you. Come.” They turned, clearly expecting David to follow.
David nodded to Benaiah and Asahel to accompany him and fell into step behind the Philistine guards. Hair bristled along his arms as he passed beside the enemy soldiers so unprotected.
O Adonai, be my strength.
They trudged up low peaks and then down to a flat plain, at last stopping before the ornate tent of the Philistine king. Two guards decked out in full military garb stood at attention before the door. One nodded to the sentries leading David and stepped aside, allowing the guards and David alone to duck under the flap and enter the wide, elaborate temporary home of King Achish.
David dropped to his knees as the guards took a step back, and touched his forehead to the earth. “May my lord, King Achish, live forever,” David said. He rose up on one knee, his eyes still turned to the ground.
Achish held out the royal scepter, and David bent forward to kiss it. Achish offered David a reassuring albeit sad smile.
“David, as surely as the Lord lives, you have been reliable, and I would be pleased to have you serve with me in the army. From the day you came to me until now, I have found no fault in you, but the rulers don’t approve of you. Turn back and go in peace. Do nothing to displease the Philistine rulers.”
O sovereign Adonai, this is good news.
And yet he could not let the king know how quickly his heart beat with delight, how relieved his soul was to have an escape from this place. He steeled his emotions and pulled his lips into a tight line, averting his gaze for a brief moment, then looked at Achish, unflinching.
“But what have I done? What have you found against your servant from the day I came to you until now? Why can’t I go and fight against the enemies of my lord the king?” If Achish had somehow gotten wind of David’s true intention to fight for Israel, he had to convince him otherwise, hoping the vagueness of his words did not displease Adonai, who surely had His hand in this.
Achish leaned back among the pillows surrounding him and accepted a silver goblet from an Egyptian slave. “I know that you have been as pleasing in my eyes as an angel of God. Nevertheless, the Philistine commanders have said, ‘He must not go up with us into battle.’ Now get up early, along with your master’s servants who have come with you, and leave in the morning as soon as it is light.”
David nodded, too grateful to speak, and masked his expression behind a resigned look. “As you say, my lord.”
After a few more parting words, David backed out of the tent and joined his men. Tomorrow they would waste no time returning to Ziklag.
Three days of grueling travel came to an abrupt end. At the Besor Ravine, Abigail’s captor lifted her from the horse and set her to walk with the other women down the steep incline and up the other side. Her legs ached and her shoulders drooped in exhaustion as they finally reached the Amalekite encampment.
As far as she could tell, no one from their group was missing or terribly hurt. Amazingly, they had remained untouched. Even her father, whom she’d feared dead, had been visible in the distance, kept apart with the younger men and boys.
She had seen no sign of Zahara again, and the man who’d threatened to take her to his tent had disappeared somewhere in the midst of the other men and women who greeted their return.
Abigail stood at the entrance of a small cave, one of many that dotted these hills, and looked out at the plain spread before her. David would never find them here. They’d come too far in a direction she’d never been before, to a land she didn’t know. The thought sank to her middle like a heavy millstone.
Soft weeping made her turn. Ahinoam lay huddled in a corner behind her, knees pulled to her chest, rocking back and forth on the hard-packed earth. Abigail released a slow breath and straightened her shoulders, then walked toward the young woman.
“It will be all right, Ahinoam. David will come and we’ll be safe again.” She squatted beside her and rested one hand on her shoulder, trying not to notice the protective hand Ahinoam put on the secret place where David’s child lay. But her thoughts betrayed her, and jealousy sparked a flame in her heart again. She attempted to douse it to no avail.
“They’re going to kill us. I heard one of them say so—after they ravish us.” She hiccuped on a sob and pressed a fist to her mouth, her doelike eyes wild with fear. “David will never find us. They’ll kill him when he goes to battle against Saul. Don’t you see? Our lives are forfeit.”
“Don’t talk like that!” She hissed the words through gritted teeth, forcing her swift anger in check. Never mind that she’d given thought to the same fears, believing the same truth. Yet she couldn’t, wouldn’t, give in to despair. Until such time as those fears came to pass, there was always hope.
She looked again into Ahinoam’s eyes, reading the complete lack of faith, the desperate desire to give vent to fear. No wonder David grew tired of this woman. Her fear drained Abigail’s strength and filled her heart with dread. For the sake of the rest of the women and children, she couldn’t let Ahinoam do that.
“Every time you speak of your fear, you upset the other women.” Abigail glanced around. Several stood near enough to hear, and by their expressions Abigail knew they weren’t far from giving in to their hysteria again.
Ahinoam stopped rocking and met Abigail’s gaze. “I’m sorry. But I can’t help the way I feel. I just know these things. I’ve always known.”
“And you’re always wrong.” She drew in a breath and pushed to her feet. “The prophet Samuel anointed David to be king, and Adonai will see to it that His promise is fulfilled. You can either choose to believe that or continue to tear David down with your worries. You’re not supporting his faith the way things are now.” She sucked in a breath at the shocked look on Ahinoam’s face, but she didn’t care. “You are carrying David’s child and will soon raise a son or daughter to follow after him. Do you want to raise a son worthy to be king after his father or not?”
Ahinoam gave the slightest nod, her eyes wide, as though she’d never considered the possibility before now.
“Then act like the woman David needs you to be, a woman about to be first wife to the king.” She gave Ahinoam one last calculated look and whirled about, unable to bear any more of the conversation.
Why would Adonai give David’s first child to such a foolish woman? She shook her head and walked away toward the back of the cave, struggling to control her sudden, all-over trembling. She felt the stares of the other women, wondering if her comments would spur them to faith or sentence them to despair.
Despite her fine talk, deep down she wasn’t sure what she believed anymore. Adonai had allowed their kidnapping and could as easily allow their deaths. He had anointed David to be king. She had no promise from Him that she would be part of that coming kingdom.
The scent of damp, burned wood and brick caught David off guard. As he ascended the rise heading toward Ziklag, his eyes confirmed what his senses had already told him. Black, rain-soaked soot coated the land where Ziklag had once stood. Now the city gate lay crumpled, covered in ash.
Bile rose up in the back of his throat.
The three-day journey to Ziklag from the Philistine encampment at Aphek had taken its toll on his spirits. Amid the intermittent rain showers, he’d heard the rumors, the discontent, the grumbling among some of the six hundred mercenary men who had once supported him without question. They were divided now, uncertain in his ability to lead.
And now this . . .
He stumbled forward, heard the outcries of the men around him as they surged ahead to the burned-out town. Abigail! Ahinoam! Would he find their bodies buried beneath the ash? Would there be anything left to tell him what had become of them?
His leaden feet carried him down the hill alone, now that his men had abandoned him. Remnants of the homes they’d lived in lay in a heap of rubble. Broken pottery littered the streets, and the clay ovens in the courtyards were crushed, unusable.
