Daughter of the King Read online

  The next morning they noisily splashed about, doing the laundry by treading on it in the ankle-deep stream. Afterward, they casually carried the wet garments and stretched them out on large rocks in the courtyard. They pretended to be returning from an early start with domestic chores, and the ruse worked.

  Sarah’s body rested alone in her cave for three years. Then a fever swept through Phaltiel’s compound and Tirzah’s frail little girl Zora died. Last year, the tiniest bundle of all came to keep old Sarah company. Tirzah’s infant son was born dead after a day and night of difficult labor.

  Following Bida’s lead, the other wives taunted Tirzah about her stillborn baby and Michal for her failure to become pregnant. If only she would bow down to the pagan gods, the women avowed, Tirzah could have had healthy children. They assured Michal that worshiping Astarte, the goddess of earth and fertility, would certainly remove her curse of unfruitfulness. Tirzah and Michal refused to follow the blasphemous advice. Michal held her head high, attempting not to respond to the women’s snide remarks.

  When directly challenged, she would merely say, “We worship only the one true God. He has not yet chosen to bless me with sons.” She was convinced of the general truth of her statement. Still, she could not understand how the broad expanse of the Living God’s divine plan could be affected by whether or not she conceived a child. Regardless of how much she despised Phaltiel, Michal longed to become a mother. Occasionally, she managed to be alone long enough to shed a few solitary tears. The daughter of the king did not cry with self-pity in the presence of other women.

  As Michal continued destroying the idols, she envisioned the uproar that would occur when the desecration of the household gods was discovered. How surprised Bida would be to find that the always meek Michal committed such an outrage.

  What should she do with the bronze Astarte in her hand? She’d succeeded in making superficial scratches in the figure, but was not yet satisfied with the results.

  “Everything is ready, my lady.” Tirzah’s voice startled Michal. “But I have gathered no information about our destination. The other women know nothing, and the soldiers will not talk.”

  “As I expected. No matter what happens, we are well out of this place.” Michal pulled back a corner of the blanket on her bed. “This is what is left of the meaningless gods they worship.”

  Tirzah gasped. “We must go before they find out.” Then she smiled. “You did well.”

  “What shall we do with this remaining lump of metal?” Michal pulled the last figurine from the folds of her tunic.

  Tirzah paused only a moment. “What about those crocks where the stable boys store dung for the olive tree roots?”

  “Excellent!” Michal loved the symbolism of this gesture. “That will be my last act in this house.”

  “But, my lady,” Tirzah counseled, “you have no excuse to go to the stables. You might arouse suspicion. I must deliver Astarte to her new dwelling.”

  Michal was determined. “No. I will do this myself. Meet me in the courtyard with our bundles.”

  Why did she not think of the huge jars filled with animal dung, stored in a far corner of the stable? Was it three years ago, or four, when she and Tirzah hid there during a particularly frightening celebration of the harvest?

  The ever-resourceful Tirzah found a hollow gourd and dipped a little sheep dung in it. “I need a dab of this for the coat,” she said, “to discourage anyone from casting sheep’s eyes on it.” Michal and Tirzah covered their mouths and shook with silent laughter at the thought of sheep dung warding off sheep eyes.

  It was absurd now to imagine how anything could be amusing while hiding in that stinking barn, fearful of being raped, beaten or even murdered. There were times when the desperate need for a good laugh overcame the darkest of circumstances.

  That must have been four years ago, Michal thought. They hid in the stable not long after she made a beautiful blanket for Tirzah’s little daughter Zora. Michal remembered how the other women curiously eyed her nightly work as she combed and carded the wool. They openly stared at her hand-held spindle as she spun the carded wool into yarn. Finally, to their amazement, she knitted the yarn into a blanket.

  One of the younger wives, a slight, dark-skinned Canaanite woman who seldom spoke to anyone, shyly asked if Michal would make a blanket for her baby. The chief steward became interested, and soon Michal was making yarn and blankets to send to market. Michal persuaded the chief steward she could make more trade goods with Tirzah’s help.

  Bida complained to anyone who would listen about the chief steward’s interference, taking away the head wife’s authority to assign work to the women. Nevertheless, the steward had his way. Michal and Tirzah’s goods were traded for merchandise everyone in the household enjoyed, such as spices, metal cauldrons, and jewelry—things that put Phaltiel in fine spirits for a day or so.

  As she slipped away to the stable, Michal wondered if Bida was worried about losing the necklace and earrings she commandeered the day Michal arrived in Gallim.

  “Gold jewelry!” Bida exclaimed as soon as she saw the copper necklace. “Give it to me.” Michal avoided looking at Tirzah or Sarah for fear of showing her contemptuous amusement. “Do you have any more?” Bida demanded.

  “I have only these earrings made from that same metal.” Michal could not resist taking advantage of Bida’s ignorance. She owned other jewelry, but the chain and earrings were the only pieces of copper. Bida still wore the earrings from time to time, even though they were tarnished and lost their luster. The chain adorned the senior wife’s thick neck every day.

  On her way to the stable, Michal avoided the kitchen, where soldiers congregated to consume the meal provided by Phaltiel. She pulled her cloak over the side of her face and stooped to disguise her height. As soon as she reached the barn-like structure, she ducked inside and flattened herself against the wall, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the transition from the brightness outside. Listening intently, she heard only the sound of animals munching on straw. Moving to the dark, low-roofed corner where the dung jars were stored, she selected a container near the wall and pushed Astarte’s evil likeness into the goo, head first. She used a small stick to guide the idol deeper into the jar.

  Satisfied, she tossed the stick aside and threaded her way through the maze of containers. Michal was about to emerge from the darkness of the smelly corner when she heard men’s voices. Stepping back, she crouched behind a high stack of hay.

  The murmur of voices became more distinct, drawing closer. Men, two of them. She waited quietly to find out who they were. It was not a matter of friend or foe, merely greater or lesser enemy.

  “I served with Lord David when he was the master of King Saul’s military operations.” It was Joash, a slave who tended the olive groves. He was one of the few men who took no part in the debauchery of Phaltiel’s harvest festivals.

  “I have no quarrel with Phaltiel. Why should I make off with one of his slaves?” The second voice belonged to the captain in charge of the soldiers.

  Michal considered her options. How could she sneak out of the stable? The men stood well inside, but they had a clear view of the entrance. Any movement would cause her long cloak to rustle the straw and attract their attention.

  “Captain Osh, Lord Phaltiel has held me as a slave beyond the seven years allowed by the law. Legally, I should be free. I could hide outside the gate,” Joash begged. “Your men can pick me up after you have cleared the compound. Please, sir, I am a soldier like you.”

  Years ago, Sarah taught Michal to keep herself calm by breathing deeply. From habit, she inhaled as much of the foul stable air as she could hold, and regretted it immediately. Just as the slave said, “I am a soldier like you,” Michal sneezed resoundingly.

  Growing up among palace intrigues taught the princess that boldness would often succeed when stealth failed. She stood, smoothed her clothing, scratched her sandals against the straw, and walked nonchalantly toward the two men
.

  “On my great-grandfather’s bones,” Captain Osh swore. “What are you doing here?” He clapped his hand over his mouth for a moment and added, “Excuse my language, my lady. This man was just educating me on the subject of growing olives.”

  Michal smiled at the Captain. “I must be losing my fluency in Hebrew. It sounded to me as if he asked you to smuggle him out of here.” She hoped her sarcasm would divert the soldier from questioning her presence in the stable.

  “Picking up a few of your essential belongings from the stable, are you?”

  Michal doubted this officer was a member of the royal guard, but she knew from the way he talked he was a native of Jerusalem. He might not be devout, but he would not be likely to oppose a blow against idolatry. “If you must know, I destroyed the idols of the false gods the people in this household worship. All but one, a metal Astarte, which I just now buried deep in a crock of dung.”

  Joash smiled. Captain Osh slapped his thigh, shook his head, and laughed aloud. “Yet another reason to go before Phaltiel can raise the alarm among his neighbors.” He chuckled again.

  “Why don’t you do it?” Michal knew she had no right to challenge Osh.

  The Captain sobered immediately. “Do what?”

  “Take Joash along,” she said.

  “I was sent to transport one obviously difficult woman, not everyone who wants to escape from Gallim,” Captain Osh said. “Only you will go with my soldiers when we leave.”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to travel without my handmaid.” Michal hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

  Osh glared at her, his jaw set.

  “If Tirzah and Joash come along, I promise not to escape.” Michal paused. She could see this soldier was confident she could not get away from his army. So she offered up the only thing over which she had any control, “And I will give you my word I will not take my own life before we reach our destination.”

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  “AND SAUL SAW AND KNEW THAT THE LORD WAS WITH DAVID, AND THAT MICHAL SAUL’S DAUGHTER LOVED HIM.” I SAMUEL 18:28

  Tirzah struggled to keep her arm around Michal’s belongings while mounting a donkey.

  “You there!” Captain Osh said to Joash. “Yes, you, slave. Take the woman’s burdens and carry them to the cart outside the gate.”

  The chief steward stretched his arm in front of Joash’s chest to prevent the slave’s movement. “Surely there are plenty of soldiers who can serve you, Captain,” the steward said.

  Osh rode slowly toward the chief steward and stopped an arm’s length away. “When I give an order, I expect obedience, not insolence.” He beckoned to his armor bearer. “My javelin.”

  The steward looked nervously around the courtyard and fell to his knees. “I meant no harm, my lord. Spare me, I beg you.” No one spoke or moved except for Captain Osh, who took his time inspecting the point of his weapon.

  “Please.” The steward crumpled into a crouch. “Do this house the honor of taking the slave Joash as the gift of Lord Phaltiel.” Seizing the opportunity, Joash scrambled to collect the bundles from Tirzah and hurriedly exited the compound.

  Michal walked through the courtyard surrounded by heavily armed soldiers. Outside the gate, other soldiers motioned her into a waiting cart.

  The captain brought his horse near the cart where Michal was settling among her few possessions. “I expect you to keep your word,” Osh said, gazing back at Phaltiel’s stronghold. “Since I brought along your handmaid and risked a riot on behalf of the slave.”

  “I thank you for your kindness to Tirzah and Joash,” Michal answered. “You may be sure I will keep my promise to the Captain of the Royal Guard.” She paused before adding, “If I ever see him.”

  Captain Osh snapped his head in her direction and narrowed his eyes. “Do you dare to accuse me of deceit?”

  “I have no doubt this is an elite group.” Michal looked around. “But I’ve been around the military enough to recognize war horses when I see them. Your troops are regular army cavalry.”

  “If the other women of this household are as sharp of tongue as you, I feel sorry for the man Phaltiel.” Osh gave a hand motion, and the caravan moved forward. “No more questions”—he smiled ever so slightly—“until this cavalry unit reaches its destination.” He urged his horse into a gallop and rode to the front of the moving column.

  Michal sat facing backward and arranged the hood of her cloak to shade her face from the bright sun. As the cart lumbered along the dusty road, she could see the silvery-green leaves of the olive trees glistening across the low plain beyond Phaltiel’s compound. She fixed her eyes on the large rock near the cave where Tirzah’s babies were buried next to old Sarah. “Goodbye, dear ones,” she whispered as the boulder became less and less distinct in the distance.

  Michal pondered who sent these soldiers to fetch her, and why. Common marauders would have looted Phaltiel’s household before departing. These well-disciplined men demanded nothing more than food. In a few hours the caravan would reach a crossroads. There they would either turn south toward home, or north into enemy territories.

  When the place where she lived for seven difficult years was no longer in sight, Michal made herself as comfortable as she could in the cart. She located her sewing box and took out a small, sharp knife. She ignored the two soldiers who quickly positioned their horses within reach.

  Unfolding her ragged wool coat, Michal expertly sliced away the faded border trim that encircled the garment’s hemline. Wherever the destination, she was determined to present an appearance worthy of a daughter of a king. She thought how wise Sarah was to suggest the coat as a hiding place for her best jewelry.

  The seven gold bangles she withdrew were a gift from her parents on that happy occasion when she became David’s wife. She remembered thinking of herself as a woman at barely fourteen. Now she understood why her mother and Sarah clucked over her youthfulness on her wedding day.

  Michal ran her fingers over the smoothness of the gold before slipping the bangles, one by one, onto her left arm. Seeing her wedding bracelets gleam in the sunlight swept Michal’s thoughts backward. How well she remembered the first time she saw the man who would become her husband.

  David had been playing the harp in her father’s great hall. King Saul was irritable earlier that day. Only six years old, Michal already knew, as well as everyone else, to stay away from her father when he sank into one of his dark moods. He endured fewer of those mysterious spells back then, but they were always dangerous. No one knew what triggered the king’s descent into the depths of despair nor, once stricken, how long he and everyone around him would suffer.

  King Saul liked to end dinner with a sweet date cake. The duty of serving the cake belonged to Merab, Michal’s older sister. On the day that was burned into Michal’s memory, Merab claimed to have a sore toe resulting from an encounter with a thorn.

  “Your toe was fine this morning, when you were running through the fields,” Michal complained.

  “It hurts now,” Merab sniffed. “So I’m going to lie down at dinner time. You will have to serve Father’s treat.”

  “That’s not fair, Merab! You always try to get your way just because you’re older than me.” Michal found it difficult to be the baby in the household.

  “Of course.” Merab grinned. “That’s what being older is all about. You have to wait behind me for everything. You can’t get married until I do, and your sons will never have the rank or honors mine will enjoy.”

  “They might,” Michal argued, “if I marry a greater man than your husband. I expect Father will betroth me to royalty, perhaps a prince of Egypt, and I will wear nothing but fine purple robes and different colored jewels every day.”

  “No,” Merab explained confidently, “I’m the eldest daughter. Therefore, Father will secure the best marriage for me. You can then have one of the men who lost the fight for my hand.”

  “Aren’t you both a little young
to be talking of marriage?” Their older brother, Jonathan, tousled Michal’s hair, to her irritation. She looked forward to being grown. Then she would have a husband and cover her hair like other married women.

  “Where did you come from?” Merab demanded.

  “I’ve been out here all afternoon, relishing this fine day. I was practicing my archery and enjoying a little peace until you two came along.”

  “Jonathan,” Michal complained, “Merab claims she has a sore toe and can’t serve Father his date cake this evening. The truth is, she’s frightened he is falling into one of his moods. So she wants to stay out of sight and make me do her work.”

  “It’s best never to speak of the king’s disposition,” Jonathan warned. “A good daughter should be eager for any chance to serve her father. As for marriage”—he looked toward the distant mountains—“be content to wait. We will do what we must, all of us.”

  To everyone’s relief, King Saul laughed and joked pleasantly with his sons and the company of government officials and military officers at his table that evening. Many different breads and pastries covered the table, along with pots of honey and a wide variety of fruits.

  “The music of this new lad, David, soothes our master,” Haggia, a toothless, bent-over kitchen worker observed to the baker’s helper, Tabitha.

  “Is this David truly the same one who fought and killed the Philistine giant, Goliath?” Tabitha’s eyes glowed.

  Haggia cackled. “Indeed he is the one. What a great day that was for Israel!” The old woman glanced toward the great room. “If Goliath was a woman, I’d vow he was blinded by young David’s beauty.”

  “He would turn any woman’s head, no doubt about that,” Tabitha agreed. “Well, now, little one...” Tabitha turned toward Michal, who sat near the threshold of the great hall. “Do you want to sample the date cakes before you present one to the king?”

  Ordinarily, Michal leapt to Tabitha’s side at the hint of a treat. That evening she whispered, “No, thank you.” Her eyes never moved from the great room. She studied the young man, David, as he coaxed hauntingly beautiful melodies from his harp. Dark curls encircled the ruddy skin of his chiseled face. Most striking of all were his large, luminous brown eyes framed with dark lashes. How old was he? Fourteen or perhaps fifteen? He was trim, with broad shoulders and well-muscled arms. Until that evening, Michal thought her brother, Jonathan, was the ideal of masculine perfection. But there was something special about David. Michal did not understand the strange excitement she felt when she looked at the handsome young musician.