“Keep up or return to your wife.” Ittai’s jaw clamped tight. His instincts had told him something wasn’t right with Absalom’s chariot parade. David wasn’t concerned when Ittai had mentioned the brief meeting on the plain. The king should never have allowed his son to return to Hebron. But then, how was David to know his son’s vow was a ruse for a betrayal?

  Ittai crested the rise to the main road, slowed his mule, and surveyed the panic. Banak and Hamuran halted their mounts on each side of him.

  A haze of dust clouded the trail. The particles of dirt drifted away from the city. The clop of hooves at a hurried pace, squeaking wagon wheels, and grieving cries jarred the calm of morning. Not one merchant ventured toward Jerusalem. Banak’s keen insight proved trustworthy. Loyal citizens were fleeing the city.

  Why, God, why? Why was rebellion allowed to flourish against God’s anointed king? Why allow this chaos now when exiled men had recently arrived? Hasn’t David served You faithfully by following Your laws and leading the people in worship? Why was God upheaving a kingdom that served Him?

  “The merchant said David and his family are heading into the Kidron Valley. Shall we rally to meet them? Or stay near Jerusalem?” Banak’s final proposal prickled Ittai’s flesh with its cowardice.

  Ittai assailed his sentry with a glare of contempt. “Whose lamb and cheese did you sup on last night?”

  “David’s.” Banak swallowed as if he were tasting a fat hunk of meat.

  “Then you have your answer. I did not bring us here because Israel’s sun is more bearable than Gath’s. I came because David shared his love of God with us. God brought us through the desert without a battle. But if we must fight, we will fight with David, not against him.”

  “I agree, commander.” Banak bobbed his head. “King David has stocked us well for war.”

  If only David had the foresight to stave off a revolt. The king had shown confidence during their meeting, not fear of a son’s rebellion. Had David given too much authority to Absalom? David, the young, brash raider of Ziklag, had aged and become less bold. The slash of a sword through bone and sinew was a young man’s calling. Absalom had to be thirty years younger than David, and the heir had been secretly preparing for combat. The prince who should be defending his father wished to impale his father’s beating heart. Perhaps the boundary lines bringing Ittai and his men to Jerusalem were for a defense of God’s anointed. David’s blood did not flow through Ittai’s veins, but a heritage of faith bound them tighter than blood. God had not deserted Ittai, and he did not believe God would desert David. Loyal fighters had arrived in Jerusalem at God’s chosen time.

  “Commander.” Hamuran’s voice slashed through Ittai’s thoughts. “Shall I ready the men to march into the Kidron? We shall meet David soon enough. He will not travel hastily with wives and children underfoot.”

  Ittai had taught his second-in-command well. “Yes, have the men prepare for battle. Secure the flank where the women and children reside.” He released his officers with the wave of his hand. “I will meet you at the north end of the city.”

  Hamuran turned his mule toward the grove. He rested a hand on Ittai’s shoulder. “Those loyal to David will have already left the palace. More than likely Rimona and her uncle have fled.”

  A hint of uncertainty rippled through his confidant’s statement. Had Lana told her father about Shamar’s antics?

  “We must hope Rimona convinced her uncle to flee. Now go.” Ittai kicked his mount and advanced toward the city gate. Traveling hard, he ignored an elderly woman straining to carry a large basket on her head while tears streamed down her face.

  He could only hope that Rimona’s bold tongue had dislodged her uncle from his home. His hope soared on crippled wings.

  ~*~

  Ittai raced through Jerusalem’s main gate. He dodged a few small caravans blocking his path while they abandoned the city.

  Why hadn’t he been notified of David’s departure? Ittai’s men, while not thousands, were highly skilled in battle. His hundreds of Philistine warriors could hold position against the best legions in Israel. Perhaps David did not know where to find him? Their discussions in the palace lacked a specific location of Ittai’s encampment.

  On the main street, two boys struggled to load a barrel on a cart bed. They were not much older than Lana.

  Fisting his reins tight, Ittai shouted, “Get out of the city.” Children in front of an advancing army would be trampled.

  “Are you one of Absalom’s men?” one boy called.

  He rode past not bothering to answer the insult. Absalom was a beautiful prince listening to grievances at the gate, wooing the hearts of his countrymen, all the while scheming to kill his father. Did Absalom not fear God?

  Sweat trickled between Ittai’s shoulder blades as he guided his mount up the hill leading to the palace. The sun’s rays assaulted the sandstone bricks on David’s home. Gone were the guards who paced upon the steps. A few finely robed women perched at the top of the stairs. The women were too lavish in their dress to be thieves. Concubines inhabiting the palace meant David intended to continue his rule. He was laying claim to the throne through their presence. The women hid behind carved columns when they saw Ittai approach.

  His heart shriveled at the concubine’s lack of defense. Absalom had proven himself a ruthless rebel. That rebel dared to touch Rimona, albeit discreetly, in front of witnesses. What would these women bear when Absalom arrived in his splendor and might? And what would Absalom do to Rimona if she resided a courtyard away from his bedchamber?

  “Hah.” He urged his mule onward, patting its sweaty coat.

  The alley north of the palace stood barren of people. As he rounded into the courtyard a faint melody serenaded the morning. His gut churned at the eerie sound. Was Shamar praising a rebellion of God’s anointed king? If this were a battlefield instead of a stone yard, he would impale the traitor.

  Darting toward Shamar’s dwelling, he leapt from his mount and pounded on the freshly oiled cedar.

  “Rimona?” he shouted. He prayed she did not answer and that her uncle had the sense to send her with David. “Shamar!” Music continued to play.

  The door whipped open.

  “Ittai? What are you doing here?” Rimona’s eyes were alert like a mother bird protecting her fledglings. “David has left the city.”

  “I heard.” He glanced over her frame and glimpsed Shamar strumming his harp as if in a trance. Fool. “Why are you still here?” He lowered his voice and let the harp song cover his irritation.

  “My uncle will not leave.” Rimona clasped her hands. They shook as if she were casting die in a game of chance. “Come and reason with him.” She stepped aside and allowed him to enter the room. Her strength and the faint hint of her lily perfume enlivened his heightened senses.

  He was upon Shamar in two strides. How small the old man looked perched on his stool.

  Psalms halted.

  “A visitor should address the head of the household.” Shamar turned his direction but continued to caress his harp as if it were priceless. More priceless than a niece. “Why should I scamper from my home like a rat? I know Absalom as well as I know his father. These last years, it has been Absalom who has lounged in the courtyard listening to my songs. I will not abandon the royal treasures entrusted to my care.” The elderly musician emphasized his last words. “I serve the household of David. Isn’t Absalom a member of the household?”

  Ittai restrained the rage drawing his muscles taut. He itched to strike something…someone…anything. “David is alive. He is king over Israel. Where is your allegiance to the ruler who bestowed your position and provided for your needs?”

  Rimona drew away from him as if the heat surging through his flesh grew too hot for her skin.

  Shamar scowled. “I do not fear Absalom and neither shall my niece. David gave me coin, but Absalom sings my praises. We shall reside in this room and welcome whoever rules Israel.” Shamar resumed his song.

  Ittai grasped the hilt of his sword. It may not have been appropriate to threaten the elderly musician, but it eased the tension pulsing through his body. “I know what men do when they are drunk on power. Your old bones may be overlooked, but an arrogant king will take whatever he desires, including your niece.” A rage he saved for battle flowed through his body.

  “Please.” Rimona rushed to his side and drew him closer to the door. “I have to trust God will take care of me no matter where I live. I have been praying for our safety and for yours. For everyone’s.” She forced a smile through trembling lips. “I guess my boundary lines have fallen here.”

  His heart chilled as if he lingered in a frost. His warnings were being cast as foolishness. He closed his eyes and drew a hand through his stubble of a beard. She didn’t understand men or power or entitlement. Entitlement especially after a war. What would Absalom take from a bold beauty wandering in his view? In this moment, Ittai could not deny his desire for Rimona. If a foreigner desired her, a ruler would ravish her.

  “May Absalom remember our meeting on the plain and my hardship.” Rimona’s gaze stayed upon his face. Her innocence and tenacity touched his soul more than one of Shamar’s melodies of praise. Lord, protect her from the recklessness that accompanies victory.

  “Rimona, I cannot protect you once I leave Jerusalem.” He had to make her understand the peril.

  “And I cannot abandon my overseer.” Her eyes glistened in a pool of tears. “I will petition God every moment for your return and for David’s return to the throne.” Rimona sniffled. Her steadfast smile returned. “If only Lana was here to fill my ears with words.”

  If Ittai had left his mother in Philistia and marched into exile, his heart could not have pained as much as leaving Rimona this very morn.

  “I cannot protect you anymore.” Ittai’s words strained through the fire in his throat. “Understand the dangers.”

  “Go after your friend, foreigner.” Shamar began a new melody. “We do not need a pig from Philistia pestering us this day. I must assemble musicians to welcome our new king.”

  Ittai begged God to douse his ire. Shamar knew the law of God well. The musician knew his niece could not depart with a man who wasn’t her husband lest she be cast out onto the street. And the street was a worse fate than facing Absalom. An urge to cast tradition to the winds seized him. The urge was so great that it was terrifying. But he couldn’t carry Rimona off to war without her people’s protection. Should he die in battle, Rimona would need her tribesmen to provide for her needs. God, why do I care? Why did you bring Rimona’s loveliness into my tumultuous life?

  He lunged and towered over her uncle.

  Shamar’s fingers stuttered on the strings.

  Bending low, Ittai whispered, “If anyone touches one hair on Rimona’s head, I will paint the courtyard with your blood.”

  “You must go, Ittai.” Rimona clung to the door, defeat displayed in her limp shoulders. “Every moment you stay, your life is in danger.”

  Pressing a fist into his palm, Ittai rotated it as if grinding grain. “When David returns victorious, I will be by his side. I will accompany him to this very chamber and make sure you have provided for your niece. If you haven’t…” He indicated the courtyard with a jerk of his head.

  “Get out.” Shamar’s voice cracked, hitting a sour note. “I do not understand your threats in your Hebrew babble.”

  “Ittai, hurry. You must go. Do not worry about me anymore.” She urged him out the door. “God is with us.”

  He turned and gazed into her glistening eyes. Her unshed tears pierced his leather breastplate. “Do not mention I was here. You have not seen me or my men.”

  “I do not know where you are going.” Her chin rose toward the sunlight. The feisty woman who faced a chariot driver returned, shimmying to stand at her full height. “I do not know where your army is staying. I will be cleaning instruments.”

  “If you could join Parveda and —”

  “I can’t. We know that.” Her eyes sparked with a gorgeous amber fire. “You must return to me so we can enjoy a king’s banquet.” Her eyes widened. “I did not thank you for my gift.”

  “Hide it. Along with your striped veil.” She did not need to enhance her attractiveness to tempt Absalom or his renegades. “Wear it at the feast we hold to celebrate David’s return.”

  “I will hold you to that promise, commander.”

  He backed away beholding her loveliness. Gathering the reins of his mule, he mounted his ride, yet he would not turn and regard Rimona again. For in that moment, a foreigner, a non-Hebrew, a warrior not born from the womb of one of Jacob’s wives, fought the urge to trample God’s law and whisk a Hebrew woman off to war. A war he would use all his strength and cunning to win.

  15

  Rimona braced herself against the courtyard wall. Ittai rode out to the alley, his dark hair rising and falling with the stride of his mule. A man and a woman rushed through the courtyard with arms wrapped tight around rugs and baskets. Why not trespass at the palace? The guards had escaped with their king.

  She sat on the smooth wall, weary and empty like the husk of a locust dried and discarded from last year’s swarm. This feeling had settled on her before when her mother took her last breath and no more praises slipped from her mother’s lips. Death had stolen her confidence and what courage remained had followed Ittai out of the city.

  In Ittai’s presence, she had tendrils of hope for a future. Oh, how grateful she had been for his station on a hill outside of Hebron. He had amazed her with his compassion, for he too had buried a mother. They shared a bond from such a loss. And what foreigner recited the psalms of David to appease a disgruntled uncle? Ittai could have taken his leave and abandoned her to her uncle’s folly.

  Her spirit begged a grin. Who else in this city had seen a warrior thick with muscle accompany Lana and voice truths about God? In her mind, she would cherish that memory forever.

  I lift my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from?

  She prayed Ittai the Gittite lived to see David regain his kingdom. She would pray that prayer often and include her own safety in her petitions.

  A fly buzzed by her cheek. She swatted at the pest, shaking her head. Her lone earring of gold and gemstones bumped against her jaw. She fingered the smooth gold and three faceted emeralds. The touch that had calmed her fears for many a year did nothing to buoy her countenance. Her father had vanished at sea. Her mother had succumbed to her ailment. Only their daughter remained. And she remained in a city soon to be overrun with fighters seeking to take a king’s life.

  She squinted at the sun. “Lord, help me. My earthly protectors are gone. My uncle offers little comfort or concern. A foreigner who was a balm for a brief time has hurried off to war. Watch over Ittai, for this world is a better place with his big heart in it.”

  Her throat pained. She swallowed past the burn.

  A tear snaked to her cheek, its moisture beckoning her back to reality. She flicked the dampness from her face and straightened her head covering.

  She had to stay hidden, away from a rebellious prince who may ask questions about the Philistine who had saved her life. Absalom was a bold prince with a loyal army. He would want to know the whereabouts of six-hundred skilled fighters. Ones he may soon face in battle. Praise God she did not know where Ittai or David were going. At least the battle would not take place in the city before her own eyes.

  The clunk of her uncle’s cane echoed around the courtyard. She’d best appease her overseer. If what Shamar said was true, her uncle was on friendly terms with Absalom and his household. That relationship may spare her harm.

  Rising, she traipsed into her new home, readying false pleasantries.

  “What may I oil, uncle?” She pointed to the wall. “Some of those lyres are dusty.”

  “Dusting on a day like today? You don’t reside in Beersheba anymore. Soon, Jerusalem will welcome a new king. We must prepare for a serenade.” Her uncle’s steps quickened as he headed toward his bedroom. Was he retrieving the bejeweled flutes from her tiny closet?

  “Shall I set some stools in the courtyard?” He could tell her what instruments to gather later.

  “Courtyard?” Her uncle halted. “I will not hide my songs of praise behind stone. When Absalom is near, we are going to the palace steps.”

  16

  Ittai’s mount flailed its head and strained to maneuver through the valley shaded by olive trees. Travelers traipsed over soil the color of crushed walnuts. Orchard paths, rutted and unending, brought forth grunts and cries and muttering from David’s followers. Those loyal to the king were on the move, placing distance between their king and a son hungry for his father’s throne. A day’s time wasn’t long to plan a defense against a scheming prince.

  Recognizing his band of exiles ahead, Ittai drove his mount toward the middle of the thick groves. His men were easy to spot. They stood taller than most Hebrews, and they had been dressed for a battle since leaving Gath. Diverting into the next row of trees, he came alongside a small wagon packed with provisions. Lana and her brothers sat among bags of wheat and crates of melons.

  “Commander,” Lana yelled, her neck craning to see past his mule.

  Parveda whirled around, her hands firmly on the reins of the team of donkeys pulling her cargo. She inspected his surroundings before glancing at the path in front of her.

  “You are alone?”

  Parveda’s motherly tone made it clear that she expected another traveler to come under her care. Unlike the hill outside of Hebron, this time it was not meant to be. He guided his mule even with Parveda’s perch. Disappointment had been waging a war with his pride since he’d left Jerusalem.

  “Not every man is under my command.”

  “Or woman.” If Parveda had carried a blade, she could not have pierced his flesh faster.

  “And I must find the man who commands us all.” He nodded his farewell.

 

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