Defending David, page 14
part #1 of Tribes of Israel Series
When her prayer ended, the door whipped open. Shamar hobbled inside. A young man trailed after him like an heir after an inheritance.
Her uncle jabbed his cane at a wooden box set where Jonathan and Ahimaaz had strummed their harps. “You will find the instruments in that crate. Take them to the palace steps.”
The young man bowed and carried his load out the door and into the courtyard.
“Why didn’t you let him in?” Shamar chastised her with a scowl. “We have plenty of work to do. Absalom may arrive at any moment.”
“I did not know we were expecting anyone.” She did not share her uncle’s enthusiasm for Absalom’s arrival. The prince gave her an odd feeling when they met as if he searched her being to see what value he could steal or use for his benefit. King David had been on the throne all of her life. She would remain loyal to the man God placed on the throne. Loyalty did not appear to be one of her uncle’s attributes.
Shamar shuffled to a stool and rested. “What instrument do you play?” Her uncle asked as if everyone possessed a musical skill. She had labored over her mother and assisted her neighbors with sewing and cooking. Harp songs in Beersheba were rare except for a wedding or festival
“Well, I—”
“I need a single word,” Shamar snapped. “Harp. Lyre. Flute. Cymbal.”
She pinched the table’s edge and allowed her fingers to assault the dead wood.
“None. I sing a little. My voice calmed my mother’s pain.”
“The woman was dying.” Her uncle puckered his lips and shook his head in a chastising sway. Did he enjoy the sensation of his head shake? She did not, for his every move heaped more disdain on her presence. Where was his compassion for the ill? His sister suffered without a single offer of comfort from his mouth or from his messenger.
“I spent my life learning instruments, studying music, and practicing to receive the notice of kings.” Shamar raised his voice to impress the empty room. “Every note you hear played in the tabernacle to worship God, was taught to a musician by me. And now when I need peace in my life, my tribal elders send me a woman to support. A woman who has no skills.”
Her ears did their best to filter the slander of her family, for she needed her uncle’s oversight in this tumultuous city. Though she would never forget how selfish he had been to abandon his family over a disagreement about marriage. She hid her hands that had become claws ready to scratch the smugness from his face. From deep inside her dignity, she withdrew pleasantries instead of scorn. “I’m sure I can do something to help you. I am willing to sweep the courtyard and the front of your home.” Lingering inside when at all possible. “You must eat to keep your strength. I can churn cream for our bread.”
Shamar rose from his seat and hobbled her direction. Was buttered bread on his mind? He struck the table with his hand. Steadily. Rhythmically. The thud of his skin on the wood reverberated between her shoulder blades and slid to her tailbone.
“Can you keep a beat?” he asked.
She nodded in cadence with every wrinkle-handed slap of the table.
“Good. You will accompany the musicians with the tambourine.”
“Here? In the music room?” Her mouth tasted of soiled rags. Drawing attention to herself was not her plan.
“Why would anyone join us here? I’m having a platform built outside of the palace. Absalom must be welcomed with the harp and lyre.” He raised his arm, shook an imaginary tambourine, and wiggled his waist. Even his cane swiveled during the awkward dance. “You will celebrate Absalom’s entry with us.”
She forced a smile to show enthusiasm at his suggestion. Tart saliva pulled at the back of her throat as she mimicked a dutiful niece playing a joyous tambourine. Would he cast her on the street if she refused his request and insulted his standing in the court? Danger would abound in the alleys and markets after dark, especially when legions of men arrived. The people in Jerusalem were strangers. Who would risk harboring a woman who had been seen with a Philistine entering David’s palace? Worse, would they think her soiled or a prostitute? Believe that her uncle refused her because of her wicked ways? She licked her lips and continued her pretend tambourine playing.
“Yes, we will welcome the new king.” Her voice sounded as if she still slumbered.
Why couldn’t she remain tucked away in her bedroom? If, indeed, she produced a lively beat with her tambourine held high, every curve of her body would be under Absalom’s scrutiny. This day, when she met the traitor king, she would not have the comfort or protection of sitting on a donkey surrounded by Philistine warriors. Dread squeezed her heart. The same dread when Eglon threatened to slice her tongue. The same aching dread when she watched Ittai ride away. No massive rescuer waited in the nearby hills. Yet, she did have one rescuer ready to offer assistance. An image of Ittai and Lana reciting David’s words filled her mind and attempted to calm her soul. Where does your help come from? From the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
She prayed the Lord would be on the streets of Jerusalem helping her shake a tambourine in rhythm with Shamar’s musicians and with the motions of a modest stone statue.
20
Ping. Another rock ricocheted off Ittai’s bronze-plated helmet. King David did not flinch. The king’s forces and followers were making good progress toward Gilgal near the river. Ittai prayed the word they would receive was that Absalom was celebrating in Jerusalem before advancing on his father. Only time, and a messenger, would tell of Absalom’s plot.
“Leave, you man of blood. Leave this place.” A Hebrew by the name of Shimei raced along a ridge. A shower of dirt rained on the king’s procession. “Get out, you scoundrel. You’ll come to ruin.”
David rested prominently on his newly gifted donkey. He did not contest any of Shimei’s insults. None of the officials on his right, nor on his left, shouted a defense at the slinger of stones.
Rocks struck the neck of Abishai’s mount, spooking the animal. The donkey bucked its head and brayed, side-stepping into Joab’s ride. Joab chastised his brother.
Abishai calmed his mount and turned toward David. “Why do you allow that dead dog to curse you? Permit me to go over and cut off his head.”
“I will set his face on a pole for all to see,” Joab added.
Silence. David rode on, his posture as stiff and straight as a roof bearing plank.
Ittai admired David’s restraint. The humiliation sung from the hillside caused Ittai to clench his teeth and envision Abishai’s wish of beheading the vile man. He had never witnessed a king of Gath being treated with such contempt.
“Not again,” Hamuran muttered as a shower of pebbles and dirt covered his shoulders.
“Curse you, man of blood,” Shimei continued his rant. “God is rewarding your son with your kingdom.” Raucous laughter echoed over the path above David and his supporters.
Joab leaned toward his uncle. “Lord, allow your own bloodline to shed Shimei’s lifeblood. He is a disgrace to Israel.”
David grinned as if the slinger were singing praises. “He’s from the tribe of Benjamin. The man is angry over my predecessor’s demise. The Benjamites mourn King Saul’s death to this very hour. Shimei is delighted that I am on the run again.” David reached and grabbed Ittai’s arm. “I was on the run from King Saul when I met this Philistine.”
The warmth and firmness of David’s touch invigorated Ittai’s tired body. Every man, woman, and child in David’s company battled exhaustion from their hurried pace.
“Boundary lines fell for us in pleasant places in Ziklag.” Ittai clasped David’s hand. The praise of his mentor was a welcomed cassia-scented balm among the stench of unwashed bodies and sweaty livestock.
“You were a boy in Ziklag,” Joab said. “I don’t remember you going on any raids.” Thunk. A good-sized rock struck Joab’s shoulder narrowly missing the king. “Shimei, I’ll truly have your head,” Joab roared.
Ittai did not wish to see the king pelted, but inwardly, he praised any strike on Joab. Biting his cheek, Ittai held back a grin at Joab’s discontent.
“You are all men of blood.” Shimei leapt with joy at his successful throw. “The towns of Israel will spit you out, David. God has given your kingdom to Absalom.”
Joab trotted his donkey a few paces ahead of the officials and guards spread out along the path protecting David. “My lord, silence can come swiftly.”
David dismissed Joab with a wave of his hand. “Shimei is correct. My own son is trying to take my life. Shimei brings rocks, but my son brings swords.” David lifted his face to survey the Hebrew sprinting on the ridge, staying even with the procession. “What if the Lord has led him to curse me? What if the Lord has placed the profanity on Shimei’s lips? It may be that the Lord will take pity on me when He sees my distress and repay me with good.”
“The Lord has repaid all of us with good.” Ittai coughed from inhaling the dust on the dry trail. “The Lord has delayed an assault on our flank. I say we have already benefitted from God’s goodness.”
Hamuran brushed debris from his lap. “Do you believe Absalom has reached the city?”
Joab and Abishai exchanged an expression of mockery.
“That is where the palace lies.” Joab pointed at Shimei and motioned a slit throat.
Ittai prayed for a delay, but he had seen Absalom’s pride and conceit on display outside of Etam. The son desired the kingdom, and its throne remained in Jerusalem. Where Rimona remained. He prayed for Absalom to meet them on a battlefield of grass and not of city stone. Conquering an army house by house flooded streets with innocent blood.
“I know my son.” David’s voice shattered in his throat as he cast a glance at Hamuran and Ittai. “There was a time I believed I knew him well. But he has not forgiven me for a lack of justice in my household. Absalom will not rest until my body is buried under a pile of stones much bigger than Shimei’s rocks.” Tears glistened in the king’s eyes. He deflected an incoming barrage. A glimmer of his younger self flashed in Ittai’s memory. “Surely, Shimei desires my body to be crushed by stones.”
“That prairie dog is a bitter man.” Ittai knew that a commander conversing about his own death demoralized fighting men faster than a plague. He needed to pray and then remind David of God’s faithfulness.
God, You brought me to Jerusalem on the eve of Absalom’s revolt. May I be a swallow of wine and a lick of honey to David’s confidence in himself and in You.
Ittai blocked another of Shimei’s stones with a small shield. The sun-warmed bronze beneath his fingers jolted his senses.
“My lord,” Ittai said firmly. “If God is causing a man to hit you with stones, then God is here with you, with all of us who call upon His name. I have no doubt that Hushai will arrive in Jerusalem, and the One True God will show your advisor favor. Hushai will befuddle Absalom’s plans to assail you.”
“I hope you are right, Gittite.” Joab sounded skeptical.
Ittai prepared for ample criticism from David’s nephew.
“You foreigners underestimate Ahithophel’s standing and wisdom. He is upheld as one of the wisest seers in all of Israel.”
“That may be true, son of Zeruiah.” Ittai stretched his muscles, broadening his form. He did not have to defer to Joab anymore now that both men rode at David’s side. “Though, I never underestimate God’s standing.”
A scattering of dirt landed on a group of officials. They splayed their arms and flapped their hands like disgruntled geese.
David laughed at the commotion. “Who knew loyalty would come to this?” When his chuckle quieted, he grew stoic. “I have no doubt that Hushai will confuse my son with his eloquence. My friend will send word of Absalom’s plans. The priests and those serving in the tabernacle are loyal to God and to me. They know that every fool remaining in Jerusalem has become a spy. I trust them to bring me word regarding my son.”
Would the messengers also have knowledge of a musician’s niece stowed away near the palace? He should have been more forceful with Rimona. He should have beseeched the king to protect her. If only he knew David saw him as a mighty commander and friend worthy to travel at his side. Such standing could protect any woman, even a woman as alone in the world as Rimona.
David needed his entire army to fight as one if victory was to be certain. And Ittai was certain of one thing, David had to reign victorious, or exile for Ittai and his men would evaporate faster than a raindrop on a desert stone.
Rotating to survey the mass of people in his wake, Ittai prayed Absalom’s battle plans would arrive swiftly. For deep in his gut, he knew they needed to be ready to defend their position soon, or the innocents trudging behind a beleaguered king would be slaughtered.
21
Rimona stood on her uncle’s platform, hidden by harpists, with the sun torturing her head covering. Her wooden station gave her a view of the main street leading to the palace and a reprieve from the crowd of people waiting to welcome “King” Absalom. Even the thought of his title clenched her teeth. How could an Israelite act with such disregard for God? Absalom heaped disdain on his father, not honor. Gossip from the crowd revealed Absalom’s thirst for blood. The prince sought the murder of the man who had given him life. How could a son plot his father’s demise? May such lawlessness never come to pass. To this day, she still remembered his forbidden touch on the plain outside of Etam. She shifted behind a plump musician to avoid being seen by the rebel prince.
“Use your thumb.” Shamar grasped her arm and shook it, clanging the tiny bronze cymbals on her tambourine. “You are too slow and too loud with your palm.”
Why was her uncle astute to her playing now? She had pounded her instrument all day, only stopping to offer drinks to the harpists and flutists. Her hand tingled from striking the smooth leather for hours.
“I will try to soften the rhythm.” She stepped toward the edge of his musical podium leaving her uncle room to provoke his other players.
A loud, low hum rose into a full trumpet call. The mutterings of the crowd turned into a roar. From the direction of Jerusalem’s main gate, the ominous howl of the shofar continued.
He’s here.
Rimona’s body chilled. She shivered and turned to survey the entrance to the city while the horn’s oooh-aaah carried the announcement of Absalom’s arrival all the way to the stone steps of the palace. She had climbed the same steps with Ittai and Lana when peace reigned in David’s household. Soon, turmoil and war would be brought to David’s royal residence.
Movement in a front window of the palace caught her attention. Was Gihon watching the steps for soldiers? What defense could ten concubines muster against a formidable army?
Clapping rang out at her side.
“Hold it higher.” Shamar glowered at her and mimicked a frenzied tambourine. “Let the cymbals welcome Absalom to the palace.” Patting his hip, Shamar said, “Move to the beat of your thumb.”
Her uncle’s screams, the blasts of the shofar, people’s shrieks of anticipation, and the thud-dud of her own instrument sent a piercing ache through her skull. Even the calming spice scent of myrrh that her uncle had insisted she rub into the frame of her tambourine, made her stomach and senses ill.
“Long live King Absalom,” the crowd shouted. Those gathered along the street cleared the center of the road.
A brownish-black horse, its mane dancing in the wind, pulled a familiar ornate chariot closer to the palace.
Her palms dampened at the sight of the beautiful prince, his hair wild and curling to his waist. Scarlet and indigo sashes decorated his chest while the sun glistened on the same gold bands wrapped around his ears. She wiped her hand and continued a faint thumb and palm rhythm on her tambourine. Absalom traveled alone again. No wife or woman accompanied him in the slow-moving cart.
“Louder. Faster.” Her uncle’s hand kept time to the song. “Our king must hear our music of praise this day.”
She didn’t want to praise Absalom. David had been anointed king over the tribes of Israel, and people she had grown to care for were marching at David’s side. If only she could shimmy her tambourine and be transported to Parveda’s cart.
Officials and soldiers cleared a path to the palace steps for Absalom and his glorious chariot. The rebel waved at cheering men, women, and children welcoming him as their ruler. Absalom stood aloft on his perch soaking in his stolen praise. Words of adoration did not seep from her mouth. Her lips pressed thin as a thread as she timidly shook her bronze cymbals.
“King Absalom,” her uncle shouted. He rocked on his cane practically bursting forth in a dance.
She prayed the noise of the people and the harp strings would drown her uncle’s summons.
The chariot swung wide sending the crowd scampering away from Absalom’s skittish horse and unforgiving cartwheels. The froth-mouthed beast stopped in front of Shamar’s musical stage.
Stilling her tambourine, she surveyed the drop from the podium. The distance was too high for her to avoid a scene or the surety of a broken bone. Head lowered, she aligned her body so a harpist on a high stool blocked Absalom’s sight.
Her uncle bowed while his musicians continued playing. “Welcome home, my lord.”
“Ah, Shamar, you delight me with your music.” Absalom’s robust voice commended her uncle’s service. “Finish your songs and bring a few musicians into the palace chamber.”
“Of course.” Her uncle thunked his cane on the planked floorboards and straightened his stooped-shoulder form. “Anything for you, my king.”
Leave straightaway. Rimona’s mouth became as dry as a cast away onion skin. Hide me, Lord.
The chariot creaked as it began to move.
Keep going!
Clopping hooves silenced.
Dare she peek? The musician blocking her presence concentrated on his instrument. She eased a hair width to the side and met the dark, sharp-as-a-hawk gaze of Absalom. The pound of her pulse deafened any note from serenading her ears. She had failed Ittai. An ache like a stab to her breast overcame her being. Casting her gaze beyond the prince toward the palace steps, she palmed her tambourine as if proceeding toward an open tomb.
