And then he went away, before I could deny him again.
It did not matter, I thought. Words did not change what was. I thought I had only to be patient and virtuous and all would be as I wished it.
I thought I knew all of what David was, but I was wrong. I knew nothing, then.
David sent me even more gifts that day. More jewels; more bracelets, veils, earrings; finer cloth than I had ever before seen. The maidservants held each thing high so that I might see it and admire.
I fingered a bolt of some thin stuff that was yellow as saffron and wondered at the color; I could not believe, then, that anyone could afford to use saffron only to color cloth. I thought of my sister Merab, and how pleased she had been with a length of Egyptian byssus. Enough for her wedding-dress, if she cut carefully—what would Merab have thought of this?
“My sister should have been his queen,” I said. Beautiful clever Merab, who had married rich Adriel and given him five sons in six years, and died of it. Yes, Merab should have been David’s queen; how she would have loved his gifts and her crown … .
“Do not weep,” said one of the maids. “If you do not like this, there is more, and better too.”
“Better?” I said, and laughed. “Nothing could be better, and it does not matter. These things are for a queen—do I look like a queen?”
“Yes,” they said, and looked back and forth among themselves. Yes, a queen, a true queen—and if only I would let them paint my eyelids green and my mouth red—and oil my skin so that it would be soft and rinse my hair with lemon-water so that it would shine—
I laughed again; I could not help it. They sounded like a covey of quail trilling and cooing over a berry bush. They looked as much
alike as a quail’s brood, too; like David’s wives, they were all eye-paint and bright cloth.
See, they went on, see the cloth, the jewels—see how fine, how rare—see how the king delights in you—
“They are not for me,” I said. I turned my eyes away from the riches they thrust upon me, and saw the concubine Zhurleen standing just inside the doorway.
There was a hissing sound from the maids. One, braver and louder than the others, stepped forward. “How dare you come before the queen? Go back to your own place, Philistine!”
“Oh, do not be so silly.” I smiled and held out my hand. Philistine or not, Zhurleen was the only one under David’s roof who had been kind. “Be welcome, Zhurleen—and help me tell these foolish girls I am no idol to deck in scarlet.” I smiled, because the over-fine clothes were no fault of theirs, but I meant my words, too. It would be easy to let them have their way—but I did not want to taste what I would not keep. And I did not want David to think he could win me with such gifts.
“O Queen, live forever.” Zhurleen bowed and walked past the maids as if they were not there. She looked at the gifts from David; lifted the necklace of gold and amber, touched the shining cloth of saffron. Then she looked at me, and then at the maidservants.
“Is this the way you serve the queen? Idling and chattering like sparrows in the street? Look at her hands—you, get the almond-cream for her skin! And her hair—who braided it? An ox? Undo it at once—where is the comb? Give it to me; I will do it myself, if you cannot!”
They moved for Zhurleen as they had not for me. I was not surprised; the way she spoke made me want to do her bidding at once myself before I was well-slapped.
“And what would you have me do?” I asked her, making my voice meek as a dove’s.
“Why, nothing—save sit upon this chair and hold yourself still.” Zhurleen’s voice was once again the lazy slur of waves upon
the sand. “I told you I would serve you well. You need do nothing, my queen—nothing at all.”
One maid brought a pot of dark red clay, another an ivory comb, a third a thin alabaster vial. Zhurleen stood behind me and began to unbraid my hair.
“It is a fine color,” she told me as she worked, “and will be finer still when it is cared for.”
I began to protest, saying yet again that I was no queen and would go back to my husband’s farm—and all your work will go for nothing, Zhurleen.”
“Nothing? Will it be nothing to go back to your Phaltiel with your skin soft as water and your hair sweet as spring grass?” Now Zhurleen’s voice was low, soothing as dark wine, a comfort to the ear. “The king has given all this for your use—use it as
you
will.”
When she spoke like that, it seemed wisdom. What harm could it do, after all? So I sat there quiet.
One maid rubbed my hands with thick cream that smelled sweet of crushed almonds. Another combed light pale oil through my hair; when she was done my hair was scented with spikenard and cinnamon and shone like glass. Zhurleen herself braided my hair into a dozen strands, and wove those dozen strands into one, binding them with ribbons of silver.
It was Zhurleen who chose what I should wear. “No, not that—the green, and the blue over it. And then the ivory girdle, and that is all.”
And when they protested, saying it was not fine enough, Zhurleen looked them up and down and called them fools, and blind as well. “For the queen wears the clothes, not the clothes the queen! Now do as I say!” And into my ear alone, she whispered, “Do not worry, you will look as you should; I will not make you look a prideful fool.”
She began to paint my mouth with carmine, red as blood; I sat quiet and considered her words. I had not thought of that—that she might dress me as she pleased, and I would not know if her choices were malice or mockery.
It seemed to take hours to dress me as they all thought fitting.
But at last Zhurleen took the girdle of carved ivory hinged with gold and clasped it about my waist, and called me ready. Then she held a mirror up so that I might see myself.
The mirror was silver polished so smooth I saw myself almost as clearly as I was; so large I could see all my face and neck at once.
“Is the queen pleased?” Zhurleen smiled, a worker sure of praise.
I did not know what to say. I looked very fine; perhaps I even looked like a queen. I did not know. But I did not look like Michal. The malachite and kohl hooded my eyes; the carmine hid my mouth; the silver ribbons in my hair, the golden chains about my throat, caught the eye and drew it from my face.
Michal was hidden away, veiled behind jewels and paint. I looked now like all the other women dwelling in King David’s house.
They all watched me, to see if Zhurleen had pleased. To see if the Philistine woman would be rebuked and scorned. Even I could see they hoped for that. But Zhurleen’s smile was steady as she waited for my answer.
“Yes,” I said, and watched my red lips move, mirrored on silver. “You are very skilled, Zhurleen.”
She handed the mirror away; I was no longer forced to watch myself a stranger.
“The queen is kind,” Zhurleen said. She did not look at the maidservants. “Now if the queen pleases, let her come and I will show her the queen’s domain. And the queen’s women will care for her rooms—and they may start by sorting that cloth and folding it as it should be done!”
“See, now, I dwell in an house of cedar … .”
—II Samuel 7:2
And so that was how I first saw the women’s quarters of the king’s great house in Jerusalem. I walked with Zhurleen through long hallways, upon floors of bright-glazed tile, past walls adorned with painted flowers that would never wilt beneath hot sun. I looked into rooms large and small; rooms dark and private; rooms with windows wide to the sun and the wind.
I saw courtyards open to the sky and courtyards roofed over against the cold rain of winter and the harsh light of summer. I saw fountains spilling water, dazzling as crystals in the sunlight; water splashed over carven stone as freely as if it cost no effort to bring pure water up here; as if water, too, were a king’s lavish toy.
I saw lemon trees in painted pots. I saw gardens laced with paths that wove aimless through roses and lilies.
And everywhere, I saw walls. Walls around the gardens; walls around the courtyards; walls around the whole women’s quarters too high for even a giant to look over. And set into the walls were gates, to admit or deny.
“Each of the king’s wives has her own courtyard and her own servants—that is the gate to the lady Eglah’s court.” Zhurleen was a good guide; it seemed to me that she knew everything and everyone within the women’s walls.
I looked and saw a gate of cedarwood smooth-carved in a pattern of vines. The gate was closed; there was no welcome there.
“But yours is the finest court, my queen, and your rooms are the best.” Zhurleen spoke as smoothly as she glided over the tiled floors, her voice pleasant as summer breeze.
“It does not matter,” I said. “I will not be here to dwell among these women and cut their peace. I told them so, but they would not listen to me.”
“If not you, it would be another. With a man like King David there will always be a woman—if they were wise, his wives would be your friends.” Zhurleen cast a disdainful glance at Eglah’s closed gate as we passed by “Since they are fools, they will be ever unhappy. And no man likes a jealous woman, or a weeping one—or one who shows him a face like a sour quince!”
I smiled, for I thought I knew who she meant. “Like Abigail?” Yes, that was how Abigail had looked.
“Ah, you are sharp-eyed as a hawk! Yes, like Abigail, who is twice a fool. She likes to think herself the king’s first wife, and first in all things as well. But she is no longer young; she had nothing but her looks and her wealth, and King David has had both already”
“What of her children? Does she not find joy in them?” I had no son born of my body, but I had a boy who filled a son’s place in my heart. Children paid for much.
Zhurleen shook her head. “No, for that one finds no joy in anything save dreams. Oh, she has a son—Prince Chileab—but he is only the king’s second-born, and he has not the gift of winning hearts. It is Prince Amnon, the eldest-born, and Prince Absalom, who are King David’s darlings.”
“Is that what Abigail wishes? Her son as king?”
“What mother would not? But the next king will not be Abigail’s son—and she is not wise enough to see that, and to make other alliances.” Zhurleen looked at me sideways, tilting her head; the gesture made her eyes look even longer. “Prince Absalom is his father born again—or so I have been told by those who saw King David when he was a boy. And Prince Amnon is a good child, and is very much loved. It is easy to be kind to Prince Amnon.”
“You sound like his mother,” I said, smiling and thinking of Caleb. “I have a boy at home—no, he is not my own, but I love him as if he were.” And then I told her about Caleb; if she listened she learned much of his virtues and a little of his faults. Like all mothers, I would speak long of my child, if I were only let.
At last I laughed, and shook my head. “But I am telling you more than you wish to know! It is good of you to listen, Zhurleen, and I thank you for it.”
“Only a fool does not listen when the queen speaks,” she said.
I sighed. “Zhurleen, I am not the queen. I am only a woman, and I am not here of my own will.”
Zhurleen looked at me, but said nothing then. We walked silent through the light and shadow of halls and courts until we stood at last before a gate made of ebony. Upon the ebony were set straight rows of ivory plaques, polished fangs against dark wood. Beyond that gate lay the queen’s courtyard; beyond that courtyard lay the queen’s rooms. The rooms I had been given by David.
Zhurleen set her hand upon the ebony gate. “This is the queen’s gate—you have only to walk through it to be in your proper place.”
I smiled, for I knew my proper place; it was not here, in this maze of walls within walls. I thanked Zhurleen again for her kindness.
“It is easy to be kind when kindness is wise as well,” she said, and laid a hand upon my arm. “And I will tell you this, which is both wise and kind—do not deny the king too loud and long, Michal.”
I smiled, unworried, for I thought I knew better than she. Zhurleen was a Philistine, after all—what should she know of Israel and Judah? “Your land is different, Zhurleen, so you do not understand our ways. I know other lands worship kings—but here a king is only a man.”
Only a man, even if a king. I thought of my father Saul. King, yes—but Saul still tended his fields and obeyed the Law like any other man, until his madness. took him.
Zhurleen’s face showed nothing, not even that she heard my
words. She bowed, as if I had dismissed her, and then turned away. And suddenly my heart pounded hard and I called her back, my voice sharp.
“Zhurleen—the message to my husband Phaltiel—it was sent to him?”
She stopped and turned back, and bowed again, graceful as a willow branch. “It was sent, O Queen. My own lips told your words to the messenger. Each word, O Queen, just as you asked.”
And then she went away, walking supple and gentle upon the sunlit tiles. Silver bells chimed sweet and clear about her ankles. Long oiled ringlets swayed across her back like slow dancing serpents, rich and shining as dark blood.
When I walked through the ebony gate into the queen’s courtyard, I saw David waiting for me beside the singing fountain. He stood looking into the water as if he saw the future there; he was smiling as a man smiles who has won a bargain hard-driven.
I looked at him, then, as if my eyes were new. Like his wives, David wore scarlet and gold—but his fine clothes did not dazzle more than he. As Zhurleen would have said, he wore the clothes; that made them a king’s. Yes, a king’s finery, such as I had heard foreign kings wore daily; there was even a circlet of gold about David’s head, metal shining pure against his hair.
I stood, and looked, and thought of my father King Saul, whose best robe had been made of wool from his own sheep, woven by his wives and sewn by his daughters.
“If it’s good enough for my men, by Yahweh, it’s good enough for me!”
And then I looked about the queen’s courtyard with my clear new eyes. Smooth cedar columns, a gallery full of flowers in hanging pots. Paving stones of marble, white and green. A fountain of some stone so pale and smooth it was almost as transparent as the water that fell endlessly over it. Water and wealth, both free-flowing—such a house was made of dreams.
David’s dreams. How had he made them real?
I walked across the courtyard to the fountain, to King David. I thought of all I had seen that day, and of all I saw now, and weighed what I would say to him. Careful words, carefully chosen, to show him how far we had come from what we once had been together. Surely David must see it as clearly as I. The water sang loudly in its pale prison; David did not hear me until I was beside him, and spoke.
“O King,” I said, “live forever.” And I touched my forehead with my hand, as I had seen Zhurleen do.
He turned to me as easily as if he had watched me come; he did not laugh at my greeting. To David my words were no jest. He smiled instead as if I had given him an unexpected gift.
“Michal, my love—I was waiting for you.”
He held out his hands, but I did not raise mine. “There was no need. You are the king, as you have said. If you wanted me, you had only to send for me.”
“I asked after you and was told you had deigned to inspect your kingdom, my queen. I was content to wait until you had seen what is now yours.” He reached and took my hands, willing to pretend that I had given them into his. “Tell me plain, my heart—is all as you would have it? Or shall I tear it to the ground and build again nearer to your wish?”
“You have a great house indeed, David. I could never have imagined such riches.” I did not pull away; my hands lay cool and unmoving in David’s grasp. “But I do not understand how all this is possible—that you are king, yes—but this is a house fit for the king of Egypt himself. How was it done, and so quickly?”
David laughed, a sound rich against the endless noise of falling water. “My clever Michal, always so practical! But this is nothing, truly—the least Philistine noble lives as well. And my people love me, and that made all work easy. You will see how easy, how sweet—you have suffered for me, my queen, but now all will be soft as feathers beneath your feet. Look at you now, fair as a rose at dawn.”
“A painted rose,” I said. “A false rose. Oh, David, can you not see that all is changed? I am no girl now—”
“Your eyes dim jewels; they are brighter and more precious.” He let my hands go free and touched the golden chains about my neck. “You adorn jewels; they shall adorn you; you shall have gems beyond counting. You wear a token only, that you may see how King David keeps his word.”
“Yes,” I said. “I see. And you shall see how I keep mine, David. I will not break faith with my husband.”
“You already have,” he said, and took me into his arms, fast and rough, as if we both were young and hot and could not wait. “Look into your heart, Michal; you know it is true.”
He would have kissed me then, but I held him off.
“No,” I said. “Not now—or there will be carmine-paste and kohl and I know not what else all over your beard, and you will look a fool. I told you this face was not my own.”
“I care nothing for that,” he swore, “only for you.” But he contented himself with a kiss upon my lips only; a chaste kiss, such as I might have taken from my own brother.
I smiled, for I prided myself that I was learning, and learning quickly. We both sat upon a padded bench, after that, and I listened as David talked of the days when we were young. I needed only to smile, and to nod; it was no hardship, for I liked to hear of Jonathan. Such talk did not give me pain, as I told David.
“Jonathan is dead now, but he lived once. I would not forget him, and how he loved me, and I him. Now all that is left is his son Meribaal—and I have not seen him since he lay in swaddling.” Meribaal was with my brother Ishbaal now; I wondered if I would ever see him. Perhaps he looked like Jonathan. I did not know.
“Yes, his son Meribaal, whom I too have not seen since we all were young and happy together.” David laid his hand over mine; his rings clashed against those on my own fingers. “I have heard Meribaal is a sickly boy; it is a grief when I think of it. I wish he were here, so that I might tend Jonathan’s son myself.”
“You are wrong, so be comforted,” I said. “I never heard that
Meribaal was less than any other boy—and more than some!” Jonathan and I had shared the same mother; Meribaal was my nephew. If Meribaal were ill, there would have been a message from Ishbaal, if only for duty’s sake.
“That is good hearing,” David said, and smiled. “I hope you are right, Michal, for I had heard—well, it is nothing after all, and we see how rumor misleads us into grief. If it is not so I am glad, for the love I bore Jonathan. The boy must be a great joy to your brother Ishbaal; does he mean to make Meribaal the next king in Israel?”
I stared hard at David, and then laughed when I saw that he was not jesting. “Oh, David, I do not know! I have told you before, I am only a farm-wife, and know less of kings and courts than that fountain does. I have not seen my brother Ishbaal since before my father banished me from his sight. Why would King Ishbaal tell me such things? Ask him yourself, if you would know.”
David laughed too. Light flowed over the gold circlet about his hair as he shook his head. “You do right to rebuke me; I know it was hard for you. But your path will be smooth for the rest of your days.”
“I know my path,” I said. “It will be as smooth or as harsh as the world makes it. Do not worry yourself over me, for I shall be well cared for.” I might as well have saved my words. It was as if I were dumb, and could make no sound; as if I said nothing unless David liked my words and so chose to hear.
“As for Meribaal, and your brother Ishbaal—you are right, I will send a message. There are so few of Saul’s kin left, it hurts my heart when I think of it. Perhaps Ishbaal will be generous, and give me Jonathan’s son to raise as my own.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “But Ishbaal has no child of his own, and you have many sons, David.”
“And will have more, Yahweh willing!” He was all boy, then; reaching out, eager.