at least in my own house. If you are wise, you will forget about David and live here happily and quietly—and do nothing to remind your father the king that you still breathe. Now dry your eyes and we will sleep. The day and the way were long, and I am tired, even if you are not.”
I was not unhappy in Phaltiel’s house. At first, I was a princess wronged; I was young enough to find some solace in that. When you are fourteen, even grief can be a kind of joy.
Phaltiel had children older than I; two sons and a daughter, all well-married and in their own houses elsewhere in the valley. The
eldest, a man nearing twenty, had a son of his own, a babe still in swaddling bands. Then there was Miriam, and Caleb, who was too young to remember his own mother, but was old enough to know that I was not. He looked at me as sullenly as I looked at his father.
The running of the house I left in Miriam’s hands. It was not my house and Phaltiel was not my husband. I told him so when I had not yet been there a week. I stood stiff and tall, glorying in defiance, but he only said calmly that I was doubtless too young, and should run along and play until I was ready for a woman’s work.
“I am a woman!” I thought to sound proud and royal, but even to my own ears my voice was only that of a sulky child.
Phaltiel had laughed and left me standing there in my false pride. My cheeks burned; I went and complained bitterly to Miriam of the hardness of my lot. That was not well done of me, for she cannot have liked to hear her father so spoken of. But she was always a good girl, and understood more than I thought. She knew I still grieved for David, and so was kind to me—kinder than I deserved.
Nor was I lonely in Phaltiel’s house, for I had Miriam and the other girls of the village for my companions. None of them had ever gone farther from home than the sheep could wander in a morning, and they liked nothing better than to hear of the glories to be found in the world beyond. They had no experience of great ladies, and thought me impressive. I drooped, and smiled wistfully, and told them I was nothing to my sister Merab. This only made them press me harder for tales of life in the king’s house. Admiration is balm to smarting feelings; I took great pleasure in being what they wished to see.
And they loved to hear of David. I was not unwilling to spin them tales—when I found they knew the story already, I could not see that it did any harm. So I talked more than was prudent; it is always wiser to say little and smile much than to proclaim your ills throughout the land.
So time passed, and days became weeks, and I still heard no word from my true husband. He neither came to take me away with him, nor sent a message, not even so much as one word.
I longed for news, but there was none. Jonathan, alone of all my family, came once to visit me. That was when he told me what had happened while I was prisoned in my tower. That was when I heard how Saul had raged against David, and called Jonathan traitor, and hurled his spear at Jonathan as if he would slay his own son. Then Saul had sent Jonathan away, and even now would not speak to him unless he must.
Jonathan told me also that he had spoken once with David, warning him against returning while Saul’s madness ruled. And that was all I learned, although I pressed Jonathan hard for fresh news of David. Jonathan kept his mouth tight, saying only that David was in the hills.
“And he has not forgotten me? He will come?” Already it had been long, and overlong, I thought; in those days I did not find waiting easy I had already been in Phaltiel’s house many weeks.
Jonathan hugged me tight. “Oh, Michal, how could any man forget you?” Then he kissed me, and went away again. And I cherished Jonathan’s words, thinking they held the meaning I wished them to have.
CHAPTER 5
“Now there was long war between the House of Saul and the House of David … .”
—II
I was not unhappy in Phaltiel’s house. At first, I was a princess wronged; I was young enough to find some solace in that. When you are fourteen, even grief can be a kind of joy.
Phaltiel had children older than I; two sons and a daughter, all well-married and in their own houses elsewhere in the valley. The
eldest, a man nearing twenty, had a son of his own, a babe still in swaddling bands. Then there was Miriam, and Caleb, who was too young to remember his own mother, but was old enough to know that I was not. He looked at me as sullenly as I looked at his father.
The running of the house I left in Miriam’s hands. It was not my house and Phaltiel was not my husband. I told him so when I had not yet been there a week. I stood stiff and tall, glorying in defiance, but he only said calmly that I was doubtless too young, and should run along and play until I was ready for a woman’s work.
“I am a woman!” I thought to sound proud and royal, but even to my own ears my voice was only that of a sulky child.
Phaltiel had laughed and left me standing there in my false pride. My cheeks burned; I went and complained bitterly to Miriam of the hardness of my lot. That was not well done of me, for she cannot have liked to hear her father so spoken of. But she was always a good girl, and understood more than I thought. She knew I still grieved for David, and so was kind to me—kinder than I deserved.
Nor was I lonely in Phaltiel’s house, for I had Miriam and the other girls of the village for my companions. None of them had ever gone farther from home than the sheep could wander in a morning, and they liked nothing better than to hear of the glories to be found in the world beyond. They had no experience of great ladies, and thought me impressive. I drooped, and smiled wistfully, and told them I was nothing to my sister Merab. This only made them press me harder for tales of life in the king’s house. Admiration is balm to smarting feelings; I took great pleasure in being what they wished to see.
And they loved to hear of David. I was not unwilling to spin them tales—when I found they knew the story already, I could not see that it did any harm. So I talked more than was prudent; it is always wiser to say little and smile much than to proclaim your ills throughout the land.
So time passed, and days became weeks, and I still heard no word from my true husband. He neither came to take me away with him, nor sent a message, not even so much as one word.
I longed for news, but there was none. Jonathan, alone of all my family, came once to visit me. That was when he told me what had happened while I was prisoned in my tower. That was when I heard how Saul had raged against David, and called Jonathan traitor, and hurled his spear at Jonathan as if he would slay his own son. Then Saul had sent Jonathan away, and even now would not speak to him unless he must.
Jonathan told me also that he had spoken once with David, warning him against returning while Saul’s madness ruled. And that was all I learned, although I pressed Jonathan hard for fresh news of David. Jonathan kept his mouth tight, saying only that David was in the hills.
“And he has not forgotten me? He will come?” Already it had been long, and overlong, I thought; in those days I did not find waiting easy I had already been in Phaltiel’s house many weeks.
Jonathan hugged me tight. “Oh, Michal, how could any man forget you?” Then he kissed me, and went away again. And I cherished Jonathan’s words, thinking they held the meaning I wished them to have.
CHAPTER 5
“Now there was long war between the House of Saul and the House of David … .”
—II
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