Samuel 3:1
When the weeks had grown into months there were tales told that spread even to villages as small as that in which I now dwelt. A light such as that cast by David cannot be long hidden. His fire had been banked, hidden in the hills. Now he came forth to blaze for all men to see, and to make King Saul look old and weak as a toothless lion—in the tales men told.
David had fled to Philistia, and been captured there. No, he had escaped the Philistine king as easily as he had escaped King Saul.
David had taken two hundred of King Saul’s own men and raised the east against him. No, it was the north. No, he had forbidden any man to lift a hand against Saul.
David had gone to Gath. To Moab. Foreign kings did him honor. The king of Moab had given sanctuary to David’s mother and father.
Some of these were nothing but tales sown by the wind; others were true, and no man could tell one from the other. Tale and truth sounded the same.
So when the news came that King Saul had massacred the priests at Nob, and all the town as well, I refused to believe. All slain, from the tallest man down to the smallest babe, only because
they had given bread to David and his men—that was what was said.
“A tale for fools,” I said when I heard. “My father would never do such a thing!” My father had treated me cruelly—but still I could not think that even he would act as men said he had at Nob.
But the slaughter at Nob was truth—and it turned men against Saul and toward David.
The prophet Samuel strode through the land once more, calling down curses upon King Saul and blessings upon the hero David. Men who were discontent with Saul rallied now to David’s camp in the wilderness of Ziph. Saul tried to take David by force, and then by guile, but it was too late. David knew the wilderness and the mountains, and his men danced circles about Saul’s army.
Saul could catch him as little as he could catch a flame, or a ray of sun. Saul could stop him as little as he could stop time, or men’s tongues.
David was praised by all for his wisdom, his courage, his strength. He had come upon King Saul in a cave, it was said, and done him no harm, but only cut off the hem of his cloak. This proved he meant no treason or malice to King Saul; this proved David a good man.
Perhaps it did. But it made King Saul look foolish in addition to all else. I sometimes think that Samuel held to life as long as he did only to see my father brought low, for the old prophet died not long after men began to say “King Saul” and laugh.
The war that was no war was all that women chattered of at the well and all men talked of in the street. Even children’s games were all of David and his men. I stood at the gate one evening and listened as the small boys ran by, quarreling over who would have to be Saul’s men in their play. No one wished to take Saul’s part; they were all for David. Well, and so was I—but the boys’ thoughtless words made my heart hurt for my father, for all of that.
But my head was high, and my heart full of love and pride for David. I still thought us pledged until death; every man of Saul’s who fell brought David one step nearer to my arms.
But other arms had been outstretched to David, and he went to them, not to me. Jonathan came to tell me the news himself, running light and swift to reach me before it was women’s noise at every well in Israel and Judah. It was kind of him to do so. Even when he told me, and something died in my heart, I knew he had been kind.
I had greeted Jonathan joyfully; he had kissed me and taken me out of Phaltiel’s house, out beyond the gate, to tell me what he had come to say—that David had married again.
“Her name is Abigail, and she came to David a widow. Her husband Nabal refused to aid David, but she gave David food and drink for his men. She must have been right to defy her husband for David’s sake, for when she told Nabal what she had done, they say he
When the weeks had grown into months there were tales told that spread even to villages as small as that in which I now dwelt. A light such as that cast by David cannot be long hidden. His fire had been banked, hidden in the hills. Now he came forth to blaze for all men to see, and to make King Saul look old and weak as a toothless lion—in the tales men told.
David had fled to Philistia, and been captured there. No, he had escaped the Philistine king as easily as he had escaped King Saul.
David had taken two hundred of King Saul’s own men and raised the east against him. No, it was the north. No, he had forbidden any man to lift a hand against Saul.
David had gone to Gath. To Moab. Foreign kings did him honor. The king of Moab had given sanctuary to David’s mother and father.
Some of these were nothing but tales sown by the wind; others were true, and no man could tell one from the other. Tale and truth sounded the same.
So when the news came that King Saul had massacred the priests at Nob, and all the town as well, I refused to believe. All slain, from the tallest man down to the smallest babe, only because
they had given bread to David and his men—that was what was said.
“A tale for fools,” I said when I heard. “My father would never do such a thing!” My father had treated me cruelly—but still I could not think that even he would act as men said he had at Nob.
But the slaughter at Nob was truth—and it turned men against Saul and toward David.
The prophet Samuel strode through the land once more, calling down curses upon King Saul and blessings upon the hero David. Men who were discontent with Saul rallied now to David’s camp in the wilderness of Ziph. Saul tried to take David by force, and then by guile, but it was too late. David knew the wilderness and the mountains, and his men danced circles about Saul’s army.
Saul could catch him as little as he could catch a flame, or a ray of sun. Saul could stop him as little as he could stop time, or men’s tongues.
David was praised by all for his wisdom, his courage, his strength. He had come upon King Saul in a cave, it was said, and done him no harm, but only cut off the hem of his cloak. This proved he meant no treason or malice to King Saul; this proved David a good man.
Perhaps it did. But it made King Saul look foolish in addition to all else. I sometimes think that Samuel held to life as long as he did only to see my father brought low, for the old prophet died not long after men began to say “King Saul” and laugh.
The war that was no war was all that women chattered of at the well and all men talked of in the street. Even children’s games were all of David and his men. I stood at the gate one evening and listened as the small boys ran by, quarreling over who would have to be Saul’s men in their play. No one wished to take Saul’s part; they were all for David. Well, and so was I—but the boys’ thoughtless words made my heart hurt for my father, for all of that.
But my head was high, and my heart full of love and pride for David. I still thought us pledged until death; every man of Saul’s who fell brought David one step nearer to my arms.
But other arms had been outstretched to David, and he went to them, not to me. Jonathan came to tell me the news himself, running light and swift to reach me before it was women’s noise at every well in Israel and Judah. It was kind of him to do so. Even when he told me, and something died in my heart, I knew he had been kind.
I had greeted Jonathan joyfully; he had kissed me and taken me out of Phaltiel’s house, out beyond the gate, to tell me what he had come to say—that David had married again.
“Her name is Abigail, and she came to David a widow. Her husband Nabal refused to aid David, but she gave David food and drink for his men. She must have been right to defy her husband for David’s sake, for when she told Nabal what she had done, they say he
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