Chapter Thirteen
David awoke early to a slightly nauseating odor and the words of a song floating through his mind. He wrinkled his nose, thinking an animal had died near their camp. Then he recalled the bodies lying a stone’s throw away. He did not want to think about what it would be like at midday. They would have to leave before the worst of it.
While he could ignore the smell, he could not disregard an overwhelming impulse. He glanced at his companions; a whistling sound was coming from the prince’s direction. David got quietly to his feet, draping his cloak, damp with dew, around his shoulders.
He walked around Jahra’s bed and saw the strap from the leather pouch underneath his feet. When he pulled at it, he heard a muffled groan. Before straightening up, he lifted the corner of the cloak, and his heart dropped into his stomach. The swelling had moved past Jahra’s ankle, and an angry purplish welt extended up his leg. It did not seem possible that it had been caused by the mauling weeks ago, but whatever the cause, Jahra needed immediate help. David decided to let them both rest one more hour before he returned to pack up.
Carrying the harp in his hand, David made his way into the woods. He followed the path the prince’s horse had taken a day earlier. It took him to a small glen with several moss-covered rocks in the center. He sat down on the largest, running his fingers through the green carpet beneath him. He took out the harp and held it in his lap. His left forefinger plucked awkwardly at a string. He was catching hints of a tune and needed to find where it was hiding inside this unfamiliar instrument. His fingers had yet to catch up to the music that, since Samuel’s anointing, had begun bubbling up inside him. Despite his ineptness, he felt an odd excitement, like the buzzing of insects under his fingertips.
He struggled for a while, searching for the right union of notes and rhythm and finally found one combination that he wanted, then another. His excitement was building into a tentative joy. The song began to fit together, awkwardly at first, then more smoothly. It was simple, childish even, but it was lovely and pure and fit perfectly with the words of supplication with which he’d awakened.
Yahweh, let my words come to Your ears,
spare a thought for my sighs.
Listen to my cry for help,
my King and my God!
I sing this prayer to You, Yahweh,
For at daybreak You listen for my voice
and at dawn I hold myself in readiness for You.
I watch for You.14
The horizon was now streaked with red and gold and slivers of purple. David’s eyes glistened, and his throat tightened as it brought to mind his friend’s painful injury. The words of supplication rose on their own:
Yahweh, do not punish us in Your rage
or reprove us in the heat of anger.
Take pity on us, Yahweh, on those who have no strength left.
Bring healing to the bones that are in torment.
Yahweh, how long will You be?15
Swallowing hard, he grew still and allowed the song’s ending to take shape, like a figure emerging from the fog.
There is joy for all who take shelter in You,
endless shouts of joy!
Since You protect the weak, they exult in You,
those who love Your name.
Yahweh, it is You who bless the virtuous;
Your favor is like a shield covering them.
You are a shield that protects the upright of heart.
God the righteous judge,
slow to show His anger.
A God who is always enraged by those who refuse to repent.
I give thanks to Yahweh for His righteousness,
I sing praise to the name of the Most High.16
There was a moment of silence as David caught his breath, flexing his left hand, unused to the strange exertions on the harp. He pulled up the cloak that had slid off his shoulders, and as he did, he saw Jonathan leaning against a tree trunk behind him. David felt his face grow warm.
“I see it did not take long,” the prince said, walking toward him.
David looked at him inquisitively.
“To weave another song out of nothing.”
The harp felt suddenly heavy and awkward in his hands. He shrugged. “It was not much.” He was afraid to meet the prince’s eyes. “It was so … simple, a child’s song. Jahra could have done much better.”
“Maybe so,” Jonathan said, sitting next to him. “But to me it was perfect.” He reached down to his belt and pulled out a dagger.
David stiffened. Word of the king’s erratic behavior and cruelty had filtered throughout Judah. Perhaps Jonathan was as unstable as his father.
“Relax,” Jonathan said, laughing. “I don’t know what you have heard about the royal family, but we are not given to cold-blooded murder—not all of us, at least. And we have not killed a musician yet, that I know of. Though perhaps we should have.”
He held the hilt out to David. “Let me be the first to present you with a gift for your gift,” he said, his face growing serious. “If I am any judge, this will not be the last.”
David took the knife, feeling foolish. It was obvious that he had little skill with the harp. He stared at the elegant weapon with its ebony handle and thin, dangerous blade. Resting on his palm, it made his calloused fingers look thick and ugly. The prince was merely being kind. Despite this, a warm glow spread through him. He felt stupid and naive but could not help also feeling a little proud.
“How old are you?” Jonathan asked.
“Nineteen,” David said, straightening his back. He could tell, taking a quick glance, that his head barely reached Jonathan’s shoulder.
“I guessed you to be about the same age as my little sister.”
“What is her name?”
“Michal.” Jonathan seemed to be examining David’s reaction as he said the word.
David tried to meet his eye and show only polite interest.
“Like you, she is quite spirited,” Jonathan said. “Father favors her over Merab, who is several years her senior.” He laughed ruefully. “We all agree that Michal is a bit spoiled. She can get Father to do anything she wants.”
David wanted to find out more but could not think of the right questions to ask. He racked his mind for an oblique inquiry, then blurted out in a flash of inspiration, “Do you resemble each other?”
Jonathan turned his head, his eyebrows arched. He smiled slightly.
David groaned inside and kept his eyes fixed on the dagger in his hand.
“As it happens,” the prince responded, “she is much prettier and considerably shorter.” He pushed up the bandage on his head, which was slipping down over one eye. “Let me put it this way: she is what is known in our area as a head turner.” He looked David over appraisingly. “I would guess that she is just a bit taller than you, though. That is the burden my sisters carry, which of course they blame—and rightfully so—on our father. Merab is convinced that it is the sole reason for her lack of suitors.” His voice grew thoughtful. “I know better.”
David could not hold back the question. “If I may ask, what is the problem?”
Jonathan looked around the glen, as if searching for lurking spies. “They are terrified of my father, afraid that at any moment he might go into a frenzy, and that they will feel the sharp end of his spear.”
David felt a wave of defensiveness. “Certainly they are not put off by King Saul’s temper?” he said. “I would think anyone would be honored to be near him.” He hesitated, then pressed forward. “I certainly would be.”
“Bravo!” Jonathan exclaimed, clapping David on the back. “A faithful subject. I salute you.” There was a trace of sarcasm in the prince’s voice and a hardness in his eyes. “My father will love you.”
David’s eyes narrowed.
Jonathan said, “What is it? Does the idea shock you?”
David decided to ask about something else that had been troubling him. “What will happen to you when you see him?”
Jonathan nodded. “You mean about the curse? I have no idea. It depends on the mood of the moment. If he is in full battle cry, then I imagine I will lose my head. Or he may impale me instead.”
Hearing these words made David’s head spin. His world seemed to be shifting sideways. He was in the middle of something much bigger than he was, something that in dark, mysterious ways might be extremely hazardous.
“But you are his son. You don’t really think he would carry out the oath against you?”
Jonathan only gave him a sidelong glance. “We shall see, my friend. We shall see. You may still get to witness the most violent mood swings in the kingdom.” Turning toward David, he lowered his voice. “I am afraid my father is very sick. His rages are so terrible, he has become a danger to himself as well as to his family, and to the entire—” Jonathan stopped himself, swearing under his breath.
“But you were not even aware of the oath,” David protested, “and your victory over the Philistine garrison will certainly give him reason to forgive you.”
Jonathan barked a mirthless laugh. “It could just as well have the opposite effect. He’s become suspicious of everyone—and that includes me. When the blackness is fully upon him, he is convinced we all are conspiring to steal the throne.” He fingered the lump on his temple. “I think Michal is the only one he fully trusts.” Jonathan’s voice thickened. “You would think a father would be proud, wouldn’t you? But not him.” He let out a slow breath. “I stopped caring a long time ago about what he thought of me.”
“I understand,” David murmured, tracing his fingertip over the design on the dagger’s handle.
Jonathan’s gaze changed focus and turned toward David, as if he were seeing him for the first time. David looked up, and their eyes locked. Jonathan rested a hand on his shoulder. “What I did at Geba, I did for me and for the army. It had nothing to do with pleasing that frightened old man.” He let out a shaky breath. “Sometimes I feel sorry for him. He seems to be in such great pain, and when it is over, he looks almost … ashamed.” The muscles along his jawline throbbed. “But at other times, I think I would like to—” He stopped, staring at his clenched fists.
Needing to keep his hands busy, David slid the dagger into his belt and waited for the prince to continue.
When he resumed, there was concern in Jonathan’s voice. “This talk of illness reminds me. Your friend—Jahra, isn’t it?—is not doing well. He needs a physician. We need to take him to Ahimelech. He is with the army.”
“Is he the high priest who serves at the tabernacle?” David asked.
“Yes.” Jonathan shook his head in disgust. “It’s gotten so bad with my father that he won’t set foot outside of Gibeah without bringing Ahimelech and his ephod along for divination.” He flicked his hands in frustration. “Regardless, the priest is adept at medicine. He will know how to treat the injury.”
“Thank you, my prince,” David said, impetuously scrambling to his feet. Embarrassed that he’d forgotten about his friend, he began jogging toward their camp.
Jonathan caught up to him as they came out of the woods. “Jahra will ride with me on my horse.” The friendly warmth had been replaced with a note of command. “You are a runner and can keep pace beside us.” The look on his face was that of one preparing to face a death sentence.
David could not believe King Saul would harm his son, but something had shifted beneath him. He no longer knew what to expect from the man who’d been his childhood hero.