The evening was quiet as I made my way up to the roof. The stars twinkled over a sleepy city, and I never tired of the view. My cloak draped over my slender shoulders and I held the oils and cloth in my arms. The cool air welcomed me as I walked toward the corner. The cloak slipped off my shoulders and I quickly sponged in the semi-warm water before it cooled off. My long hair dripped down my back as I tiptoed down the steps to finish my bedtime routine. I wondered how my small living quarters felt so big. Without my husband, the air is empty and the fire not quite warm enough. My heart always aches when he is away at war, but when the sun goes down and all falls silent… Tears are my only warmth. I am without my love.
A rap at the door snaps my head to the right. I tie my cloak tighter and cross the room in my bare feet. A servant stands in royal garb and motions for me to come outside. “The king requests your presence at once.” My heart caught in my throat and all things important fell from my thoughts. Trembling, I followed his lead. The way was uneventful, given it was past midnight. I was sure this strange summons was concerning my husband who was away at war. What else would the king want with me? I am of no worth to such a powerful man.
The servant left me in front of a gold plated door. His footsteps lingered down the hall as I watched him leave me destitute. All I wore was my dingy cloak in the elaborate palace. I knew nothing. Fear gripped me and I debated running away. The once closed door opened mysteriously, slowly, and the king stood before me. His eyes were not of power, wealth or war. Instead, I sensed his loneliness. He took my hand.
I never saw my cloak again. In fact, the thick garment that was given to me in the morning keeps me warmer than I have ever been in my life. As beautiful as it is, it is a reminder of the insistence of one powerful king. That night broke my heart. It broke my vow to my husband, though I was at the hand of the king’s bidding. It broke my respect for the king. I didn’t even have the words to stand up for myself. I didn’t have the courage. I didn’t have the chance… The king’s mind was made up.
Servants from the palace rushed to my garden weeks later to inform me that my husband walked through the courts to see the king. I instantly smiled, as I didn’t expect him home for months! But as I washed my hands and tidied the kitchen, fear gripped me. I was still sorting out what had happened that night on the roof and I didn’t know how to tell my husband that he was to be the father to a baby without his eyes or his gentle spirit. I touched my stomach and stared out the window. Who should I talk to? What can I do to avoid further pain? I cleaned and cooked anyway, waiting for the door to burst open at any second. I laid on the mat when nausea swept over me. The cool washcloth gave me chills that were already present. What will I say to him? My innocent and naïve husband; He doesn’t deserve this.
The door never opened and his side of the mat never warmed. Word came to my door sometime after from the same soldier, but with heavy hands and slight hesitation. My husband was killed in battle. My fatherless womb cried out and I crumpled to the ground. Close friends ushered me inside and cared for my every immediate need. But they could not touch my soul. They could not heal my wounds inside because they didn’t know. My pride and confusion prevented me from confiding in them.
I kept my secret tight within as I gathered my belongings and kissed my neighbors goodbye. The living quarters took my breath away, but I still wasn’t sure why I was here. My husband is dead and silk sheets are supposed to replace him? I ran my fingers across the tassels on the pillows and glanced out the window. Pain shot into my gut, and it wasn’t just the baby moving. My tears were barely dried when someone showed up at my door. It was the king. I brushed hair away from my face and dared to look at him. He walked toward me and took my hand like the first night. I resisted the urge to pull away, but once again I was under his power.
“I am sorry to hear about your husband. Please, you are now my wife. Everything you need is here, no need to beg. What can I have brought for you, my darling?” My lip trembled and words choked. As calmly as I could, I let his embrace prove to be my new home as tears of grief fell down my cheeks.
After our child was born, my new husband looked at our son with sadness and grief, as if he knew something I didn’t. Before I had a chance to ask, the babe fell ill with a fever that couldn’t be contained. I stayed with nurses and my firstborn child day and night. After seven brief days on this earth, his spirit left me alone once again. The product of the awful confusion from that night could have been my salvation. He could have been a beautiful blessing that drew our family closer together. He could have grown into a strong, fearless leader with rights to the throne. But instead, I was left to ask why our son was gone. I received my answer but it wasn’t what I wanted to hear. My husband confessed his intentions in a poetic letter to me, and he later spoke with me in person so I could see it in his eyes. The truth cut deep but made sense all at the same time. His sins had caused the pain and division in our broken family. The king had fallen, and he knew it.
I lost my innocence. I lost my husband. I lost my firstborn child and was married to the man who solely was to blame for all of it; all in the same year. I told God that I was too young for this. I felt the sting of an unfair hand dealt to me, but I knew in some way that the plan was bigger than me. It took days. Years. It took more children and a forgiven husband to salve my wounds. A powerful king can do whatever he wants, and King David sure did. But the powerful, Almighty King of Kings by His mercy and grace will accomplish His perfect will. In no other kingdom do we trust.
-Bathsheba
Mother of Solomon
Family Line of Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior of the world.
Merry Christmas
Author's Note: This story is Historical Fiction. I wrote it from the perspective of Bathsheba, and it is strictly my interpretation of what it might have felt like to be in her position.
