Perched on her grandfather’s knee, Bathsheba tore off a piece of bread and offered it to him. Laughing, Ahithophel ate it from her hand. “She’s becoming more like your mother every day, Eliam.”
Her father watched her with a faint frown. “It’s hard to believe she’s growing up so fast. Eight years old already. It won’t be long before I’ll have to find a husband for her.”
“A mighty man to protect a pretty young maiden.”
She looked across the fire at the man who appeared, to her, like an angel from heaven. Tugging on her grandfather’s tunic, stretching up, she whispered her heart’s desire. “I want to marry David.”
He laughed out loud and looked across at the handsome young man sitting across the fire. “David, here is another who has set you upon a pedestal.” Heat flooded into her cheeks as the man she idolized looked back at her grandfather with embarrassed tolerance. Her grandfather kissed her cheek. “Forget David, Bathsheba. He has three wives already, my sweet.” As he looked into her eyes, his amusement faded. His expression softened. “Better to be the only wife of a poor man than one woman among many in a king’s harem.”
“Come inside, Bathsheba!” her mother beckoned. Her grandfather lifted Bathsheba from his knee and set her firmly on her feet, sending her off with a light swat on her backside. When Bathsheba paused to look back at David, her mother caught her by the arm and yanked her inside the tent, flipping the flap down behind them. “It’s time for bed.” She followed Bathsheba and drew up the blanket as the girl lay down on her pallet. Kneeling, she leaned down and kissed Bathsheba. Troubled, she stroked the wisps of black hair back from Bathsheba’s forehead. “Some dreams can only bring heartbreak.”
“But I—”
Her mother put her fingertip over Bathsheba’s lips. “Hush, child.” She leaned back upon her heels and rose gracefully. “Go to sleep.”
Bathsheba lay awake, listening to the men’s voices rumbling quietly outside. Others had joined them. She recognized Joab’s voice and that of his brother Abishai. Both were commanders of David’s army, and they often came to talk war with her grandfather, who had earned David’s respect for his shrewd tactical advice. He knew a great deal about the Philistines and Ammonites and their methods of battle. He also knew the land of Canaan as well as the lines in the palm of his own hand.
“Saul was in our hands, David,” Joab said. “You should have killed him when you had the chance.”
Joab’s brother Abishai was quick to speak in agreement. “Yes, you need to kill Saul! God gave him to us in the Cave of the Wild Goats. I would have slit his throat for you.”
“And I told you why I didn’t want him killed,” David said. “He is the man the Lord God anointed as king.”
“He’ll keep chasing you,” Joab said. “He’ll never stop until one of you is dead.”
“It would be better for the nation if you took the crown from Saul now,” another said. Bathsheba heard the rumble of agreement among several other men sitting at her father’s campfire.
“Strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter,” Joab insisted.
“What am I to do with you sons of Zeruiah?” David said harshly, and she knew his impatience must be directed at Joab and Abishai. “How many times must I tell you I will not raise my hand against the Lord’s anointed!”
She heard footsteps moving away.
“I don’t understand him,” Joab said in frustration. “Speak sense to him, Ahithophel!”
“What would David have gained by murdering the king while he had turned his back to relieve himself?” Her grandfather spoke calmly in the face of the younger men’s hot tempers. “When Saul heard David call to him from the cave, he knew David could have killed him—yet David allowed him to walk away with only his pride injured.