19

“David . . . Uncle . . . there you are.”

David stepped out from behind a rock monolith above the cave at Adullam. “What is it, Joab?”

“There is a man here to see you.”

“I’ve noticed the multitudes of men joining us. I’ll be down to meet with all of them shortly.” He looked out over the terra-cotta landscape at the valley’s winding dirt road.

Joab stood with arms crossed, his feet set in a commanding stance. “Nevertheless, I wouldn’t have interrupted you if this weren’t important, David. You need to meet this man right away.”

“Is Saul coming up the road?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll be down shortly.” He dismissed Joab with a wave of his hand and walked back to the edge of the cliff until he heard his nephew’s footfalls drift into the distance. Joab forgot his place too often these days. Sometimes David wondered who was really in charge. Would his family follow the leading of their youngest without question? He glanced over his shoulder at his secret praying spot and sighed.

O Adonai, in You I put my trust. Let me never be ashamed.

He stood, arms raised, longing gaze toward the heavens.

Pull me out of the net that they have laid for me, for You are my strength. Into Your hand I commit my spirit.

Peace settled, raising his confidence.

You have redeemed me, O Lord, God of truth.

With sure-footed ease, David descended the hill and entered the mouth of the biggest cave. A fire blazed in the center near the front, where several men congregated. He spotted Joab, who sprang to his feet the moment their gazes connected and motioned David toward the darker recesses of the cave. David took a torch from beside the fire and touched it to the flame, then followed.

“This way.” Joab pointed to a tunnel leading off to the right. “He traveled for two nights to get here with nothing but the clothes on his back. I didn’t know how long you would be off by yourself praying, so I bid the baggage keeper to find him a blanket and told him to rest.”

“How uncharacteristically kind of you, Nephew.” He gave Joab a pointed look, ignoring the subtle reprimand in Joab’s tone.

“It was the least I could do.” Joab’s sarcasm was not lost on David.

“So who is this man?”

“Saul’s guard Benaiah.” Joab stopped walking and nodded toward a man sprawled out on a blanket, his breathing shallow as though he were lightly dozing.

At David’s approach the guard stirred, and at the sight of David he stood. “My lord.” He knelt at David’s feet. “I have come to pledge allegiance to you. King Saul has done something . . .” He paused, his thick shoulders lifting in a pronounced sigh, as though the next words pained him. “I cannot be loyal to a man who does not follow the laws of the God of Israel.”

A throbbing began at the back of David’s neck, and the man’s expression filled him with uneasy tension. “Explain yourself, Soldier.”

Benaiah straightened and lifted a meaty hand in an act of surrender. “I am your servant, my lord. King Saul cannot be trusted . . . not after what he’s done.”

David read a message in Benaiah’s eyes he wasn’t sure he wanted to see. He scraped one hand through his already rumpled hair.

“What has he done? Tell me quickly.”

The guard’s expression grew pensive. Was that pity in his eyes? Or anger?

“He has annulled your marriage to his daughter Michal.”

“His action carries no weight. We are married in the sight of God.”

“As I said, my lord, the king does not follow the laws of our God.”

As was evidenced by the king’s relentless pursuit to kill him, but that was nothing new.

“So we’ll get her back. Take some men with you, Benaiah, and sneak into Gibeah and bring her to me. I paid a high price for her. She’s mine.” When Benaiah didn’t move, David said, “Don’t just stand there, Soldier. Do what I tell you.”

“Yes, my lord. But there is something else you must know.”

Something stirred inside him, a fear so deep he couldn’t bear to know the truth—and couldn’t bear not to. An all- over trembling spread through his limbs, and heat filled his face. “Tell me.”

Benaiah dropped his gaze as he fidgeted with his hands. David wanted to wrench the words from him and at the same time command him never to speak again. He drew in a slow breath, forcing his impatience in check.

“My lord, the king has given your wife to another man. Two nights ago she married Paltiel, son of Laish of Gallim.”

His words hung in the oppressive silence. David’s lungs burned, nearly bursting with the need to take a deep breath. The torch flickered as if the air had been drained from the small space to suffocate them all. He whirled about, gasping, and rushed through the dark tunnel to the mouth of the cave.

Oh, Adonai, not Michal. Have You not taken everything else? His home, his position, his good name, his best friend . . . He couldn’t take Michal too.

What do You want from me, Lord?

Like a drunken man, David staggered out of the cave, pushing past the hundreds of men flocking the area, men who had come to him for refuge. But he was nobody’s refuge. He was not a shepherd of men as Jonathan had once thought. He couldn’t even protect his own wife.

Michal.

He stumbled on, trudging blindly hand over hand up the side of the mountain again. Jagged rocks cut into his palms, and pebbles scraped his knees. Oblivious to the stinging pain, David scrambled higher until he reached his sanctuary, where he collapsed in a heap.

Michal. Oh, God, why?

He should never have left her behind in the first place. Even now, if he had even a hint of authority, he ought to be able to reclaim her. But truth be told, he had no authority, no power to command. He could not undo what the king had chosen to do. Not until he was king himself. Which could happen tomorrow . . . or ten years hence.

He laid his head in the dirt and tossed dust over his hair. It was too much. If this was the cost of gaining the kingdom, he didn’t want it anymore.

Take it away, Lord. I am not worthy to be king.

Unable to sustain his emotion any longer, David crawled over to a secluded crevice and retched.