The Gaze of a King

Chapter Fifty- Six | Daughter of Saul

I stand at the edge of the great hall, my hands folded before me, my heart a drumbeat in my chest. The room is crowded with David's advisors, soldiers, and courtiers, all murmuring amongst themselves, their faces tight with anticipation. A tension fills the air, thick and sharp like the scent of metal. I feel the weight of it pressing down on me as I wait for Michal to be brought in.

King David sits on his throne, his face stern, eyes dark beneath his furrowed brow. He has said little since we heard that Michal had been captured, brought back to Jerusalem after siding with Absalom in his rebellion. Now, she is to face judgment. I glance over at him, searching for some sign of what he is thinking, but his expression is unreadable, his mouth set in a hard line.

I swallow, trying to steady my breath. The title of "advisor" feels like a fragile thing today, a new cloak not yet fitted to my shoulders. When David appointed me, I had not expected this to be my first duty: to witness the judgment of his first wife, a woman who has lived through so many storms of her own.

The doors creak open, and a hush falls over the room. Michal enters, her hands bound in front of her, a guard at each side. Her face is pale but defiant, her chin lifted high. She meets David's gaze without flinching, and I see a flicker of something in her eyes—anger, perhaps, or maybe just the deep weariness of a woman who has been through too much.

David's eyes harden. "Michal," he begins, his voice echoing through the hall, "you stand before me today accused of treason, of taking up arms with my son Absalom against the rightful king of Israel. You, my own wife, who once stood by my side."

Michal's lips curl into a bitter smile. "I stood by your side, David, for years," she replies, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "But I have seen what you have become. Israel deserved a better ruler. One who does not allow rape to go unpunished. A king who does not steal another man's wife and plot his murder!"

David's face tightens, a muscle in his jaw jumping. I feel my pulse quicken. I know this is not just about politics; it is about old wounds, deep ones, still raw beneath the surface.

"You chose to betray me," David retorts, his voice growing colder. "You chose to raise your hand against the Lord's anointed."

Michal's eyes flash. "I chose to raise my hand against a man who forgot who he was," she says sharply, "a man who danced like a fool before the ark, who killed my father and took my husband from me, a man who took what he wanted without weighing the cost!"

David stiffens, his knuckles whitening where they grip the arm of his chair. I see the pain in his eyes, the old anger flaring up, and I know I must speak before this spirals further.

"Please, my lord," I say, stepping forward. My voice is steady, but my heart is pounding. "May I speak?"

David's gaze shifts to me, a brief flicker of surprise crossing his face. He nods, almost reluctantly. "Speak, Bathsheba," he says.

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of all those eyes on me. "Michal has spoken harshly, my lord," I begin, choosing my words carefully, "but she is also a woman who has suffered greatly. She was your wife before any of us, the daughter of Saul, and she has known loss, betrayal, and pain."

David's eyes narrow slightly, but he listens. I press on.

"She sided with Absalom, yes, but she has seen her house fall, her family perish. She saw Tamar's grief and Absalom's anger. She believed she was fighting for justice, however misguided it may have been."

I pause, letting the words settle. I see Michal watching me, her expression unreadable. I turn back to David.

"I ask for leniency, my lord," I say softly. "She is a daughter of Israel, a daughter of Saul, and your first wife. Let us show mercy where there has already been so much bloodshed. Let us rebuild our home not destroy further."

David's gaze remains fixed on me, his expression unreadable. I see the conflict in his eyes, the war between justice and mercy, between anger and forgiveness. The room holds its breath, waiting.

After a long, tense moment, David finally speaks, his voice quieter now. "Michal," he says, turning to face her, "I have lost much in this rebellion—my son, the trust of my people, the peace of my house. You added to that loss by your actions. But Bathsheba speaks wisely. I will not seek your blood. I will not have another death in this house."

A murmur ripples through the hall, a mix of relief and surprise. I feel my shoulders loosen, a breath I did not realize I was holding escaping my lips.

David continues, "You will live, Michal, but you will be confined to the women's quarters, with limited freedom. You will not leave the palace without my permission. Do you understand?"

Michal's face remains proud, but I see a flicker of something in her eyes—perhaps relief, perhaps bitterness. She inclines her head slightly.

David nods once, curtly. "Then it is settled."

The tension in the room begins to ease, the murmurs growing louder as the crowd starts to disperse. I step back, feeling a wave of weariness wash over me, but also a small sense of relief. I did what I could, and today, mercy has prevailed over vengeance.

As Michal is led away, she glances back at me, a mixture of gratitude and resentment in her eyes. I meet her gaze, holding it for a moment before she is gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

David turns to me, his expression softer now, but still guarded. "You speak with wisdom, Bathsheba," he says quietly, "but also with a heart that is too soft at times."

I nod, feeling the weight of his words, the burden of my new role. "A heart that seeks peace, my lord," I reply gently. "For there has been too much pain already."

David's lips press into a thin line, but he nods. "Yes," he murmurs, almost to himself. "Too much pain indeed."

And for a moment, just a moment, I see a shadow cross his face—a shadow of regret, of grief that runs deeper than words can reach.