Michal by Jill Eileen Smith

virgins, veils drawn over their faces, shook tambourines and danced, while others accompanied by flutes and lyres sang the victory song.
    “Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands.”
    The words, usually a tribute to her father, stung Michal’s ears. The women repeated the phrase in varying tunes over and over until it resounded like an incessant drumroll in her head. Michal looked to and fro in the crowd. Her father rode a brownish black donkey at the head of the throng, and his brooding expression confirmed her worst fears.
    The virgins’ song would become a threat to David.
    She dragged her gaze from her father to David and Jonathan, who rode their donkeys side by side behind him. The sight of David made her heart twist with desire. She leaned forward, straining for a closer view. Sudden, swift longing rose in Michal, followed by a painful shot of despair. David’s beard had filled in, and he sat taller than the last time she’d seen him. And there was no denying his handsome features or the piercing honesty of his dark brown eyes. With candid humility, confidence, and dignity, he nodded to the women and children, offering them an enchanting smile. He seemed oblivious to the stinging effect of the virgins’ song.
    “Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands.”
    The consistent song cut through the fabric of Michal’s thoughts. Her fists clenched, and she forced her eyes from David back to her father. The grim set to his jaw, the smoldering gray of his gaze, and the nervous twitch of his worn hands grasping the donkey’s saddle told Michal his true feelings. She must warn David. If she didn’t, there would be no end of trouble.

    David’s eyes adjusted to the dim light casting shadows over the gray stone walls of the king’s banquet hall. Tables laden with roast lamb, dates, raisins, lentil stew, leeks, and sweet cakes sent tempting, succulent aromas drifting across the room. David’s stomach rumbled as his gaze moved in an arc over this hall of contrasts. Bright embroidered tapestries hung along one wall, and bronze and leather foreign shields—trophies in battle—graced the other, as though Saul were trying to mix war and peace. David stood, tucking the picture of the place in his memory for future use. His palace would have its own trophy room, separate from the banquet hall entirely. When the time came.
    He smiled at a table of fellow soldiers as he passed. The drone of men’s voices joined the clanking of tableware about him. Hurried footsteps of a handful of servants added to the din.
    “David, my son.” Saul’s voice echoed across the noisy hall. “Come, take the seat next to Jonathan. That’s it. Don’t be shy.” Saul’s narrowed gaze moved down the long table toward his commanders. “Our hero certainly wasn’t shy when he faced the giant, now was he?” Saul’s sardonic laughter was met with a trickle of agreement, but the captains looked embarrassed.
    David sensed their pride and compassion with each step he took toward Saul. They seemed to admire his victory over the giant, despite Saul’s mixed approval. Before taking the seat offered him, David stopped in front of Saul and bent forward, touching his head to one knee. “Thank you, my lord. May the Lord be praised for the victory He gave us today.”
    “The Lord be praised!” Jonathan said, raising his goblet of wine.
    “The Lord be praised!” all the men echoed, doing the same.
    The meal dragged. Hours passed until David grew weary of Saul’s repeated stories of long-ago glory days. He uttered a soft sigh when the king rose at last and let his guards escort him to his chambers. Jonathan leaned toward David.
    “I’ve heard those stories my entire life.” He gave David a rueful smile. “I could repeat them backward in my sleep . . . and probably do.” He chuckled.
    David rested against the couch and stretched. “They do get tiresome after a while.”
    Jonathan took another sip of wine.