then grabbed the goatskin bag holding his lyre and followed the guard back to the palace.
“The king can’t sleep.” Abner met David at Saul’s door. David peered beyond the man to Saul, who was propped up on his wide bed, fingering his spear.
He will try to harm you, David. Michal’s words suddenly made sense.
David pulled a chair close to the open door.
His fingers plucked the soothing tunes, eyes riveted on the king. His body poised for action, David played by rote feel, nerves as taut as the strings on his lyre.
“The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows His handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night reveals knowledge.”
He forced the song past parched lips, grateful for the years he’d spent in the hills with the sheep, committing the words to memory. If he’d had to come up with something new now . . .
He jerked as Saul shifted on the bed and tightened his grip on the spear, lifting the tip off the ground. David held the lyre closer to his chest, his right hand missing a note, then another. Saul’s head snapped up, and he looked directly at him. David quickly finished the song, and Saul lowered the spear to the floor.
“Your music is lacking tonight, harpist. Play something else.”
David drew in a slow breath. His hands trembled on the strings. What was wrong with him? He’d just killed a giant twice the king’s size. But here his only weapon was a lyre, and in his exhaustion, his skill was failing him.
But he plucked a new tune just the same.
“O Adonai, our Lord, how excellent is Your name in all the earth, who have set Your glory above the heavens!” He kept a wary eye on the king, whose movement suddenly stilled. “When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars, which You have ordained, what is man that You are mindful of him, and the son of man that You visit him?”
“Stop singing about Adonai!” Saul’s eyes resembled glittering ice. The spear twisted in his hand. David closed his mouth, silent prayers for wisdom aimed heavenward. He let his fingers move over the strings again, playing songs without words, begging for relief for the king and for himself.
Moments ticked by, but Saul’s gaze did not soften. The strength of his anger heated the room.
David flexed his shoulders. Saul straightened, tensing. Another chord spread from David’s fingers, and he searched his mind for words that didn’t ultimately focus on Adonai. Finding none, he moved from melodic to harmonic transitions, switching from one key to another. He blew out a soft breath as Saul relaxed against the cushions. At last!
But a moment later, Saul sat up again, his face lined with tension. David swallowed, his throat in desperate need of water. The music was doing nothing to soothe the king’s soul. What was wrong with the man? He usually drifted to sleep by now.
David stretched his brows wide, fighting the need to yawn. Exhaustion warred with duty, compassion with suspicion.
Leather sandals slapped against the stone floor, and David’s gaze darted to the door to see who was coming. In the space of the moment his gaze left the king, Saul hurled the spear straight for David’s heart.
David leaped from his seat toward the open door. A guard blocked his way, but David pushed past him, lyre in hand. Heart pounding with the rhythm of his feet, David ran breathless back to the barracks.
6
The feasting and celebrating over the Philistine victory lasted a week. On the final day Michal slipped into the shadows to watch the dancers and the plethora of musicians playing for her father’s entertainment. At the end of the performance, David picked up his lyre and strode to the center of the room. His clear voice carried to the farthest corner, sending a shiver of delight up Michal’s spine.
Hidden behind a large crowd of men, she leaned against the wall just inside the entrance of the banquet hall, her heart stirring, her hands clammy. In the next
“The king can’t sleep.” Abner met David at Saul’s door. David peered beyond the man to Saul, who was propped up on his wide bed, fingering his spear.
He will try to harm you, David. Michal’s words suddenly made sense.
David pulled a chair close to the open door.
His fingers plucked the soothing tunes, eyes riveted on the king. His body poised for action, David played by rote feel, nerves as taut as the strings on his lyre.
“The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows His handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, and night unto night reveals knowledge.”
He forced the song past parched lips, grateful for the years he’d spent in the hills with the sheep, committing the words to memory. If he’d had to come up with something new now . . .
He jerked as Saul shifted on the bed and tightened his grip on the spear, lifting the tip off the ground. David held the lyre closer to his chest, his right hand missing a note, then another. Saul’s head snapped up, and he looked directly at him. David quickly finished the song, and Saul lowered the spear to the floor.
“Your music is lacking tonight, harpist. Play something else.”
David drew in a slow breath. His hands trembled on the strings. What was wrong with him? He’d just killed a giant twice the king’s size. But here his only weapon was a lyre, and in his exhaustion, his skill was failing him.
But he plucked a new tune just the same.
“O Adonai, our Lord, how excellent is Your name in all the earth, who have set Your glory above the heavens!” He kept a wary eye on the king, whose movement suddenly stilled. “When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars, which You have ordained, what is man that You are mindful of him, and the son of man that You visit him?”
“Stop singing about Adonai!” Saul’s eyes resembled glittering ice. The spear twisted in his hand. David closed his mouth, silent prayers for wisdom aimed heavenward. He let his fingers move over the strings again, playing songs without words, begging for relief for the king and for himself.
Moments ticked by, but Saul’s gaze did not soften. The strength of his anger heated the room.
David flexed his shoulders. Saul straightened, tensing. Another chord spread from David’s fingers, and he searched his mind for words that didn’t ultimately focus on Adonai. Finding none, he moved from melodic to harmonic transitions, switching from one key to another. He blew out a soft breath as Saul relaxed against the cushions. At last!
But a moment later, Saul sat up again, his face lined with tension. David swallowed, his throat in desperate need of water. The music was doing nothing to soothe the king’s soul. What was wrong with the man? He usually drifted to sleep by now.
David stretched his brows wide, fighting the need to yawn. Exhaustion warred with duty, compassion with suspicion.
Leather sandals slapped against the stone floor, and David’s gaze darted to the door to see who was coming. In the space of the moment his gaze left the king, Saul hurled the spear straight for David’s heart.
David leaped from his seat toward the open door. A guard blocked his way, but David pushed past him, lyre in hand. Heart pounding with the rhythm of his feet, David ran breathless back to the barracks.
6
The feasting and celebrating over the Philistine victory lasted a week. On the final day Michal slipped into the shadows to watch the dancers and the plethora of musicians playing for her father’s entertainment. At the end of the performance, David picked up his lyre and strode to the center of the room. His clear voice carried to the farthest corner, sending a shiver of delight up Michal’s spine.
Hidden behind a large crowd of men, she leaned against the wall just inside the entrance of the banquet hall, her heart stirring, her hands clammy. In the next
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