"She needs her rest," I hear a soft voice scold from across the room. I fight to open my eyes. Blinking feverishly, I make out the King sitting down by my bedside.
"Did he come?"
As my vision clears from the haze of sleep, I notice the dark creases under the King's eyes. Has he been crying?
The King hesitates but finally nods his head.
"I only wanted to check on you, make sure you are recovering well. I should let you go back to sleep."
"What did Nathan say," My parched lips manage to utter.
I need him to tell me. My eyes do the pleading for me because I cannot conjure up enough energy to fight his unwillingness to share with me what I desire to know. A languid sigh is all I'm given at first. He runs his fingers through his unkempt hair and rests his hand on the back of his neck. His eyes drop down to the floor. My heart sinks. Whatever message the prophet has given the King, I know it is not promising news.
My eyes must be convincing enough though because he finally relents. I try to hold back tears as I let his strained whisper sink in.
"God says our son will not survive. I am being punished for my sin. I took you from your husband... I impregnated you. Now I will pay the price."
Bitter tears roll down my face. The pain in my chest far exceeds the piercing pain in my abdomen.
"It is I who is paying the price," I quip, my voice quivering.
"I know. I know."
His head sinks into his hands in shame.
"I can only ask God for his mercy. I will not give up, Bathsheba. I will fast and pray that God spares him."
I nod my head. I have no more words left to say. My mind is rampant, my chest tight. It feels like my soul has been ripped apart and a bottomless pit of unquenchable despair has made its home there.
#
Darkness wraps its arms around me as I wrap my arms around my baby boy. For days I have fed his fragile discolored body. For days the King has prostrated himself, sobbing and asking God to spare my son's life.
Now he is refusing to nurse. After several attempts to get him to latch, I relent and pull my dress strap back over my shoulder.
Instead, I hold him tightly against my chest, peering down on him. I watch him for several minutes. Silent tears drip off my cheeks onto his pale skin as I feel him go cold. His tiny nose no longer inhales, and exhales labored breaths.
I press my fingers delicately over his beautiful eyes, closing them. Then, I lean down and place a tear-soaked kiss on his forehead.
He is gone, but I cannot stop rocking him. I cannot stop taking in his beautiful, innocent features. I become so focused on him that the rest of the room slips out of my view. When a gentle voice calls my name, I'm startled from my trance.
"Bathsheba... He's gone."
Abigail reaches her hands out to me. I tighten my hold around him.
"Just let me hold him," I plead, my sorrow spilling over. My throat swells, my tongue thickens as sobs wracked my entire body.
Her normally bright and cheery face is wrinkled with sadness and sympathy. There is a determination in her eyes to help me, though.
"You must let him go. He is no longer here. He is with Yahweh."
Her words cause my fingers to slacken. It is the only sign she needs to reach down and pull him from my reluctant arms. Now there are as empty as my heart.
As she departs the room I hear her whisper to another servant, "Someone inform the King."
YOU ARE READING
The Gaze of a King
Historical Fiction|FEATURED IN HISTORICAL FICTION| Her whole life she had been called beautiful. Glances and envious eyes were always cast her way. But never had Bathsheba expected to catch the eye of her King. And never in her wildest imaginings did she anticipate t...
