Chapter 13
Saul ~ continued from Chapter 13 | Eyes Like Daggers
LATER THAT NIGHT
“My regret is not laying eyes on him first,” Jonathan whispered in his sister’s ear, his flowing cloak dancing gracefully in the summer breeze.
She pushed him away and laughed. “Whoever are you talking about?”
He turned and brought his full lips close to her face, “No one then, a mystery man.”
“Oh, I like a mystery.”
She sat down on a bench in her chamber while her handmaid started to brush her long, auburn hair.
Saul had picked the largest house in Gibeah to be his post during the war campaign and his family moved with him.
“But,” she motioned her lady away. “I don’t have time for one.”
“What do you mean?” Jonathan asked.
“Dearest brother, we women work,” she smiled. “I’ve tended to the animals, sorted and carded the wool once the goats were shorn and spun wool today,” she giggled. “And you, what pray tell, have you been up to?”
“Oh nothing much.”
He sat down on the wooden bench beside her. “Conquering the Philistines, retaking The Ark, small things.”
She put his hands on his leather breastplate.
“Wasn’t it father and that mystery man who did such things?”
“We warriors don’t quibble about who has done what; we all pitch in.”
The breeze blew in the small stone garden and light pene- trated the darkest corners of the room.
“Miriam,” Michal called. “Please make sure that the flax is dry before you use it and we need more pomegranate for the dye.”
“More tunics and lovely cloaks for you,” said Jonathan as he picked up his sister’s flowing tunic and smelled it. “Just the thing to capture a mystery man.”
She playfully slapped his beautiful face. Michal put her bracelets on her slender wrists and then put her necklace around her neck. She took her large, leather belt and gathered her halug up around her waist, its fringes at the bottom dancing with excitement, and then let it drop gracefully to the earthen floor with its deep, rich rugs that were in every room of the house.
She smiled at herself in the mirror and thought, “Simple and elegant like the princess of Egypt, not the she-devils who live along the Euphrates.”
Her face is what many a man had fought over but none of them excited her.
“He makes my heart race fast as the wild ponies who dance across the desert,” she thought to herself.
Jonathan looked at his sister and kissed her on the cheek. “Beautiful but I saw him first.”
He looked at himself in the mirror before quickly applying some eye shadow.
Later that night in the stone garden a soft breeze blew in from the desert, deep valleys and rolling hillsides. Torches were lit. The guests, generals and the few old men who ran the town of Gibeah mingled and drank wine and beer.
Jonathan and Michal stood alone looking out over the balcony and down into the street.
“Any sign of him?” Jonathan said.
“Who?” Michal replied.
“Our mystery warrior.”
Saul’s war house was the only place he had in which to enter- tain but could invite only a small number.
“He may come,” she said, her voice trailing off as she watched soldiers drinking in the street and walking to the center of the village.
“Your yellow halug is beautiful.” He said, “It brings out your lovely eyes.”
“Stop.” She wiped her eyes. “Father has been so brave and he finally is getting the respect he deserves.”
“Look around us.” Jonathan waved his wine goblet. “He invites generals who before laughed at him; he commands 3,000 strong, yes.”
“Yes, it is his time and ours.”
She looked at him as her tunic blew gracefully in the breeze.
“Our time to fall in love.”
“This is not a palace of love; it’s a war town,” she laughed.
“Why not fall in love?”
“You are such a child.”
Michal put her head on Jonathan’s shoulder.
Saul came to his children and laughed while he drank from his cup.
“I see you are entertaining our guests.”
“Ugly soldiers with bad breath and beards,” Michal said.
“Honey, just try,” Saul towered over Jonathan. “And you also Michal.”
The three looked at each other their eyes glistening with humor and they burst out in laughter. The small crowd of men looked over at the balcony.
Saul turned to his company.
“The family curse,” he said. “Too many bad jokes.”
Continue reading… Chapter 13 | The Lion Killer
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