Terri l.

Fivash

YA H W E H ’S CH O S E N

BOOK ONE

Copyright © 2008 by Terri L. Fivash

All rights reserved

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This book was

Edited by Gerald Wheeler

Designed by Trent Truman

Cover art by Raoul Vitale

Interior designed by Heather Rogers

Typeset: 11.5/13.5 Bembo

PRINTED IN U.S.A.

12 11 10 09 08 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Fivash, Terri L.

Dahveed : Yahweh's chosen / Terri L. Fivash.

p. cm.

1. David, King of Israel. I. Title.

BS580.D3F58 2008

222'.4092--dc22

2008013913

ISBN 978-0-8280-2072-5

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Once again I have many people that I should thank for their part in

bringing this book into being. I must certainly thank Rahel Shafer

for her patience in teaching me biblical Hebrew. Once again, I owe

Leona Running, and now Roy Gane, for their expertise and time in

helping me with the foibles of ancient languages.

My agent, Lee Hough, has been more than generous with his

time reviewing my manuscript. The resources he directed me to that

helped with the structure and editing of the book have been irre-

placeable.

My advance readers have been a tremendous help with editing

also, and I must especially mention Ulla Hansen in this capacity.

And, as always, my family has been my first and best help. Thank

you.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my nephew, Jonathan,

who was named after the Hassar, and

who listened, in utero, to my voice reading for so long

that when he first heard it after he was born,

he swiveled his head around to see me!

And to Ethan, my grandnephew,

whose name will always bring this book to my mind!

TO PARENTS OF YOUNGER READERS

The story of David is one of the best known in the Bible. However,

in making that narrative into this book, I have had to deal with the

fact that he lived a highly violent life, and warfare back then was very

up-close and personal. You will, therefore, find a great deal of combat

in this book. While I do not feel that I must wallow in blood and gore,

a certain amount of it is unavoidable if I am to remain faithful to the

culture of biblical times. Please keep this in mind if you choose to read

it to your children.

Another usually ignored aspect of David’s life is that he dealt with

demons when he served in King Saul’s court. That was, after all, the

reason that the royal family brought him to the court in the first

place. Again, I have tried to find the balance between portraying the

reality of what this meant without going overboard on the occult as-

pects. I hope I have succeeded.

JESSE’S COMPOUND IN BETHLEHEM

OVERALL RECONSTRUCTION

OF THE GIBEAH FORTRESSD

eta

ilof

actu

alfo

rtre

ss

walls

found

by

arc

haeolo

gis

ts

PLAN OF ROYAL RESIDENCE IN GIBEAH FORTRESS

PLAN OF THRONE ROOM IN GIBEAH FORTRESS

31

TAMAR BAT DAHVEED

So you have returned! You want to know about the harp this time? That is

a long story, you know, and it’s one of my favorites. Of course, I’ve heard

it many times from the best storyteller in the land.

Come in and sit down around the table. We just got these figs from Tekoa,

and fresh melons and pomegranates from the market. Are there cushions enough?

Good. Palaces are all very well, but sometimes the stone floors get quite hard.

Yes, that’s the harp case. Be careful as you open it. My, you do have a

good memory. The royal signet ring of Moab is in there with the harp. We can

set that out also. Those are rubies on it, so be gentle.

Yes, if there is time, I will play the harp. It is still solid and tight, and the

sound of it still silences all who listen. Abbi took it with him everywhere, and

the story of his hard life is written in the scars the harp bears. But we will get to

that. Sit back now, and I will tell you how it was between Yahweh and my

father.

ETHAN AND BETHLEHEM

CHAPTER 1

Gripping my belt knife, I looked down at the man lying on the floor at my

feet, the blood seeping from the wound on his shoulder. What should I do,

now that I had King Shaul’s oldest son, Jonathan, at my mercy here in the

throne room of Gibeah’s fortress? It would take only a quick slash of the blade

in my hand to remove the biggest obstacle to Yahweh’s destiny for me.

I studied the handsome face of Israel’s beloved Hassar, or Crown Prince.

He was more than 20 years my senior,1 as old as my oldest brother, Eliab,

Jesse’s bekor. I’d never seen the hassar’s face before, but I’d heard his rich, dis-

tinctive voice for the first time a year ago, in the blackness before dawn outside

the walls of this very town. He had taken my hand and wished he could claim

me for his service. Tears pricked my eyes at the memory. I could never fully

repay him for that wish, even though it probably meant very little to him. He

was the first man to ever want me, for even my own father hadn’t claimed me

until just months ago, and I’d lived in Jesse’s house for 10 of my 15 years.

This man had saved Israel at the battle of Michmash, had taken this very

fortress from the Philistines, had won the hearts and loyalty of every man in Israel,

including mine. Just three nights ago I had stood on the eastern height outside of

town, riveted by the cry of anguish and despair I had heard come from his throat,

and I had trembled as Yahweh’s presence wrapped the hilltop in His embrace as

He personally came to hear. And this was the man whose honor and throne it was

my destiny to take. Yahweh’s command or not, I didn’t want to do it!

My hand tightened around the hilt of great-grandfather Boaz’s knife, irony

twisting my insides. The blade had been forged to protect Boaz’s bloodline, but

I was incapable of using it against the greatest threat to that bloodline in gener-

ations, for I stood in treasonous opposition to the king, and if this man knew of

it, he would be honor bound2 to slay me and all my family. How had I gotten

here? What had happened to bring the two of us to such an encounter?

33

34 | YAHWEH’S CHOSEN

Here now! Off with you! Leave the boy alone!”

The commanding voice above my 5-year-old head frightened me

as much as the chase had. I shivered in the dust of the street in

Bethlehem, holding my side where the stone had hit and rubbing at the

tears with my other fist while I tried to choke back more sobs.

“His mother has no man, and he has no shame!” Balak taunted,

throwing a handful of dust. “How dare he speak to me! He has no place

here, and I come from an honorable family!”

“Where is your own shame? Do you preserve family honor by

striking someone half your size?” the man standing over me accused.

“Get yourself gone, Balak ben Hod.”

“Come on,” another boy urged, tugging on Balak’s arm. “That’s

Ethan!”

The boys disappeared so quickly, I wondered who Ethan could be.

“Stand up so I can see if you are much hurt, young one,” he said

gruffly.

I crawled to my feet, tears spilling from my eyes once more with

the pain of my knee that now bled from the rough stone Balak had

pushed me against. When I opened my eyes, I saw not the robes of a

townsman, but a black kilt. A Habiru. One of the murderous nomads

Immi often warned me against!

My knees shook, and I bolted. Something slammed into me,

knocking me flat. Dazed, I curled into a ball, scared of the salty taste in

my mouth, and wondering if I would ever see Immi again. I kept my

eyes shut tight, hoping the Habiru would leave me alone.

“You’re a fast one, lad,” the warrior said as he sat down in the street

beside me. “But walls don’t give way for tadpoles like you. Next time

you run, look where you’re going.”

I was too scared to answer.

After several minutes, his large, rough hands picked me up and set

me against the wall. “I’m not going to eat you, boy, in spite of what

your immi probably told you. It’s true, some Habiru would hurt a

strong young fellow like you, but I’m not one of them. And right

now it looks as if you need to be cautious of the town boys, not

Habiru.”

The chuckle in his voice stilled some of my fear.

“Now, why were those boys chasing you?”

My lip trembled again. “Immi came to the market, and I only asked

to play.”

“Where do you live?”

“Immi said we’d find a place, and now I can’t find her.” I rubbed

another tear off my cheek. My whole face hurt, and a drop of red hit

my toe.

The man’s hand raised my head. “Bloodied your nose nicely on

that wall,” he commented. Fishing a piece of cloth out of a small

pouch, he held it to my face.

When he took it away, I looked at him for the first time. He had

dark hair, a trimmed beard, and sharp gray eyes that stared into mine.

His mouth dropped open. Turning my face into the afternoon sun,

he studied my eyes intently. Then he spread the fingers of my left hand,

lightly touching the higher-than-normal webbing between my second

and third fingers. “Well, young geber, I think I know exactly where

you belong,” he whispered. Swinging me up in his arms, he marched

down the street.

As I pushed away from his black shirt, I looked frantically for Immi.

Where would this Habiru take me?

He carried me down a quiet street to a wooden gate. Inside the

walled courtyard the smell of the couscous a young woman was cook-

ing made me hungry in spite of my fright. She watched over the low

wall that enclosed a big, two-story house as the man carrying me strode

straight across the common courtyard to a one-story house and climbed

the outside stairs to the roof.

“Hassarah3 Ruth?”

“What is it, Ethan?”

“I have someone here I think you should meet.”

At the sound of the female voice, I twisted around, hoping it would

be Immi. Instead I looked into two eyes exactly like my own light

brown ones, even to the flecks of darker brown.

The woman’s eyes widened in amazement, then lit up with joy. I

forgot my fear and hunger and held out my arms. She hugged me,

heavy as I was, and I knew everything was going to be all right.

The hassarah sat down in a three-legged chair and settled me in

her lap, handing me a fig from the bowl on the small table next to

her. It was the sweetest fig I’d ever had, and I ate the rest of them,

ETHAN AND BETHLEHEM | 35

YBO-2

36 | YAHWEH’S CHOSEN

hardly listening to the comments of the two adults.

“Where did you find him, Ethan?”

“In an alley where Balak and his crowd had chased him. I put a stop

to it, but when he saw I was a Habiru, he bolted straight into a wall and

bloodied his face. Apparently his Immi was in the market.”

“Find her and bring her here.”

“Yes, Hassarah.”

Having eaten all the figs, I pulled another bowl toward myself,

looking for more to eat.

The woman laughed softly. “Just like a man. Fill your tummy and

you forget your troubles.” She handed me some bread.

Just then a breeze sprang up and, very faintly, I heard something

sing. I dropped the bread, cocking my head to listen. The fascinating

sound came from a strange-looking thing on the table.

The woman became very still. “You heard that?” she murmured.

Standing up in her lap, I reached for the polished wood that shone

on the thing.

With an exclamation, the hassarah grabbed my hand and spread my

fingers. Then she smiled a little and showed me her left hand, which

had the same kind of webbing that mine did. Dropping a kiss on my

head, she drew the thing closer and plucked a string.

I stopped breathing at the sound, then, hesitantly, followed her ex-

ample.

“So, my harp4 sings for you, little man,” she said in a hushed voice.

I didn’t answer, too fascinated by the sounds coming from the

strings.

We were still making them when my immi rushed across the roof

to hug me tightly, laughing and crying at the same time.

As I hugged her back, she scolded me for leaving the market and

thanked El that I was safe, all in the same breath. Reassured by her

hugs, I pushed myself away, reaching for the harp again.

The hassarah set it on the floor, and I squatted beside it, plucking

each string in turn. The man named Ethan sat on a stool next to the low

wall around the rooftop and Immi still knelt where she’d hugged me.

“Thank you, geberet, thank you,” she was saying. Then she gasped,

“Ruth!”

I looked up in the sudden silence.

ETHAN AND BETHLEHEM | 37

“Hassarah! I had no idea this was your house . . . you shouldn’t

have been bothered . . .” My mother’s voice trailed off as she blushed.

“It was no bother. Your son has entertained me nicely. What is his

name and clan?”

Immi gulped, looking around uneasily. “I—well, we couldn’t de-

cide at first, and just called him Ben-geber until we found something

we liked.”

“And what did you decide on? ‘Son of the master’ would have

done for a while, I suppose.”

Immi blushed again. “Well, that is, we—we never actually did de-

cide,” she quavered, and rushed on. “Please, do accept my thanks for

taking care of him. I was, well, distracted by my business in the mar-

ket, and he wandered off. We will not impose on you any longer.” She

stood. “Come now, Ben-geber, we must go,” she said, reaching for my

hand.

Then she saw what I was playing with. “You mustn’t touch the

hassarah’s harp!” she exclaimed in horror, pulling me quickly away.

“Hassarah, please let me apologize for him,” she added, turning to

Ruth again.

“I allowed him to play it,” the older woman replied, watching my

immi closely. “It sings for him, as well it should. Please allow us to offer

you something to drink at least. You look hot and tired.”

Immi’s hand trembled in mine. “I am very grateful for the offer,

Hassarah, but we must go. My business shouldn’t wait.”

“Is the hospitality of our house unacceptable to you?”

As Immi’s hand tightened around mine, I looked up anxiously.

Refusing hospitality could make a lot of trouble, and I liked the has-

sarah.

“Of course not, Hassarah,” Immi replied, looking trapped. “But I

do not wish to cause you trouble or inconvenience. My house’s honor

is nothing compared to yours and . . .”

“. . . and you don’t think you are worthy to share my table,” the

hassarah finished. “And yet, one male in this house found you honor-

able enough. Who fathered the boy? Eliab? Or Shammah?”

My Immi burst into tears. “It was Jesse, Hassarah.”

I stood uncertainly, watching. Why was Immi crying now? I was

all right and back with her.

38 | YAHWEH’S CHOSEN

“Sit down here and tell me about it,” the hassarah said.

When Immi perched on a cushion, I crawled into her lap for an-

other hug and then went back to the harp.

“It was at the harvest festival six years ago. It was just after my own

immi died, and Jesse—I—that is, we liked each other and—and—”

“And you needed comfort and things developed from there,” Ruth

nodded in understanding. “I’m not surprised, although he must be

twice your age. Has he supported you in any way?”

“I didn’t tell him about my son,” Immi confessed. “Abbi and my

brother, Jonathan, both loved little Ben-geber, so things were all right.

But then two and a half years ago, when Jonathan was on his way to

the scribes’ school in Beth-Shean, Habiru attacked his caravan. Abbi

was never the same after that. He died last winter. That’s when I

learned no one else in the clan would accept me since I’m unmarried.”

She started sobbing again.

I went to her and put my arms around her. Immi was always sad

when she talked about my Dodi Jonathan. I didn’t remember him any-

more, except that he had had a wonderful funny smile when he tossed

me into the air.

“Calm yourself, geberet,” the hassarah said gently. “Your son be-

longs to this clan, and therefore, so do you. You can move in immedi-

ately, and—”

“Oh, I can’t!” Immi said, crying harder.

“Why ever not? There is plenty of room.”

“It’s not that,” she interrupted wildly. “I can’t.”

“Nonsense. Of course you can. And the usual arrangements will

provide for Ben-geber’s place in the house also.”

“Hassarah, you don’t understand! I met Geber Hod in the market

this afternoon. His wife needs someone to help, and he’s willing to take

Ben-geber also. His son, Balak, will soon be old enough to have a ser-

vant.”

“None of that need stand in the way—” Ruth began.

“But I sold myself to him!”

1 See Cultural Notes: Age of Dahveed and Jonathan.2 See Cultural Notes: Honor.3 See Cultural Notes: Titles.4 See Cultural Notes: Harp or Lyre.

ETHAN AND BETHLEHEM | 39

CHAPTER 2

That complicates things,” Hassarah Ruth said slowly.

I turned quickly to Immi. We were going to live in the same house

with Balak? My stomach suddenly felt terrible.

While Immi quieted her sobs, Hassarah Ruth stared into the court-

yard below. She had a wrinkly face, with pure white hair, but she sat

very straight on the chair, and I remembered she was as tall as Ethan.

At last she roused. “What is your name?” she asked my immi.

“Keren, Hassarah.”

“We will have to proceed carefully in order to preserve family

honor,” Ruth said. “You are acquainted with Jesse’s wife, Miriam?”

“Yes, hassarah. That’s one reason I didn’t tell Jesse about Ben-

geber. I knew his second wife, Abiadan, you see.”

“Then you know that Miriam’s temperament is not easygoing by

any means. We have to take that into account. Would you accept the

post of personal maid to me? That should provide for you and your son,

as well as a cover for purchasing you back from Hod.”

“Oh, yes, Hassarah.” Hastily Immi wiped her face and stood. “You

are more generous than I could expect. I would gladly serve you.”

“That’s settled then. Ethan, go with Keren and bring her belong-

ings back with you. And tell Jesse I wish to speak with him.”

I didn’t understand what had happened, so I went to the hassarah

and climbed into her lap. She put her arms around me and kissed the

top of my head. “Don’t worry, little man. You’ll be just fine here in

this house, and so will your immi.”

Before long, another man climbed the stairs to the roof. Although

shorter than Ethan, he was dressed in a good robe and had brown hair

streaked with gray. He started forward, then seeing Ruth’s stare, he

stopped.

“Hassarah, have I done something?” he asked, puzzled.

“It would seem so. Have you seen this child before?”

For a few moments he studied my face, then his neck slowly turned

red. Shuffling his feet, he looked away. “Did his immi come to you?”

“Not exactly, Jesse. Ethan found him being chased in the streets by

Balak ben Hod. Then he found his mother in the market.”

“I—I can explain about things. It’s just that—that, well—”

40 | YAHWEH’S CHOSEN

Ruth set me down again, and I went back to the harp. “Now that her

abbi is dead, she has been cast off by her clan because she is unmarried.”

Clearing his throat, Jesse shifted position again. “I—whatever you

wish to do, Hassarah, is fine with me.”

“You are the one who must do something.”

“I know, I know. But I never heard from her after that night. I fig-

ured it was just as well, given how Miriam would treat her.”

“Arrangements could have been made to keep her from living

under your wife’s thumb.”

“But I didn’t know that she bore a child.”

“You should have known.”

“But I didn’t even know her name,” he protested.

“It’s Keren,” the hassarah replied coldly. “I have engaged her as my

personal maid. You will send her wages here every new moon, and see

to it that her son gets all to which he is entitled.”

“Yes, Hassarah. I’ll do what is necessary, never fear.”

“Indeed, you will,” Ruth continued, her voice flinty. “And you

will begin by going to Hod’s compound and purchasing her back since

she sold herself to him this afternoon in order to support her child.”

“Purchase her back? From Hod?”

The man’s voice sounded odd, and I glanced up from the harp a

moment.

“But Hod still blames me for not recommending his wines to the

wine merchant last fall when Bukki got the contract. He’ll be out to re-

gain honor and charge an exorbitant price!”

“Which you will pay,” the hassarah said implacably.

“And lose family honor to him?” he protested.

“When you did not do your duty to Keren six years ago, you threw

family honor to the winds by the fistfuls. The only way you can redeem

some of it is to be certain that a son of our clan does not have a slave

for a mother!”

“But what will I tell him?”

“You were inventive enough six years ago with Keren, so I’m sure

you’ll think of something!” Ruth replied tartly.

He must have, because when Geber Jesse returned later that after-

noon, he brought the welcome news that we could stay. The hassarah

looked very pleased, holding her hand out to me, and not even mind-