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Luke 2:7
And she brought forth her first born son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, for there was no room for them in the inn.
Luke 2:12
And this shall be a sign unto you, you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.
Part One
Chapter One
Circa 980 B.C.
King David drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. The merchant’s monotone voice had been echoing off the cedar walls of the judgment hall for more than an hour. If he whined the words unfair taxes one more time…
“So you see, your highness, these taxes are relatively unfair when considering—”
“Enough!” David’s irritation boiled over.
The merchant stumbled backward. His scalded pride evidenced by the scarlet flushing of his round face.
Something squeezed in David’s chest. The merchant wasn’t the sole reason for his foul mood, and didn’t deserve to bear the worst of it. “I’m sorry.”
He wiped his forehead. Being the king of Israel was not what he’d hoped. He should be leading his army against the Philistines. Instead here he was, in his luxurious palace, listening to the endless and petty complaints. [1]
Ahithophel clapped his hands. “The king has heard enough of your whining for today. Come back later.”
David stood and ran his hand through his hair. Loose curls twisted around his fingers. He paced for a few moments before looking up. Amnon, his oldest son, glared over his shoulder as the aide shooed him out of the hall. “Ahithophel, it’s all right. I can…”
“My lord, their prattle is irritating me as well. It can wait until the morrow.”
David ducked out the side exit, into the corridor to the private part of the palace. He stopped, inhaling the comforting scent of cedar, and waited for his aide.
Ahithophel slipped through the door and closed it quietly. His expression was tentative when he faced David.
“I am sorry, Ahithophel, but I am not cut of this pattern. I am the type of king who leads armies into battle, who destroys enemies, a king with a sword constantly by my side.” He motioned to the warrior’s blade hanging from his belt. “I love my people, but I cannot bear sitting here listening to their petty arguments while my army marches.”
“My king, you know we can no longer risk you getting killed in some skirmish. Your sons are still young, and you have not yet determined a successor for your throne. If you were to fall in battle, Israel would be left in disarray.”
David stepped closer to him and whispered through clenched teeth. “I can’t do this. It’s hard enough to stay here cooped up like a child, but listening to their trivial prattle day after day is more than I can stand.”
Ahithophel gave him a sympathetic smile and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Take the remainder of the day to rest. Walk the gardens with your new wife, eat a good meal, refresh yourself. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” He smiled again and disappeared down the hall.
Taking a deep breath, David wandered into the garden and wove through the trees and flowerbeds until he neared the fountain surrounded by pomegranate trees. The rich red fruit contrasted with the soft green of the olive leaves. The trickle of the water fountain and the sweet sound of turtledoves cooing soothed his soul. He should have brought his harp, for a psalm was bubbling up within him.
Standing in the midst of all this beauty was one not to be compared to it. With her emerald eyes set in a complexion of pearl, and ringlets of ruby cascading down her back. Bathsheba. He had loved her since the moment he saw her. His heart had sinned for her, bringing the wrath of his righteous God upon them. But although God had taken their baby, He had not denied him Bathsheba. [2]
Stepping beside her, David slid his hand into hers and gave it a tight squeeze.
“A rough day for my king?”
David groaned. “I am tired of being king. Can’t I be something else for today?”
Bathsheba turned around. Her green eyes met his, and a smile curved her lips. She lifted his hands and placed them on her belly. “Then be Abba today.”
The breath caught in his throat. “You’re…”
Her giggle and nod assured him it was so. Wrapping her in a tight embrace, he lifted her off her feet and whirled around in a circle. Finally setting her down, he placed his hands on either side of her face. “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel who has chosen in His great mercy to bless us. The child will be a son, and he will inherit my throne and reign over the house of Israel in peace and prosperity. There will be no one like him in all the world.”
His wife’s eyes sparkled in the light streaming through the trees. “Yes, our son will be a special child.”
“When he is born, I will hold a feast a month long. The armies will rest from fighting to celebrate the birth of the prince of the house of David.”
A frown contorted his wife’s face. “But, if we announce at his birth that he will be your successor, won’t it put him in danger?”
David’s hands fell to his sides. He hadn’t considered that. “You may be right. There must be another way.” How could they appoint this child as the successor without endangering him? He could wait to announce it until later, but what if something happened to him in the meantime? No, wouldn’t do. They had to come up with some sort of symbol. Something that wouldn’t reveal the secret until the proper time. Something almost prophetic.
An idea ignited in his mind. Grasping Bathsheba’s hand, he tugged her toward the palace. “Come. We have lots of work to do.”
“David, what are you talking about?”
“My son will not be wrapped in ordinary swaddling cloth. No, this prince is unlike any other child and must be treated as such. We will have cloth woven for him on the looms of Egypt, Sheba, Assyria, and every nation on the earth. At his birth, we will wrap him in swaddling clothes so magnificent no one will be able to deny his royalty. At my death, I shall decree that the son who possesses that certain cloth will be my heir. It will evade the danger, yet make it clear who I desire my heir to be. Quickly. We must find Ahithophel and have him gather merchants from every corner of the city.”
*****
Maacah pressed her back against an olive trunk. Had she really heard right? All expected this new, young wife of David’s would soon be with child, but how could the child of a commoner—a wife acquired through murder and iniquity—possibly be named the successor to the throne above her own son? Absalom was a beautiful child, beloved of all who knew him, third born, and of royal blood. What disgrace and insolence for David to consider this woman’s son over Absalom. No, this could never be.
She peeked out from behind the tree as David led Bathsheba toward the palace. “Something must be done. That woman’s son will never reign over Absalom.”
Her thoughts raced like wild stallions as she darted toward her son’s chambers. She didn’t know how, but she would blight this plan to usurp Absalom’s throne. Starting with the swaddling clothes.
*****
David threw open the door to his aide’s chamber. The energy he’d lost when his army marched from Jerusalem without him had returned. It felt good, and he was ready to commence his project.
His eyes swept the room. Across the bearskin rug stood a sturdy table. The man he sought hunched over it. “Ahithophel.”
The aide looked up from the scrolls he studied. “Your highness, I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“Where are my scribes?”
The man’s eyebrow rose. “You dismissed them, sire.”
“Yes. Well, I have a very important decree to issue. Summon the scribes at once.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but isn’t this a bit sudden?”
“Of course it’s sudden. Isn’t everything urgent sudden?” David could no longer hold back the grin spreading across his face. “Summon the scribes, my friend. Then I shall tell you the news.”
Clapping his adviser on the back, he again took Bathsheba’s hand and strode toward the court.
Ahithophel scrambled after them, barking the order over his shoulder. “Sire, please, what is this so urgent decree? What news? Is something wrong?”
David faced his friend as the guards opened the court’s great doors. “No, my friend, not wrong, but something glorious. Come.”
He settled on his throne, motioning Bathsheba to sit beside him. Ahithophel never could abide suspense, and his pained expression amused David.
“My king, I could serve you better if you would enlighten me.”
David opened his arms wide and lifted his gaze toward the heavens. “I am going to be an abba. Blessed be the name of the Lord!” His jubilant cry echoed through the corridor.
A puzzled frown crossed Ahithophel’s face. Then his eyes drifted to Bathsheba. “Ah, mozel tov. Long life and happiness to the prince and his mother.”
Shuffling in the doorway interrupted their conversation. Five scribes tiptoed into the hall, holding their writing instruments close to their chests.
David clapped twice. “It’s about time. Take down a decree from the king.”
Parchment rustled, and ink sloshed as the scribes scrambled to ready their tools. David extended a stocky finger toward the city as he issued his command. The scribes copied out his words and presented the documents. After David implanted his seal into the wax of each copy, the messenger carried them out of the hall. Horsemen would be waiting to carry the edict to each province of the land. Word would spread quickly, and he wouldn't have to wait long for tradesmen to begin flowing into the city.
*****
Absalom’s resolute step carried him swiftly toward the court. His long tresses, curly like his father’s, bounced against his broad shoulders. Could what Mother said be the truth? He refused to believe his father would plan to make Bathsheba’s child his heir. For twenty years he had worked to become his father’s favorite. She must have heard wrong. She did say she was a distance away as they spoke. He rounded the corner and entered the hall adjoining the throne room. A group of scribes stood in his way.
“You go in first. You’re the one who has served the king the longest.”
“He threw us out moments ago. Now he wants us back?”
Absalom rolled his eyes and brushed past them.
“I am going to be an abba! Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
Absalom froze. The words unmistakably shouted in the king’s voice. His father’s voice.
He barely noticed the scribes bumping into him as they scurried through the doorway into the throne room. What could he mean by that? Was he not an abba already? Even with six sons?
Regaining his senses, Absalom peered around the door left ajar in the rush. King David’s chest swelled. His finger extended toward where Absalom stood obscured by the door.
“Let it be written and posted throughout every city in the land of Israel: every craftsman skillful in the art of weaving is summoned to the palace in Jerusalem. The king and queen desire to fashion swaddling clothes for the prince of the house of David. The cloths will be of the finest thread, created from the best of every land. The craftsman selected will be paid a royal wage. A decree from David, king of Israel.”
Swaddling clothes of the finest? Crafted from every land? Bile rose in Absalom’s throat. His mother had been right. His own father was conspiring against his reign, in complete disregard of his heritage. He could not allow this. Something must be done. Something—but what?
[1] 2 Sam 11:1
[2] 2 Sam 11-12
And she brought forth her first born son and wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, for there was no room for them in the inn.
Luke 2:12
And this shall be a sign unto you, you shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.
Part One
Chapter One
Circa 980 B.C.
King David drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. The merchant’s monotone voice had been echoing off the cedar walls of the judgment hall for more than an hour. If he whined the words unfair taxes one more time…
“So you see, your highness, these taxes are relatively unfair when considering—”
“Enough!” David’s irritation boiled over.
The merchant stumbled backward. His scalded pride evidenced by the scarlet flushing of his round face.
Something squeezed in David’s chest. The merchant wasn’t the sole reason for his foul mood, and didn’t deserve to bear the worst of it. “I’m sorry.”
He wiped his forehead. Being the king of Israel was not what he’d hoped. He should be leading his army against the Philistines. Instead here he was, in his luxurious palace, listening to the endless and petty complaints. [1]
Ahithophel clapped his hands. “The king has heard enough of your whining for today. Come back later.”
David stood and ran his hand through his hair. Loose curls twisted around his fingers. He paced for a few moments before looking up. Amnon, his oldest son, glared over his shoulder as the aide shooed him out of the hall. “Ahithophel, it’s all right. I can…”
“My lord, their prattle is irritating me as well. It can wait until the morrow.”
David ducked out the side exit, into the corridor to the private part of the palace. He stopped, inhaling the comforting scent of cedar, and waited for his aide.
Ahithophel slipped through the door and closed it quietly. His expression was tentative when he faced David.
“I am sorry, Ahithophel, but I am not cut of this pattern. I am the type of king who leads armies into battle, who destroys enemies, a king with a sword constantly by my side.” He motioned to the warrior’s blade hanging from his belt. “I love my people, but I cannot bear sitting here listening to their petty arguments while my army marches.”
“My king, you know we can no longer risk you getting killed in some skirmish. Your sons are still young, and you have not yet determined a successor for your throne. If you were to fall in battle, Israel would be left in disarray.”
David stepped closer to him and whispered through clenched teeth. “I can’t do this. It’s hard enough to stay here cooped up like a child, but listening to their trivial prattle day after day is more than I can stand.”
Ahithophel gave him a sympathetic smile and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Take the remainder of the day to rest. Walk the gardens with your new wife, eat a good meal, refresh yourself. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” He smiled again and disappeared down the hall.
Taking a deep breath, David wandered into the garden and wove through the trees and flowerbeds until he neared the fountain surrounded by pomegranate trees. The rich red fruit contrasted with the soft green of the olive leaves. The trickle of the water fountain and the sweet sound of turtledoves cooing soothed his soul. He should have brought his harp, for a psalm was bubbling up within him.
Standing in the midst of all this beauty was one not to be compared to it. With her emerald eyes set in a complexion of pearl, and ringlets of ruby cascading down her back. Bathsheba. He had loved her since the moment he saw her. His heart had sinned for her, bringing the wrath of his righteous God upon them. But although God had taken their baby, He had not denied him Bathsheba. [2]
Stepping beside her, David slid his hand into hers and gave it a tight squeeze.
“A rough day for my king?”
David groaned. “I am tired of being king. Can’t I be something else for today?”
Bathsheba turned around. Her green eyes met his, and a smile curved her lips. She lifted his hands and placed them on her belly. “Then be Abba today.”
The breath caught in his throat. “You’re…”
Her giggle and nod assured him it was so. Wrapping her in a tight embrace, he lifted her off her feet and whirled around in a circle. Finally setting her down, he placed his hands on either side of her face. “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel who has chosen in His great mercy to bless us. The child will be a son, and he will inherit my throne and reign over the house of Israel in peace and prosperity. There will be no one like him in all the world.”
His wife’s eyes sparkled in the light streaming through the trees. “Yes, our son will be a special child.”
“When he is born, I will hold a feast a month long. The armies will rest from fighting to celebrate the birth of the prince of the house of David.”
A frown contorted his wife’s face. “But, if we announce at his birth that he will be your successor, won’t it put him in danger?”
David’s hands fell to his sides. He hadn’t considered that. “You may be right. There must be another way.” How could they appoint this child as the successor without endangering him? He could wait to announce it until later, but what if something happened to him in the meantime? No, wouldn’t do. They had to come up with some sort of symbol. Something that wouldn’t reveal the secret until the proper time. Something almost prophetic.
An idea ignited in his mind. Grasping Bathsheba’s hand, he tugged her toward the palace. “Come. We have lots of work to do.”
“David, what are you talking about?”
“My son will not be wrapped in ordinary swaddling cloth. No, this prince is unlike any other child and must be treated as such. We will have cloth woven for him on the looms of Egypt, Sheba, Assyria, and every nation on the earth. At his birth, we will wrap him in swaddling clothes so magnificent no one will be able to deny his royalty. At my death, I shall decree that the son who possesses that certain cloth will be my heir. It will evade the danger, yet make it clear who I desire my heir to be. Quickly. We must find Ahithophel and have him gather merchants from every corner of the city.”
*****
Maacah pressed her back against an olive trunk. Had she really heard right? All expected this new, young wife of David’s would soon be with child, but how could the child of a commoner—a wife acquired through murder and iniquity—possibly be named the successor to the throne above her own son? Absalom was a beautiful child, beloved of all who knew him, third born, and of royal blood. What disgrace and insolence for David to consider this woman’s son over Absalom. No, this could never be.
She peeked out from behind the tree as David led Bathsheba toward the palace. “Something must be done. That woman’s son will never reign over Absalom.”
Her thoughts raced like wild stallions as she darted toward her son’s chambers. She didn’t know how, but she would blight this plan to usurp Absalom’s throne. Starting with the swaddling clothes.
*****
David threw open the door to his aide’s chamber. The energy he’d lost when his army marched from Jerusalem without him had returned. It felt good, and he was ready to commence his project.
His eyes swept the room. Across the bearskin rug stood a sturdy table. The man he sought hunched over it. “Ahithophel.”
The aide looked up from the scrolls he studied. “Your highness, I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“Where are my scribes?”
The man’s eyebrow rose. “You dismissed them, sire.”
“Yes. Well, I have a very important decree to issue. Summon the scribes at once.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord, but isn’t this a bit sudden?”
“Of course it’s sudden. Isn’t everything urgent sudden?” David could no longer hold back the grin spreading across his face. “Summon the scribes, my friend. Then I shall tell you the news.”
Clapping his adviser on the back, he again took Bathsheba’s hand and strode toward the court.
Ahithophel scrambled after them, barking the order over his shoulder. “Sire, please, what is this so urgent decree? What news? Is something wrong?”
David faced his friend as the guards opened the court’s great doors. “No, my friend, not wrong, but something glorious. Come.”
He settled on his throne, motioning Bathsheba to sit beside him. Ahithophel never could abide suspense, and his pained expression amused David.
“My king, I could serve you better if you would enlighten me.”
David opened his arms wide and lifted his gaze toward the heavens. “I am going to be an abba. Blessed be the name of the Lord!” His jubilant cry echoed through the corridor.
A puzzled frown crossed Ahithophel’s face. Then his eyes drifted to Bathsheba. “Ah, mozel tov. Long life and happiness to the prince and his mother.”
Shuffling in the doorway interrupted their conversation. Five scribes tiptoed into the hall, holding their writing instruments close to their chests.
David clapped twice. “It’s about time. Take down a decree from the king.”
Parchment rustled, and ink sloshed as the scribes scrambled to ready their tools. David extended a stocky finger toward the city as he issued his command. The scribes copied out his words and presented the documents. After David implanted his seal into the wax of each copy, the messenger carried them out of the hall. Horsemen would be waiting to carry the edict to each province of the land. Word would spread quickly, and he wouldn't have to wait long for tradesmen to begin flowing into the city.
*****
Absalom’s resolute step carried him swiftly toward the court. His long tresses, curly like his father’s, bounced against his broad shoulders. Could what Mother said be the truth? He refused to believe his father would plan to make Bathsheba’s child his heir. For twenty years he had worked to become his father’s favorite. She must have heard wrong. She did say she was a distance away as they spoke. He rounded the corner and entered the hall adjoining the throne room. A group of scribes stood in his way.
“You go in first. You’re the one who has served the king the longest.”
“He threw us out moments ago. Now he wants us back?”
Absalom rolled his eyes and brushed past them.
“I am going to be an abba! Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
Absalom froze. The words unmistakably shouted in the king’s voice. His father’s voice.
He barely noticed the scribes bumping into him as they scurried through the doorway into the throne room. What could he mean by that? Was he not an abba already? Even with six sons?
Regaining his senses, Absalom peered around the door left ajar in the rush. King David’s chest swelled. His finger extended toward where Absalom stood obscured by the door.
“Let it be written and posted throughout every city in the land of Israel: every craftsman skillful in the art of weaving is summoned to the palace in Jerusalem. The king and queen desire to fashion swaddling clothes for the prince of the house of David. The cloths will be of the finest thread, created from the best of every land. The craftsman selected will be paid a royal wage. A decree from David, king of Israel.”
Swaddling clothes of the finest? Crafted from every land? Bile rose in Absalom’s throat. His mother had been right. His own father was conspiring against his reign, in complete disregard of his heritage. He could not allow this. Something must be done. Something—but what?
[1] 2 Sam 11:1
[2] 2 Sam 11-12
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