The king's wife took me into her household after the king died. I never knew what she thought of me. She was always so quietly polite and I never felt anything such as dislike from her; but neither would she ever meet my gaze. It was as though she did not want really want to see me.
But at the same time, she took me into her household. Not Abigail's household, or Haggith's household, or that of any of the concubines.
Hers.
I believe it was because I was allowed to be near her husband in the end, even more so than she. And she needed that connection to him, I think, as much as she didn't need me.
I will repeat: I never felt that she disliked me. But she certainly made sure I knew who was the king's wife --now widow-- and who wasn't. She was not jealous, either. I was chosen for my beauty; it was all I ever had to offer the position. She, however, was of legendary beauty. And we all know how she became queen.
Bathsheba was a woman full of sorrow that never made itself known on her perfect features. But it was there, underneath. I knew that. And I think she was aware that I knew.
As I made beds and banked the fire and swept the floor she would study me from her couch. I used to pretend I was a comfort to her: a simple, beautiful creature for her to study during those tumultuous times.
If she ever was jealous of me it was because I was younger.
And those few months were indeed tumultuous. I was there when she fell to the floor by her husband's bed and reasoned with him for the kingdom. Not for herself, but for her son. I heard the sound of unrest in the streets below the window that day. But I do not know if the king heard it. His hearing had become selective with age.
Solomon did indeed gain the throne. Oh, I was glad. How could I not be? Solomon was a man of stature and intelligence. I was also there when the king charged Solomon with certain tasks for his rule. I was by the fire, warming the bricks that would be put in the king's bed to warm him.
Solomon walked in and I caught my breath.
I caught my breath.
He didn't notice.
But it did not matter. It does not matter. I could never be his wife, or even his concubine. Not after working this job. He did not notice me, but I heard every word that fell from his lips, and from the king's.
History was taking place, and the king's nurse was there to see it.
The heir to the throne would worship the one God-- it would not be the foolish son of Haggith who would rule. Adonijah was every bit as handsome as Solomon, but his spirit was slippery and did not stand on solid ground.
The king's wife took me into her household after the king died.
She became more peaceful after her son took the throne. She was moved to a place of honor as the queen mother, and I liked those apartments quite well.
Bathsheba watched me, in those apartments, as I said before. I suppose she wondered about her husband's last few weeks, whether he remembered his morning prayers each day, or whether he was finicky with his food.
She never asked, either. And I never told.
I never told her that his first words every morning were, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord Almighty, the Lord is one,” or that he ate well in the morning but little in the evenings (I think the evenings brought him to mind of the end of his own life).
I did not tell her so. If I did, I would have had less value to her. And I wanted to keep that value.
Am I as slippery, then, as Adonijah? I think not; but young women in my position must make their own decisions. I had few prospects besides queen's handmaid. I could not go back home, either.
So I held the memories over her head just as she held my future over mine.
Solomon noticed me once.
He asked me to fetch his mother so that he could speak with her. I saw him appraise me slightly, but I needn't flatter myself. He may have been trying to remember where he'd seen me before.
Adonijah's appraisal was worse by far. Slippery? No doubt. It was a tribute to Solomon's compassion that this man still lived. There was something in this man's eyes that was not worth looking into.
He too asked for the queen. I heard her ask, “Do you come in peace?” And I was sent away.
Peace? No. An usurper to the throne has no peace in his heart. But Bathsheba was a soul of infinite faith in persons. I wanted to stay in the room with her.
Half an hour saw me following her into the throne room to see the king. Solomon bowed to his mother, and she took her place next to him on the throne he had brought for her.
“I have one small request to make of you,” she said. “Do not refuse me.”
I, left kneeling on the floor before Solomon's throne, heard him bid her continue.
I heard her words spill over the throne room floor to me: “Let Abishag the Shunnammite be given in marriage to your brother Adonijah.”
Oh, no.
How could she do something like that to me? Or to her son? Adonijah, the slippery one, must have put her up to it. Why did she not see his reasoning? Surely he thought he must be able to gain the throne through me. Did I wield such power? If I did, why did she not see it?
This time I was the tool, and she merely the pawn. Was I then more powerful than the queen?
No; I realized it as suddenly as a shudder of revulsion for my fate swept over me: she had the power. She held sway over my future. I was so little to her that she could conceive of giving me over to her son's enemy. And that realization made me feel very small indeed.
Solomon's response was full of ire. Did he see my shudder? Did he feel for me?
“Why do you request Abishag the Shunnammite for Adonijah?” he demanded. I felt vindicated.
“You might as well request the kingdom for him-- after all, he is my older brother.”
But no. He thought not of me but of his kingdom. Who could blame him? He was the anointed, the ruler over God's kingdom. I was the servant, one shuffled from place to place as a too-heavy load is shifted from one shoulder to the other.
I raised my head then and watched the exchange. I was not noticed as the king prepared to hunt down Adonijah to make him pay for his request.
But my one consolation came from the queen's shame. Perhaps I should not say so, but I knew that she would not ever try to barter with me again. Not after such a scene.
Solomon and his guards went in search of Adonijah, and Bathsheba slowly took me back to her quarters, without a word spoken. She still did not meet my eye.
Adonijah was dead within hours, and I lit the fire to keep the queen warm, for she was distressed all evening.
I found consolation in that distress until my spirits were restored and I could think more clearly.
I did indeed hold something over the queen's head, and she held my future over mine. I realized we would live that way for a long time thence, for I began to understand her then. We were quite alike. Both of us were taken for our beauty, and we had little to say about it, she and I.
She and I were both noticed, now forgotten. He glory was to be passed along when her son married, just as my glory was already gone after the king passed.
So yes, I understood her, as she began to understand me. I lived, therefore, not just once, but oft noticed.
postscript
Short fiction about Abishag the Shunnammite from 1 Kings chapter 1. She was a young woman hired to keep the old king warm because he was really, really old, and needed a nurse. She was a tool in political schemes after he died. I simply wrote this because I love writing little pieces of insight into the lives of minor characters in the Bible.