The Testimony of Batsheba
by Mojave Dragonfly
The Testimony of Batsheba, daughter of Eliam. This single scroll was a prized possession of my mother's, who kept it secret.
My name is Batsheba, daughter of Eliam, and if you ask me why my name is a patronymic and not of my father's name, I will know you are not from the tribe of Dan. My name is Daughter of an Oath. In Dan I was revered for I was dedicated to Dyeus, the god of my fathers, by my own father's oath. My father was a priest of Dyeus, before the seers came. Now my mother wants me to take some other name—a good Israelite name—so we don't stand out.
I loved my city. Laish is its name, though more and more people are calling it Dan. The gods gave the city to my tribe over two hundred years ago. Before that, my father's fathers ruled a mighty empire over the Great Sea. Greater than Israel, greater than Hatti, even greater than Egypt. We sinned against the gods and they threw down our cities and laid waste to our fields. Only Dyeus took pity on us and led us to these shores lest we vanish from the races of men.
I write these words to honor my father. He was a priest of Dyeus, a very holy man. He taught me to write and to read Hittite, Peleset, Phoenician and Egyptian, although I am a woman, for he has no son. In former times, he says, women were the priests, and men were merely warriors. Now my father must be merely a warrior, and my mother and sister and I must beg in the countryside.
Laish is surely the most beautiful of cities. We lived in lush country, green and golden, rare among the cities of Israel and Judah. The river Dan springs from without the walls, young and life-giving, beginning its journey to join the holy river Jordan. The mountains to the north and east nestle the city to the world's navel, protecting her from Phoenicia and Aram.
But what protection have we from the cruelty of our own people? For Israel is our people, now. We have forgotten our ancient tongue, and left off ship-building, our greatest craft. Our wise men yoked us, generations ago, to the fate of the other tribes. Our male children are circumcised, in accordance with the covenant of Yahweh, and do we not give sacrifice to El Shaddai according to the laws of the Levites.
It's not enough for the new king, Saul, nor for Samuel's seer-soldiers. For them there can be no worship of our tribal gods. Why must they concern themselves with Dan? Why can they not remain to the south, in Benjamin and Ephraim where they belong? The people asked Yahweh for a king to fight the Peleset. There are no Peleset here. Let Saul remain among the prophets.
My grandfather is a wise man and was with those who supported the idea of having a king. The Levites were against it, but my grandfather harkens to our history, when kings of the Denyen ruled mighty peoples, wealthy and prosperous, and spread throughout a forgotten sea far away. Israel is our second chance, he said, and what nation can grow and conquer without a king? Yahweh is king enough, say the Levites, but when the tribes gathered to choose a king, my grandfather was there, and cast his lot for Saul, the Benjamite.
Now look and see what his support has brought us. Our gods thrown down and smashed against the stones, their bamah despoiled and their priests slain, even in the high places. My father and I escaped alive that day, from where I was at my lessons, warned by my mother who saw my father's brother spitted by Samuel's seers as he tried to protect Dyeus. My father fled with us all, for we were all in danger. We had to carry my grandfather, who was senseless with grief. We have not found my uncle's wife, and I fear none of us will see her again beneath the sun. Our friends dared not succor us, and so we fled our home.
I miss my home. I miss the bread and meats, my baths and the perfumed oils for my skin and hair. I miss my friends and the honor I was given as Dyeus's bride. This year I should have been old enough to learn the sacred marriage and lie with the god's sons. What right had they to take my life from me? I even miss my studies, now that I can no longer expect to read the ancient tales. While my father tutored me, I admit, I longed to be playing with the boys. All that is gone. I own nothing now but one torn garment and this pen and parchment; not even a comb for my hair. My belly is never full, and I shiver at night on a bed of dirt. No man would think to marry me.
Their pursuit of my father was relentless. He dared not stay with us. He and his father journeyed south, where they hope to join the rebels who follow David, Saul's son-in-law. They may go even as far as Judah. My mother thinks they are dead to us. She has not ceased her mourning.
This David—I have heard him spoken of all my life. When I was small the elders spoke contemptuously of him as a pretender, an assassin and a traitor. But even then the girls whispered in their chambers at night, giggling his name. They told different stories: how he slew two hundred Peleset warriors and cut off their foreskins as a bride-price for King Saul's daughter. Oh, they swooned. Would that a man would do that for me. As a mere lad, they whispered, no older than our brothers, he slew a Peleset warrior with only his sling, in view of armies, and giving a great victory to the Israelites that day. This warrior was huge, like a Rephaim of old, more than four cubits tall and armed like a prince. David refused armor, and carried no sword. How brave he must be!
Here the scroll is damaged, as if my mother attempted to rub out her words, and three or four lines cannot be read.
My people have sworn undying enmity for the Peleset. My grandfather says they are our distant kin, closer to us in blood than we are to any of the tribes, save Naphtali, with whom we have married. When Dyeus brought us to this land, we approached their mighty cities and asked for their aid, citing bonds of kinship, but they blasphemed against hospitality and enslaved us. We made Israel and Judah our allies and escaped the Peleset bondage. For as many who condemn David's crimes against Saul, there are others who praise his triumphs over the Peleset.
And now my father is with him, and my grandfather, too. My father sees him every day, perhaps fights by his side and shares his meat. At night in my cold bed, I dream of the rebel David.
I fear not to write these words, for who remains who could read them? I know my father would want me to stay in practice. He intended me to take over the duty of bamah secretary, for he did not care for the way it was being done. I was to record every sacrifice, every purchase, every name and every lesson. If the stars gave a message, I was to write it down. Any event in the life of Dan, the secretary records. So now I record the misfortunes of my family. Someday, if a god favors me with a husband and children, I will teach writing to my daughters, for I think it is a fine thing.
Winter is coming, but my mother gives it no thought. We dare not seek shelter in Laish when the rains come. The harvest is over; we will glean nothing more from the fields, and farmers will only abide us in their barns for a single night before ordering us out. We tried to make a meal of jujube fruit, but they made my sister Havah sick. Some vagrants tried to teach us how to fish, but in the end we were cold and wet and I fell feverish. I have never missed my bed more, though my mother made me a pillow of her lap. Havah and I are growing skinny, and soon we may be too weak to recover from sickness. One of the vagrants nearly raped Havah. I will not spend a winter like this. We must go to Abel.
Abel-Beth-Macaah is a town near Laish. My mother's parents live there, but Mother was certain Samuel's men had been to the town and she would not bring our misfortune to her family. She was happy to leave them when she married Eliam of Laish, and did not want to go back, but she has yielded to my entreaties.
As we approached the town, we came to an orchard. Men were working at the tree limbs, preparing them for next year's fruits. Mother tried to hide us, but Havah rushed to the edge of the field to watch them, like a child waiting for her piece of honeycomb. They were goodly men, and I joined her, though I dreaded their scorn once we were seen.
One young man approached us. I drew back and searched for my mother, but Havah remained. He bespoke her kindly and invited us all to rest in his father's house. His name was Nathan, and this was his father's orchard. I could see my sister was besotted with him.
My mother asked if we might bathe before accepting any hospitality. He directed us to a bath-house on the brook and assured us of privacy, since the men were all at work. As Havah and I bathed I heard Mother's voice outside the structure, speaking to Nathan. She had fetched him on a pretense and led him to where the wooden planking was weak and worn. I could see their shapes through the wall, so I hastened to finish my bath and bade Havah do the same, but again she remained.
I joined my mother and Nathan, and my mother introduced me as Sarah. I gave my true name, Batsheba. I saw that he knew the significance of my name. My mother took me aside, excusing us, and led me across the brook and into the woods. "A few moments will be enough," she told me. "Do you not see how he looks at her?"
I try to forgive my mother's opportunism, though I felt the slight keenly. I am the elder and should be married first. It was as if she accepted that I was too old or too unsightly to marry, and Havah must be the one to raise our condition. My sister is beautiful, but I am no less so. Still, it was Havah Nathan gazed upon and Mother made no effort to redirect his gaze.
We lived under his father's protection while Nathan courted her. We had food and shelter, but we were expected to work in return. We sent word to our grandparents and learned they were well, but they could give us nothing and bade us remain in hiding. Mother tried to convince the family to employ me as a tutor for the children, but they would not have a woman tutor, and our status was still lower than it should have been. It was kind of Nathan to court Havah properly. He could have taken her or all of us as servants or slaves. He was kind to other sojourners, as well, and we lived in an outlying building with others of the dispossessed, some from Laish. Women and old men we were, for the able-bodied men who could not redress their grievances journeyed south, to David.
David, his name means "Beloved," and when the people here pronounce it, they say it with admiration and hope. They tell many tales of him. He frees towns in the south from Peleset oppressors, towns with names I have never heard.
King Saul had successes against the Peleset in past days, but now he merely holds his territory, wasting most of his effort against the rebel David. We all pray that David prevails.
My mother was disappointed to find that Nathan is not his father's heir; he is a younger son. Havah nearly ended the courtship when we learned that Nathan is a seer, a prophet of Yahweh like Samuel. Havah came to me in tears, for she feared to make us outcasts again. I carried her tale to our mother, and the shock robbed her of speech. She rallied, but for a day she was senseless.
She spoke to Nathan, and then Nathan spoke to all of us. Yahweh, he told us, is a god of justice. When the spirit of Yahweh moves him, Nathan prophecies on behalf of the weak. Yahweh demands just behavior from the rich, the rulers, the men with swords and the men with property. That is the god Nathan knows, and while it is true he is jealous of other gods, when Yahweh offers justice to anyone who gives him sacrifice, no matter what their nation, then of what value are the other gods? Nathan spoke earnestly but not as a man frenzied, and who were we to say he did not act as a servant of justice? He did not speak of Samuel. At the end, Havah was more in love with him than ever, and I was a little, too.
It would be disloyal to forget Dyeus. I will not take the name Sarah. The gods die when they have no one to serve them. But I will say nothing to Havah. Havah should marry soon. It is Nathan's virtue that keeps them from sin, not hers. I am envious.
After many long months we have heard word from my father. A man has come to Abel, with the spring, inquiring after us. He is known to Nathan's family and they vouch for him. His name is Uriah son of Uriel, but they call him the Hittite because his forefathers were foreign. He was banished from Abel when his father murdered a corrupt magistrate. How favored am I by Dyeus or perhaps by Yahweh, for this Uriah is David's man. He is comely, and whenever I gaze upon him I think I can see David and his warriors in the firelight, planning their next raid upon the Peleset or trick to make King Saul look a fool.
If he dares set foot within Abel's walls he must die, but we live without the walls. Nathan's father feasted him. He called forth my mother by name and by firelight he showered her with Peleset gold, wealth captured by my father and grandfather. Havah and I came forward and he adorned us with bracelets and necklaces. He whispered my father's words of love into my mother's ear, and then he gazed upon me. I do not know what paternal endearments he delivered from my father. I could hear nothing but a wind in my ears.
He is fair and ruddy, a paragon among ten thousand. His head is gold, finest gold. His locks are like palm-fronds. His eyes are like doves beside brooks of water, splashed by the milky water as they sit where it is drawn. His cheeks are like beds of spices or chests full of perfumes. His lips are lilies, and drop liquid myrrh. His hands are golden rods set in topaz. His belly is a plaque of ivory overlaid with lapis lazuli. His legs are pillars of marble in sockets of finest gold. His aspect is like Lebanon, noble as cedars. His whispers are sweetness itself, wholly desirable. He draws his sword for David.
How glorious my father was in her eyes. I do not remember him, and I am never to speak his name in the king's presence.
While I stood dazed, my mother drew me aside. "The old women whisper that Uriah seeks a wife," she said. "You must dance for him." Faint with love I gave no thought to how one marries an outlaw. I only knew that I had no dances. "The sacred dances," my mother said. "For Dyeus's marriage bed. You have known those since you were a child."
Rainwater fell upon my fire. The dances she spoke of are holy, not to be put to profane use. They are secret, not to be performed outside the ritual. Yet, what else did I have? I have never seen the dancers of Tyre or Sidon, nor the temple prostitutes in Aram. My mother was already announcing that her daughter would perform a dance in gratitude for our new benefactor. My brow was damp from fear, but Havah combed the pearls of water through my hair where they could glisten in the firelight.
I arranged my new bracelets and removed my sandals. The courtyard would become holy ground when I danced. The musicians paused for me, but I had no wisdom to give them. What song does one play to cuckold a god? I began the dance, and from my rhythm they chose their tune. I used Dyeus's marriage dance to lure a different husband. I felt ashamed.
Some there were among the guests who knew what they were seeing. Women of Dan removed their shoes. Havah stood beside Nathan, remaining shod, as he did. I looked for Uriah the Hittite and my heart grew when I saw how he enjoyed my dance. I would give no further thought to Dyeus's rites, and danced only for Uriah.
I know now my sin. Without warning, the ground beneath us shook. I fell to my knees and was nearly burned by the fire. Shouts of terror became the music as the walls of the courtyard trembled and fell. The ground rolled like the sea, spreading brands from the fire and sparks to the trees. "Dyeus," I called, "forgive me," but my god was an angry god and would not be appeased. The orchard blazed.
Strong arms came around me then, and when I looked I saw it was Uriah himself who lifted me and carried me to safety, away from the fire. "Come, my gazelle," he said. He smelled of cinnamon.
Nathan kept his feet amid the rocking earth, like a sailor in a storm. He strode to where I had stood, raised his arms and called upon Yahweh to deliver us. The shaking stopped.
After that was chaos as the women fetched water and the men fought the fire. I lost sight of my savior until the grey dawn. We stood beneath the burned trees and he kissed my tears. I had heard that Nathan's father would send me away for what I'd done. "Nathan owes you thanks," Uriah said. "You have put the mortar to his career." I did not understand him then, and continued to weep. "You are wealthy now, my gazelle," Uriah said. "You can live in your own house with a servant to sleep across your door. You can live in my house if you will be my wife."
Indeed he has a house on the brook downstream from Abel's walls and now I live there. My mother and sister visit often, and even Nathan has come with Havah to see me. Nathan's fame as a seer grows as the story spreads of how he called upon Yahweh to stop the earthquake. My beloved has returned to the south to fight beside David, but he comes bearing gifts whenever he can. I pray daily for his safety, and that David will prevail over King Saul. For then his trusted men such as my husband will be his warrior band.
I might then join Uriah in the south, and someday, I might even meet David.
The End.
End Notes
The Peleset and the Denyen were two of the tribes of "Sea Peoples" that attacked Egypt and were repelled, according to Egyptian records. The Peleset are believed to be the Philistines, who, failing to invade Egypt from the sea, settled north of there, on the coast.
* Equating the tribe of Dan with the Denyen and from there with the Danoi is more speculative, but not without some support. The Danoi were a "tribe" of Mycenaeans when Mycenae and the rest of the Aegean suffered a collapse of civilization. Aggression by the "Sea Peoples" may have been either cause or effect of the collapse. The tribe of Dan is often associated in the Bible with idol worship, separatist apostasy and foreign religious practices. Their Biblical inheritance was given as the coastal plain and foothills in the vicinity of the Philistines, but subsequently they migrated north to Laish. The Song of Deborah, believed to be among the oldest material in the Bible, describes Dan as remaining "with their ships" rather than answering a muster call of all the tribes. No other tribe is associated with anything noticeably nautical.
* Batsheba describing Mycenae or any Aegean empire as "greater than Egypt" is loyal hyperbole on her part. Greater than Hatti, maybe, greater than Israel, probably, but not greater than Egypt.
* Dyeus is an inferred Indo-European sky father god. The gods of the proto-Greeks are only occasionally found in the Classical Greek pantheon. Many names of their gods are never seen in any later context, and we don't know much about them.
* There is a noticeable lack of goddesses among the Mycenaeans and their Aegean neighbors. Some scholars believe that the later addition of goddesses to the pantheon came from Mycenaean contact with the older civilization based on Crete, "Minoans." Eliam's reference to women priests in the past means Minoan or possibly Canaanite priestesses.
* Following Harold Bloom's and David Rosenberg's speculation about the presence of a female author in Genesis ("The Book of J"), and their identification of that author as likely a sister of Solomon's, Batsheba will indeed teach a daughter to read and write. Here Sarah is the daughter of Batsheba by Uriah.
* Batsheba and her contemporaries feel free to use God's name, Yahweh. The prohibition against pronouncing the Name came later.
* Later tradition attributed authorship of the Song of Songs to Solomon, but here a portion of it is composed by Batsheba, his mother.