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The Swaddling Clothes

By Amber Schamel

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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.
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.

"Enough!"
King David's irritation boiled over, scalding the pride of the stout merchant in front of him. Guilt flooded his soul as the merchant stumbled backwards in shock.
"I'm sorry." David sighed and wiped his forehead. Being the king of Israel was not what he'd hoped it would be. He should be leading his army against the Philistines, but instead here he was, in his luxurious palace, listening to the endless and petty complaints.
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 back and forth for a few moments before looking up at the remaining members of the court who were being shooed out of the hall by his aide.
"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 that led to the private part of the cedar palace. He stopped for a moment and waited for his aide to follow. Ahithophel slipped through the door, closing it quietly behind him and turned to face the King.
"I am sorry, Ahithophel, but I am not cut out for this. I am the type of king that leads armies into battle, that destroys enemies, a king with a sword constantly by my side." He motioned to the warrior's saber hanging from his belt. " I love my people, but I cannot bear sitting here listening to the 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 his way through the trees and beds of flowers until he neared the fountain surrounded by pomegranate trees. He paused and admired the beauty. The rich red of the pomegranates contrasted with the green of the olive leaves. The trickle of the water fountain and the sweet sound of turtledoves cooing soothed his soul. He wished he had 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. She was the most beautiful woman in all the land 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 both. But although God had taken their baby from them, He had not denied him Bathsheba.
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 and looked up at him. 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 that streamed 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?"
"You may be right. There must be another way." The king took her hand and led 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 weaved 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 that no one will be able to deny his royalty. At my death, I shall make a 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. Come, we must find Ahithophel and have him gather merchants from every corner of the city."
*****
Maacah pressed her back against the trunk of the olive tree. Had her ears really heard right? It was obvious and expected that 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 as 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 that David would consider this woman's son over Absalom. No, this could never be.
Peeking out from behind the tree, she saw David leading Bathsheba towards the palace.
"Something must be done. That woman's son will never reign over Absalom. "
Her thoughts raced like wild stallions as she darted towards her son's chambers. She didn't know how, but one way or another, she would blight this plan to usurp Absalom's throne. Starting with the swaddling clothes.
*****
"Ahithophel."
David's aide looked up at him from the scrolls he studied. "Your Highness, I didn't expect you back so soon."
"Where are my scribes?"
The man's eyebrow raised. "You dismissed them, sire."
"Yes. Well, I want them back here as soon as you can get them. 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 towards the court.
Ahithophel scrambled after them, barking the order to summon the scribes over his shoulder. "Sire, please, what is this decree that is so urgent? What news? Is there something wrong?"
David paused and faced his friend as the guards opened the great oak doors of the court. "No, my friend, not wrong, but something glorious. Come, we have much work to do."
David sat on his throne, motioning Bathsheba to sit beside him.
"My king, I could serve you better if you would enlighten me."
David's arms opened wide as his gaze lifted 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, congratulations. Long life and happiness to the prince, and his mother."
Shuffling in the doorway interrupted their conversation. A group of scribes entered with timid steps. King David clapped his hands.
"It's about time. Take down a decree from the king."
Parchment rustled and ink sloshed as the scribes scrambled to get their tools ready for David's next words. The King's stocky finger extended towards the city as he issued his command. The scribes copied out his words and presented the document to him. He implanted his seal into the wax and watched the messenger carry it out of the hall to the waiting horsemen who would ride throughout the land bearing the edict.
*****
Absalom's resolute step carried him swiftly towards the court. His long tresses of hair, 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. His mother must have heard wrong. She did say she was a distance away from he and Bathsheba as they spoke.
He rounded the corner and entered the hall that led to the throne room, brushing past a group of scribes as he went.
"I am going to be an Abba! Blessed be the name of the Lord."
Absalom froze. It was unmistakable. That was the king's voice. His father's voice.
His consciousness faded to the point that he hardly noticed the scribes bumping into him as they passed through the doorway into the court. What could he mean by that? 'I am going to be an Abba.' Was he not one already? Even with six sons?
Regaining his senses, Absalom peered around the door. King David's chest swelled, his finger extended towards 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 to happen. Something must be done. Something -- but what?

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