Free The Secret Chord by Geraldine Brooks

and urged me to put it out of my mind also. He said that Shaul was still our king, and while that was so it did no good to speak, or even think, about David’s anointing.
    â€œBut of course, not a day passed when I did not think about it, and wonder. And then, soon enough, we were at war again with the Plishtim, and my older sons were called by General Avner to join the king, in battle, in the Wadi Elah . . .”

IV
    H er voice trailed off. She reached for her wine cup, but found it empty. She waved for Shammah’s girl, but there was no need. The girl had been tending to the making of a small cook fire and had set a large pot on a tripod of three stones. But as soon as she sensed her grandmother stir, she was at her elbow, filling our cups. She placed the pitcher, which was beaded with moisture in the afternoon heat, on the table between us. It had grown late as we talked. The twisted shadows of the citron boughs elongated in dark knots upon the ground. Nizevet put her cup down and lifted her hand to her brow.
    â€œI have tired you,” I said. “I am sorry.”
    â€œNo, I am not tired. It is not that. It is just that it is difficult for me to speak of things that I have kept close to me for so long. I see you writing down my words, and I—and I—I feel such shame, such shame—”
    I started to speak, to reassure her, but she hushed me with a wave of her hand. “I know my son has sanctioned this, for reasons that must seem wise to him. But the common people know his story so differently. Their story begins with that radiant boy who suddenly appeared from the hills. Do they need, I wonder, to know what came before?” She was not looking at me, but at her hands.
    â€œThat will rest with the king,” I said. “He will decide what will be recorded, and what will be left out.”
    â€œVery well,” she said. Then she signaled again to the girl, and began to rise.
    â€œIs that all?” I said, rather more sharply than I intended. “I was hoping you might go on.”
    â€œGo on? Why should I go on? Shammah can better tell about the Wadi Elah. Shammah, and others who were there. My part in the story is of no significance beyond what I have told you. Be content.”
    I stood then, and bowed. The girl came and gave Nizevet her arm. The two disappeared into the house and I was left alone to gather my writing materials. The girl returned to tend to the pot. Pungent aromas—onions, cumin, coriander—wafted from her pot. My mouth watered and I realized I was very hungry. Just before sunset a noisy pair of youths returned to the compound, herding their animals before them. The younger boy, who had been dozing in a corner, rushed to spread straw in the lower stable rooms, a chore I sensed should have been done sometime earlier.
    The girl brought me a basket of flatbread, a tray heaped high with the fragrant, spiced grains, and a dish of yogurt to blend with it. It was clear I was not to dine with the rest of the family, as they had all withdrawn to an upstairs room in the larger of the three houses. I ate the food, glad of my solitude. My thoughts were occupied with the remarkable words that lay bound in my parchment, and with Nizevet’s parting advice. She was wise. It was best to speak only to those who were there when events unfolded. David’s life already was the stuff of wild elaborations. Men always make myths around their kings. I needed to be wary of such men.
    When I had done with the food, the girl was there again, at my side, holding a bowl of rosewater so that I might wash my fingers. “If you are ready, I will show you to your place.” So I was to stay. I had not been sure if Shammah would offer me a roof, or whether I should have to bespeak some dubious shelter in the town.
    â€œI think I will sit for a while,” I told her. And so I did, counting the stars as they twinkled alight until the sky was glittering. When