I hid a sigh as I tucked a bit of fresh fruit into my basket. Yonit had always been a kindred spirit. Surely she would not object to company.
Despite the bustling crowds on every street, I felt alone. While I did not deeply love Uriyah, I had become accustomed to his companionship, and without him, our small house had become too quiet.
"Must you go?" I had queried.
My husband had simply shrugged without replying. Orders were orders, and there was no help for it. The king required his service in battle, so Uriyah would leave behind his home and our lives together for the sake of duty.
As I kissed him goodbye, I promised that if he returned safely, I would bear the first of our many children. Uriyah stroked my hair gently and squeezed my hand. Then, as casually as if he were going to the market for purchases, he turned and left. Although I would often see him in my dreams each night, we would never again meet by the light of day.
When I arrived at my cousin's house, she hurried out the door to greet me. I noticed that she had gained weight, but only in her waist. Her glowing face confirmed my suspicions: She carried the child of the man she loved.
"Want to feel?" Yonit asked eagerly, taking my hand to press lightly against her waist.
I felt something squirm, as if a small frog were jumping.
"If it's a son, we're going to name him Dovev," she continued. "We'll name a daughter Alitza."
Meydad chuckled. "You may wish to welcome Bathsheva into our home first, my love. You're probably overwhelming her."
May Elohim forgive me, but I was jealous. Although he was a kind man, Uriyah had never gazed at me with such tenderness, his eyes following my every move, as Meydad affectionately observed his wife. He had never thought to surprise me with flowers.
Then again, I would never have thought to disgrace myself for Uriyah the way one woman had done for her beloved. When Shelumiyel had been called to battle, he had noticed one young man shadowing his every move.
"What is your name?" Shelumiyel had inquired.
The young man had said nothing. He was a curious youth, for not even the slightest stubble grew on his young face.
"Perhaps he is mute," Uriyah had suggested.
The youth had nodded in agreement.
Many times, the captain had thought of ridding himself of the young man. The mute youth lacked the strength and stamina of the other soldiers, but he worked tirelessly to improve.
During a relentless battle, an enemy sword had nearly ended Shelumiyel's life, but at the last moment, his silent friend violently shoved him away, sustaining a serious wound. By the time the enemy finally retreated, the poor youth had lost all strength and collapsed helplessly to the ground, trembling from exhaustion and pain as his blood spilled into the dirt.
"Why did you save me?" Shelumiyel queried in disbelief.
To everyone's surprise, the young man spoke. "I love you."
Shelumiyel gasped in horror, for this high voice was that of a woman he knew well, his beloved Ahuva. The two had been deeply in love for years, but her parents had arranged for their daughter to marry a wealthier man. Despairing over his lost love, Shelumiyel had joined the army to forget his troubles.
Unable to bear the thought of hearing that Shelumiyel had been slain in battle, Ahuva had done the unthinkable. She had greatly shortened her beautiful hair that had previously hung to her waist. Disguising herself in men's clothing, she had found a way to plead silently with the captain to allow her to join the army. Now she died in Shelumiyel's arms with his kiss on her lips, the last sounds she heard being tender assurances of love.
Shelumiyel held Ahuva until her body grew cold and stiff in his arms. He would neither eat nor sleep; he simply stared at the lifeless woman he embraced. His eyes were vacant and cold, greatly resembling the sea in winter. Furthermore, he seemed to have taken leave of his senses, for whenever someone suggested that he lay her to rest, Shelumiyel argued that he would be there for Ahuva when she woke.
He lay beside her body that night, shivering in the cold as he draped his thin blanket over her, trying to keep her warm. Each time he touched her lifeless skin, he threw more wood on the fire. Shelumiyel kept trying to convince Ahuva to take warm food, but of course, she could not.
"You must eat to keep up your strength," he explained, stroking her hair tenderly. "Then you will be warm again."
Just before dawn, Shelumiyel was finally able to accept that the woman he loved was truly dead. He shrieked and pounded the ground with his fists, cursing between sobs. He cared not in the least if such a display of grief was unbefitting a man of valor.
When Uriyah had told me the story later, I had stared in disbelief. I could hardly imagine loving my husband enough to dress like a man just to be near him in battle! I was quite content to keep house for him as a dutiful wife and leave matters of warfare in the far more capable hands of the king's finest soldiers.