Her lips turned up slightly. “Do not be concerned. It is just a lack of sleep.”
“And what had caused such a lack? Is there something on your mind?”
She sighed, hands still. “There is much on my mind, Andrew. Too much to articulate, because so little amounts to anything on its own. You already know of my concerns.”
A few knots loosened in his shoulders. “I did not realize, though, that your concerns would be so manifested. Perhaps you should speak with our mistress of your thoughts, let her know you do not wish a marriage that would take you away from her.”
Abigail blushed and shook her head. “I cannot. I cannot broach such a thing myself. But if she asks, Andrew, I will tell her honestly of my desires.”
He nodded, knowing that was all he could ask. “Our lady loves you, my friend. She will not be unfair.”
Abigail opened her mouth as if to respond, but just closed it again and smiled a bit more genuinely. She turned back to her work.
Andrew did not interrupt her again, but rather grabbed some breakfast for himself before moving down the hall to assist his master.
*
Abigail went through her day as she always did, putting one foot in front of the other, one hand over another, to complete her tasks. She was relieved when Ester bade her take up the lyre and sing, a task that required little physical effort.
But as her lips formed the words of the psalms she had known all of her life, her thoughts drifted of their own accord to the shepherd-king who had written them. David, the man said to be after God’s own heart, yet who sinned again and again against the Lord. Why was he blessed? What was it about that ancient man’s soul that made him worthy of a promise, a title, that no other ever received?
Abigail did not know. Indeed, she could not begin to understand the man he must have been. But in thinking of it, she thought as she often did of the woman after whom she was named. Abigail, first the wife of a man so foolish Jehovah himself struck him dead. Abigail, third wife to David, who received that honor because of wisdom and the courage to speak it.
Humbled, this Abigail’s fingers strummed the lyre absently. She, too, had tried to warn her master of his sin, but he, unlike David, would not obey. Was she then blameworthy or excused for her actions? Unbidden, her mind wandered to another of David’s wives, one far more notorious. Had Bathsheba consented to being taken to the chamber of her king, or had she felt herself helpless? Did she realize as she took that fateful step how her life would change? She lost her husband, her family, even her first child.
But she had been the mother of Solomon. And David had favored her as a queen. She had his love, and she had the touch of God.
Her fingers stilled, and her eyes stuck on nothingness before her. Could her God use this situation for good? If she repented of any sin and put her trust in Jehovah, would she be blessed in spite of this cursed existence?
If, then yes, perhaps. But that if. . . . She mustered up her soul, calling forth all the faith she had. A miserly amount indeed. For too long, she had been living on Ester’s belief, on habit, on rote. She knew all the words, but they were empty in her being. She knew the Law, but she did not believe it could be upheld. She knew her God was One and All, that she was one of his children, and she wanted only to escape from his gaze and be free.
Even the thought of freedom reminded her of her chains. Her eyes refocused and moved to Ester, who slept peacefully upon her couch. Emotion flooded Abigail’s heart. To Ester, she was not bound by slavery, but by love. It was to God she was a slave, because of his will that she was brought to such ruin. Ester had always loved her, always provided, always cherished.
But Ester, when all was said and done, was only a woman. She held no power in her hands.
*
Jason neared the edge of the market, eyes seeking out familiar forms. It took little effort to spot Titus and Menelaus in their brilliant red capes and arrogant expressions. He approached them with a grin . . . and perhaps a bit of a swagger, given the way their brows arched. “Where are the others?”
“Unable to join us.” Menelaus folded his arms over his chest, amusement evident. “So. The slave girl? Or did you find another?”
Though he arched a brow, he knew his mirth would be clear. “I know not of what you speak, my friend.”
Titus choked down a laugh. “How stupid do you think us? No man saunters around like that unless he has come from the bed of a beautiful woman. Come now, you would not dare hold back from us, would you? After I shared my women, my house–”