Now enters he, Amnon, son of David and Ahinoam, into the verges of Jerusalem. With the siege of Rabbah concluded and the Ammonites crushed, Amnon has come to reside in his chambers, drained and taxed.
Jonadab, son of David’s brother, lowly in conduct—yet, sly by desire, arrives to cause relief of his companion. Jonadab desires an answer: “What cause, O son of King, sows your conscience darker yet your presence meek? What reason brings such grief unto you? Must you not tell your companion in arms and desire?”
“Desire, you speak of, and none of it I attain. Wars of this manner I did nothing to invite onto my fate; I did win. Epicurean of the manner I have become, I did not cause to desire, either. What I desire, I do know. Jonadab, my being is bound, and my heart beats captive to Tamar. Since the age of teen, I owe my affection to her. Yet, none of it I attain.”
“Of affection I know nothing—yet this I vow: Hear me, prince. Move yourself upon your bed and call it sickness. Call upon Tamar to aid your ailment and do the needful thereafter.”
Now enters Tamar, daughter of David and Maacah, into the chambers of Amnon. She is pleased to see the war-returned man and is dejected at his illness. With her hand, she has brought a meal of delight to help Amnon heal. Bends she to his bed, and—
“Twice it has come to my conscience’s remembrance, and even once I did nothing to avenge it. Why is it, then, that I live more? I decay to find any dignity or honour in this chest that reeks of cowardice.”, cried Absalom, the son of David and Maacah.
“The Lord’s canvas is weeping. Slow and shallow it ends, but in a sudden voice it rises. Devour patience, O master; justice shall arrive. One day or the other.” assured a servant.
“Peace, fool. I declare the end of this wicked play. Let justice be drawn like a blade—swift, and tonight. Hear me well: let word be sent to every son of the king, that they may gather here beneath the banner of royal feast. Bid them come for bread from the king’s own furnace, wine pressed from the ripest blood of our finest vineyards, all by decree. And make sure the presence of Amnon. Let no doubt touch his step.”
The servant begs an answer, “Very well. Only O Master, mercifully gift to my learning the cause of fixation on Amnon.”
“Ha! Amnon must die. Now heed me, and let my will be your only law. Bring him forth, and with him, set forth the choicest of wine, let his heart be light, let him drink deep. And when I raise my voice, strike. No trembling. No faltering. Let no shade of mercy cloud your soul. Only courage. Only steel. Slay him.”
And so, arrives Amnon apace with more halves and fulls. He medals the goblets again and again, drowning the floor in wine and want. Absalom watches. The moment ripens. He calls. And the servant strikes. One blow cleaves the heart of the king’s firstborn. Amnon is dead, then and there.
Absalom has sung the death of Amnon.
A violin clad in blood seeks treachery amidst brotherhood and turns to a painful jingle. The notes are variable; any uniformity is a treat to the deaf. Silence accompanies the subservient music of death. Brotherhood calls for blood and tears in its path, the notes of mercy.
David is struck with a dagger dipped in grief. The heir-apparent, the first-born, the brave Amnon is undone at the hands of his beloved half-brother.
Drums of political menace play behind the curtains of melodious violin of death. What he thinks, he thinks is right.
“For you have brought death upon my son and your brother, for reasons only you make rational of, grieve I to the stars and beg a needful solution. Absalom, you are my son, as Amnon was; and for all the wrongs you have done, as he did, I spare you. But I entreat you: let my eyes see you no more. Be gone, and be gone forever.", begs David.
—and disgust clouds her vision. Amnon, she finds, has not the most gentle of grasps. The wails of Tamar are unbeknownst to any but Amnon and his sly advisor. She struggles and calls, “Cease, my brother! I beg of you, defile me not! Bring not this shame upon me, this wickedness too vile to name. Where shall I bear my disgrace? Where shall I hide my sorrow?"
Amnon pays no heed to her lament. He forces him upon herself and forces her to lay with him. Later, with the deed done, Amnon grows tired of her. He calls for Jonadab and exclaims, “Here! Put this woman out, away from me, and bolt the door behind her.”
Out on the doorstep, Tamar tears her robe and laments the befallen, for there is no disgrace greater than violation of a woman’s conscience, no vilification greater than her name within the memoirs of those unjustly served.
Tamar bolts towards her brother, Absalom’s chamber, falls to his feet and finds solace.
“Utter no plea, dear sister. The children of Ahinoam are no true brothers to us. Amnon must die, be it today or on the morrow. A day shall come when Israel will bear witness to true justice. True justice on the throne and true justice to its women. Until then, utter no plea, dear sister.”
His sister violated. His throne snatched. Even though he was the most virtuous to take it, he was denied the right to ascend it. Amnon is out killed. And there remains a last task undone.
King David has grown too old to manage affairs of the state any longer. He sends the trusted Joab to bring Absalom back from exile. But he bids him not to make the son see his father’s face yet.
“Allow his return to his own house in Jerusalem, but do not let him see my face.”
Two years have passed that Absalom has stayed in Jerusalem but not seen his father, the king’s face. Calls he, for Joab to send to the king, “Ask the man, ‘Why am I brought back only to be kept captive in silken chains? It would be better for me to be there still.”
The hills crossed; Joab goes to the king with the message.
“Your son is but a helpless peasant. O King, arrest your contention and bring your heir home.”
So on, in the immediate, Absalom presents himself before David. He bows himself on his face and grounds before the king. David calls Absalom to stand and kisses him welcome.
After this it happens that Absalom co-rules with David, winning the hearts of the Israelites. In this time, he provided himself with chariots and countless men loyal to him.
Now four years have passed since his arrival back in Jerusalem, and he arrived before David, demanding a favour. “Please, let me go to Hebron and pay the vow that I made to the Lord. For your servant took a vow while I dwelt at Geshur in Syria, saying, 'If the Lord indeed brings me back to Jerusalem, then I will serve the Lord’.”
And David says, “Peace be upon you in your journey, my son.”
Weeks pass, and a messenger has arrived at David’s feet: “The hearts of the men of Israel are with Absalom. I have seen it; he is marching on the city with two hundred men in arms.”
And then, King David, appalled by the conspiracy, flees from Israel.
War ensues and Absalom with his army marches upon Jerusalem, proclaiming himself king.
At once, he commands a tent be raised upon the terrace of David’s great palace and summons all his father’s concubines.
Long years past, David’s son had defiled Tamar; and Absalom, her brother, had sworn vengeance.
Now, before all Israel, Absalom fulfils the ancient word of the Lord when David violated Bathsheba: he lays with his father’s concubines under the open heavens, a wound upon the house of David that shall never mend.
Ladies and gentlemen, this post was a continuation of what we published about Bathsheba in November of last year. We have divided the biblical account into two stories about two women being assaulted by enamored men, resulting in their destruction and ultimately the demise of a kingdom.
And, as is traditional, until then, readers, The Archaic Allegory is signing off.