wordless, motionless, between the pans of glowing coals, wrapped in the yellow lion’s skin. Nathan, the prophet, thought the end was near. Abisag still visited the king, but her efforts were useless.
When Solomon entered the room of his father, David, the King, it was evening. Banahash, alone, was with him. Solomon sat down beside him and seemed like one in a dream. He wished to see Abisag when she came to the king. Hours passed. Banahash bent over the king and arranged the coverings. A shudder seized him. David’s heart did not beat. He thought he must be mistaken. He took a mirror of bronze and held it to the mouth of the king. The shimmering surface remained smooth and bright David was dead!
Banahash tore his garments, ran to Solomon, fell down in front of him, and touched his forehead to the floor.
“What is it, Banahash?” questioned Solomon, still in his dream.
“You are king! David is no more. I hasten to announce to the priests.”
“Wait!” commanded Solomon. “I forbid you to take a step.”
Then his voice changed and became gentle and pleading.
“Do you love me, Banahash?”
“I would give my life to you,” replied the courtier.
“It is your duty to watch by the King’s bed until morning. Very easily you can delay the announcement of the death of the King.”
