Solomon bent and whispered in the ear of Banahash.
“Will you do it, Banahash?”
“I will, my King, if you will tell me what it was your father demanded against Joab, and Semej, whom they call the magician.”
“I will tell you—later.”
“No: now I must know it!” insisted Banahash.
“Later I will tell you. I swear it by the body of David, the King!”
“I go—to announce to Bethsheba, and the priests”
“Listen, then, and hear!”
Again he bent to the ear of the still kneeling Banahash and whispered the last will of David, the King.
“You know what Joab did to me. You will proceed against him as is just. Semej, too, you hold in your power, who cursed me with a grievous curse. In my wrath I swore against him: I will not slay you with the sword! But you—pardon him not. You can make him descend early into the grave.”
“I will warn my companions,” Banahash thought quickly.
“I will do whatever seems good to me,” thought Solomon.
Just as upon the evenings before, the Sunnamite, Abisag, ascended the couch of David, the King. She did not notice that the light was dimmed in the hanging receptacles of bronze, and that the great room grew dark and darker. She did not notice that the pans of coals had been carried away, nor that a great mass of lion’s skins and purple coverings had been heaped upon the couch of David. She lay down and fell asleep.
