The words were a blade. David’s mind, so sharp in battle, scrambled for an escape. He would craft a lie so simple, so human, that no one would suspect. He would make it appear that the child was Uriah’s own.
Now the king faced the abyss. The lie had failed. There was only one path left, and it was paved with blood.
A messenger rode back to Jerusalem with the news of the battle. “The enemy came out against us,” he reported. “Some of the king’s servants are dead. Your servant Uriah the Hittite is also dead.”
But Uriah did not go home. He slept at the palace gate, wrapped in his cloak, with the king’s servants.
