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prayed.
    Her footfall caused a soft cascade of pebbles to spill down the slope. David turned sharply, eyes intent, hand on the hilt of his sword. When he saw her, he relaxed.
    “You’re up early, Bathsheba. Aren’t you a little far from camp?”
    Her heart hammered as she came closer. “I came to get water.”
    “Then you have a problem, little one.”
    “What problem?”
    He smiled. “You have no jug.”
    Heat surged into her cheeks. When he started to turn away, she spoke quickly before she lost all her courage. “Could we talk awhile, David? I came all this way to see you.”
    He turned and looked at her. “You shouldn’t be so far from camp. It’s dangerous. Go on back to your tent where you belong.”
    “But—”
    “You know your mother wouldn’t be happy you strayed so far. I don’t think she’d be pleased if she had to come searching for you a second time.”
    Crushed by his reprimand, Bathsheba bolted up the slope, ducked behind some rocks, and sat down heavily. Trembling, she put her cold palms against her burning cheeks. Then she took a breath and peered out from her hiding place. David was still standing by the stream, his hands now on his hips. “Go home before you’re missed! And don’t leave the camp again!”
    Sucking in a sob, Bathsheba clambered up and ran all the rest of the way back to her father’s tent, thankful no one was awake to see her tears—or ask the cause of them.

    Word came that the Philistines were going out against Saul. Bathsheba’s grandfather and father laid out their armor and weapons. Bathsheba helped her mother prepare parched grain and raisin cakes for them to take with them. Her mother was silent, as she always was before the men left. So, too, was Bathsheba as she listened to them talk.
    “We go tomorrow and join the ranks of Philistines,” her grandfather said. Bathsheba remembered the plan she had overheard David talking about. His men would only be pretending to help the Philistines. Really, they were waiting for a chance to help King Saul defeat this enemy army.
    “Surely they’ll suspect David’s offer as pretense,” her father said tightly. “It’s only through God’s mercy that we haven’t been caught raiding the Geshurite and Amalekite villages these past years.”
    “We’ve timed our raids carefully and left no survivors.”
    “Rumors spread . . .”
    “David wants to be in a position to help Saul. If the Philistines reject our offer of aid, there’ll be nothing we can do.”
    “Saul’s fate is in God’s hands already, and I don’t like leaving our women and children on their own.”
    As the sun rose the next morning, Bathsheba watched her father and grandfather leave camp with David. As soon as they were out of sight, her mother went inside the tent and wept. She was quickly herself again. She sat in the shade of the tent carding wool and sent Bathsheba off with the sheep.
    The day after the men left, Bathsheba was bringing water up from the stream when she heard yelling and screaming. Dropping the skin, she ran up the bank. Amalekite raiders were charging into the camp while women fled in a dozen directions, grabbing up their children as they ran. Defenseless, they were quickly rounded up like a scattered flock.
    When Bathsheba saw a man knock her mother to the ground and try to tie a rope around her flailing hands, she shrieked and ran at him in a fury. Jumping on his back, she clawed his forehead and yanked his hair. “Let her go! Let my mother go!”
    With an angry shout, the man caught hold of her hair and hurled her over his shoulder. She hit the ground hard. Gasping for breath, she made it to her hands and knees, but someone looped a rope around her neck. Rolling over, she grabbed it and kicked the man. He uttered a harsh groan and bent over, his face going white while one of his company called out a laughing insult. “Is that little flea too much to handle?”
    Enraged, the Amalekite gave the rope a hard yank. As she choked,