David stood on the mountain, holding the bones of his King in his arms. The last time he’d been on that summit was the burial of his father. Now again he laid down the remains of a man who meant everything to him.
Saul may have been jealous. Saul may have turned his back on Yahweh, but he was just a man, after all. He’d been more giant to David than even Goliath.
The butterflies accompanied him. First one or two in the valley, riding on his shoulders in the morning sun. Now at the summit they swarmed, landing on his fingertips and arms as he knelt a final time to his king.
The flitting display of orange and charcoal lifted his eyes in awe. Never had he seen such a sight!
At the River Jordan Yahweh’s blessed creatures had gathered upon Saul to show His pleasure. The anointing of the king of the twelve tribes was a story every child in Gilboa knew. The prophet Samuel anointed him but the winged monarchs are what Saul spoke of, flutters of dark ochre settling on his mantle and wreathing a crown upon his brow. That’s how he’d known he was chosen, he always told David.
As a young shepherd David had dreamed of pleasing the man who received the blessing of Yahweh. The man he idolized was far different from children’s tales. His king was both a father and an enemy, loving and paranoid. The Philistine’s Goliath was just the beginning of their fraught history.
Tales from Gath to Galilee sung the praises of the brave boy who slew the giant that mocked the tribes of Israel. Stories in David’s name claimed that tens of thousands of enemies fell under his spear and sling.
The grand embellishments bubbled up jealousy in the older man. Still, for a time Saul showed kindness like they were kin.
The tomb was little more than a cave sealed into the side of the ridge. David’s ancestors had been interred there. It was only right the two burlap bundles he’d brought were placed there as well. Saul was family. Jonathan even more so.
David looked down at the other bundle before him. Jonathan. His truest friend, torn between his father and the will of Yahweh.
“I’m sorry, my brother.” His grief echoed deep in the cave littered with bones.
Mournful tears flowed faster than the arid breeze could dry them, wetting Saul’s vertebrae as they were laid out to be even taller than the Philistine. For Jonathan, his brother in spirit, he kissed each rib before tenderly laying them to rest.
David could not contain his sorrow. On the summit of Mt Gilboa he wept before Yahweh, who had turned his back on Saul, and now sent butterflies to rest on his curls.
Their wings brushed against his neck and ears. The skies above him thundered in a hundred thousand wingbeats.
It was there in the sight of the River Jordan the new King of Israel was crowned.