When the news reached my nurse that my dad, Jonathan, and my granddad, King Saul, had died in battle, she fled. As she hurried to leave, I fell and became lame in both legs. I was only five years old at that time.

I lived with Makir, son of Ammiel, until David asked for me. I came and bowed down before King David. Surprisingly, he told me that I would be treated kindly: I could eat at his table, all the land that belonged to my grandfather would be restored to me, and Ziba, Saul’s servant, was to farm for me. I ate at King David‘s table “like one of the king’s sons.”

When King David had to flee Absalom, my servant accused me of waiting in Jerusalem for the house of Israel to hand over the throne to me. But when David returned, I met him with unwashed clothes, uncared for feet, and an untrimmed mustache. I told the king that Ziba’s charges were untrue. Tired of the squabbling, King David divided the property—half to me, and half to him.

The Gibeonites requested that seven of Saul’s descendants be killed. But David saved me because of my father Jonathan. Who am I?

II Samuel 4:4, 16:1–4, 19:24–30

Glenn P. Palmer lives at 135 Jones St., Middletown, Rl847-8189