I loved the way he loved his job. The pride in his face when he told me stories about the battles he fought, the places he visited, and the victories they enjoyed was always the highlight of his return. I enjoyed every minute of it, hanging on his every word. These stories, good or bad, all fascinated me.

My grandfather Ahithopel, who I called Saba, was one of the King’s chief advisors; my father, Eliam, was also one of the Thirty. So, I grew up hearing war stories and tales from lands far away. My mother, unlike me, did not like the war stories. I was different to most women all of whom detested the sight of blood or description of battle. I loved to hear every minute detail and Uriah spared nothing. He told stories in such a way that I felt I was riding a horse on the battle ground, in the middle of a war fighting for my life, hearing the clashing of swords and the cries of battle, the iron smell of spilled blood filling my nostrils. Fear clutched at my chest almost stopping my heart beating.

These stories were not always of victory. As with every nation there were instances of defeat, which meant periods of mourning followed. Those stories were the hardest to tell but still he told them, sometimes after he washed the taste of battle from his mouth with wine, through drunken tears. In those moments, I held him close and gave myself to him for comfort, the pleasure we shared as man and wife, a balm to his wounded soul. It was in those nights that I realised that even men of war, despite all the courage, valour, and strength they possessed, were weak in the bosom of a woman.

These stories were not always of victory. As with every nation there were instances of defeat, which meant periods of mourning followed. Those stories were the hardest to tell but still he told them, sometimes after he washed the taste of battle from his mouth with wine, through drunken tears. In those moments, I held him close and gave myself to him for comfort, the pleasure we shared as man and wife, a balm to his wounded soul. It was in those nights that I realised that even men of war, despite all the courage, valour, and strength they possessed, were weak in the bosom of a woman.