When Joab heard David’s response, he first turned every kind of purple. Then, in giant strides angrily left the people, stomped up the stairs three at a time (author’s freedom) and, uninvited, charged into the king’s presence.
As the teary-eyed monarch glanced his direction, Joab unloaded a scathing tongue-lashing. David had humiliated his own men—the very ones who had saved his life and throne. He hated his friends and loved his enemies. He would have been happy if everyone else had died if only Absalom would have survived.
The outburst from the grimy, just back-from-the-front warrior shocked the king out of his self-pity. Which, by the way, he needed. Only Joab could have had made such an impression.
Particularly since he reinforced it with an ominous warning: if David didn’t go downstairs right then and greet his men, Joab would take them away by nightfall...and even David couldn’t calculate the baleful results.
No one had ever talked so roughly to the king; and no one needed it more than he right then! It suddenly jarred him from personal problems to national responsibilities. He rose, washed his face and, chastened, walked downstairs, through his troops to the gateway: smiling, shaking hands, expressing appreciation. And when news circulated that a waiting line had formed before the king, jubilation returned to all! End Part II