Day of War (11 page)

After a few moments, more heads appeared on the roof — his own men. An officer reached over the side, pounded his fist, and shouted the signal. The chieftain bellowed another order, and the men kept running. They had to move, had to move quickly, and he urged them on with shouting and threats and curses. Flames were everywhere on the buildings now, and he cursed at his men for setting more fires. He had wanted to clear the buildings of plunder before setting fire to them, but once the tide had begun, he could not stop it, only direct it. They kept rushing forward.

Men began ignoring his orders. They pulled women out of homes, screaming, tearing at their clothing, and assaulting them in the open of the street while their children howled. He raged at them to keep moving, but he needed to stay with the main assault, and so he left them behind.

The tide struck the far wall at last, near the stone houses of the city rulers and elders. There was no more resistance. After sending a squad into the city governor’s home, he turned the flow of men toward the northern part of the city, where the Egyptian had presumably gone. He would search for the man along the wall, as agreed—if the mercenary had even understood what he was being told.

They kept running. He had fewer and fewer men around him as each block passed, and he was forced to post a rear guard in case a counterattack emerged from the shadows. But there were no opposing
fighters, hardly any men anywhere, and those they found, they easily captured. The wave of his soldiers pressed hard down the dark streets and alleys of the Philistine city. He felt his sweat and blood racing, and despite the stress of controlling his men, he could not contain a shout of pleasure.

The Egyptian listened to the growing storm of rage in the distance; they were still a good distance away. An occasional Philistine man had emerged from a dwelling as he’d passed, but he’d raced past them. Women shrieked from windows but he ignored them. He needed to reach the Hebrew quarter.

And there it was at last, a separate area of buildings, storehouses, and tents along the northern wall of the city. He recognized the multicolored shawls and caravan covers as Hebrew, the garments and clothes required by their bizarre god who claimed to be the only one. He’d never understood such a concept: Why would a man choose to follow only one god when there were so many other areas of life where he required the gods’ services?

Women looked out from the openings of their homes. It was inexplicable that no men would have been left behind to protect them, especially while they lived among enemies. As he ran past them, he heard more shrieks and screams.

When scouting the town the previous winter, the Egyptian had seen a large building along the wall. It looked like a row of shops from the front, but the size of it aroused his curiosity. He’d had to leave after only a day; even though he’d worn the garments of a slave laborer, his size always aroused suspicion. But in that time he had seen men coming and going from the building, passing a sentry in the doorway each time they entered.

The Egyptian came around a corner and saw the building ahead.
He pulled at the handle, but it was locked. He lowered his shoulder and crashed through the doorway, breaking the hinge.

He was astonished. It was an immense storeroom of gold, jewels, and precious metals. It was hard to see much in the dark, but the room was so full of treasure that its contents gleamed and sparkled in the splash of moonlight seeping through the doorway. It was everything he’d suspected it would be. Mounds of loot gathered from hundreds of caravans were heaped in every corner, as though a great king of Egypt had been buried in his throne room full of gold. There were fine cloths, woven garments, precious stones and metals, and countless other luxuries like those he had coveted in the palaces of the pharaoh.

Whoever this warlord was, he had done well for himself.

The Egyptian saw another doorway in the corner at the far end of the moonlight coming from outside. He could only make out some of the items inside: a rack of weapons, a stack of greaves, other pieces of armor. He assumed the room was full of them. He pulled a sword off the rack and tilted it so he could examine the craftsmanship.

Iron.

The Egyptian replaced the sword. He stared, thinking. Most interesting. Hebrews with iron weapons. Were they forging them or capturing and hoarding them?

He smiled, wiped his face, held his spear across his shoulders, and walked back outside. He had found the storehouse first. Claimed it. Any man who disputed this would be dealt with.

Moving it all was impossible, of course. He would carry the best of it and be content to return later when the pharaoh’s armies invaded. They would sweep through Amalekite lands, capturing any treasure that had found its way into their filthy tents, and then push into Hebrew country. There would be more storehouses like
this one. Pharaoh would reward him with lakhs of gold for his spying, more than could be pulled by a hundred oxen.

He stood silently and looked at the moon, large in the sky. Nearby was the sound of crying and whispers, and he nodded. They would cry louder when the barbarians arrived, as they would soon. The rape of the city had already begun. It was most inappropriate, most unbecoming a man of the River Kingdom. Cold night air basked him. He listened and waited.

In better days, before the darkness:

She holds the child and looks at me. The baby girl stirs in her arms. Another daughter? But there must be sons. Two daughters? I need sons! Her hair is tied up. I love it that way. Perspiration on her face. She smiles at me, confused.

“Are you not pleased, lord?”

“I am pleased.”

Am I? Daughters bring dowry. I will need dowry if I have no sons to work the land. I will fight wars for money the rest of my life. Daughters guiding oxen? They could not lift a yoke. She is still smiling at me. Better look at her. My hand on her head. Such soft hair.

Sherizah says, “Forgive me, lord. I know we need sons.”

Her eyes watch me. She is beginning to cry again. I never like it when she cries. So very tired after a long night of waiting. She cries. She pulls the bundle close. I am not upset, am I?

“It is not your fault, Sherizah.”

She lets out a long breath. Looks away. Tears are staining the front of her shawl. Of course I love the girls. There will be more. Sons will come eventually.

Benaiah gazed at the inside of the tent as it shook with the morning wind. It was still dark out. Something had awakened him. Unable to get to sleep again, his wounds aching, he had lain helplessly while the nightmares found him in the dark, even awake.

Benaiah heard someone clanking cookware nearby. Time to move.

The cold air bit at his skin while he stood and pulled a winter tunic over his head. The wind picked up again and violently whipped the campaign tent. He was grateful for the tent; normally they did not have them because they weighed too much and were too cumbersome for the lightning pace of David’s army. They moved in and out of a town before anyone knew what happened. Like a lightning strike. That had been Josheb’s description, and Benaiah liked it.

His wounds had solidified, turning into something like slabs of limestone knitted into his scalp and arm, and they roared with such pain that he had to sit down again. After stretching his arms out again, Benaiah finished dressing and gathered his weapons next to him: spear, sword, shield, his prized bow, and a lance swiped from a Philistine rack the night before.

He held the spear shaft and felt the balance. The spear was a thrusting and swinging weapon, thrown only when it was unavoidable. The lance was the throwing weapon. He picked up the lance and held it over his shoulder as if he was about to toss it. His shoulder and arm were stiff; he would not be able to put much force into it.

There was another weapon to go into the bundle, and he relished sliding it from the satchel that covered it, running his fingers along the shaft. He had found this root growing with the rock sunken into it. No one could explain how it had happened. But it worked—a perfect war club. He held it lightly against his forehead, feeling the cold knob of rock.

He knew all of the weapons. Few men in this herding and farming culture knew weapons well; even fewer knew more than one. Benaiah knew every weapon—but this, the simplest one, was his favorite.

The others were iron, a benefit of having lived among Philistines. The men of Israel gathered at that moment with Saul in the Jezreel Valley had such weapons, stolen from captured enemies, but they did not know how to maintain them and had no instruments to sharpen them with. Some had figured how to grind the blade on stone. It was slow, and frequently chipped the edge. David’s men were encouraged to keep their weapons in top condition, though it was becoming more tedious using the Philistine smiths to forge their weapons.

He straightened the weapons on the ground, then after grunting in pain a few more times, decided to go for a walk to loosen up. His wounds felt better once he was moving. Outside the flap of the tent, a cold blast of wind sucked the air out of his lungs, choking him. He hated this weather. Spring near the mountains was never one season or the other: cold one day and hot the next.

He heard Josheb shout, “Good morning, brother! Glad to see you awoke from your fainting. There is someone here you must meet.”

Josheb was draped in wool blankets and beaming with his usual good cheer. Next to him stood a man with a cropped beard and fierce eyes. He looked to be in his thirtieth year—as Benaiah was— with a thin scar stretched across his forehead. He was larger than Josheb; he looked at Benaiah from the same eye level. He wore his
hair long and had tied it in places, with the locks hanging off his shoulders. His ornate cloak signified that he was a man of wealth. He did not look like a Hebrew. His skin was too light. He was from the north.

“Benaiah son of Jehoiada, this is Keth of the Hittites.”

The man nodded and Benaiah did the same. Hittite lands were in the north of the kingdom. In ages past they had been an enemy to the Hebrews, but some scattered tribes had begun to follow the Israelite religion. David accepted such men. Benaiah gave Josheb a questioning look.

“Keth joined us a few days ago,” Josheb said. “He’s a brave fighter, renowned along the northern frontier as a killer of Philistines, so we’re hiding his identity in the camp. He is even learning our tongue. I told him that we would circumcise him tomorrow, and that Shammah would do the honors.” Josheb laughed at his own joke. Keth seemed to miss the reference, and Benaiah smiled in spite of himself.

Then Josheb shifted somewhat, as though he were trying to keep his next sentence from being overheard. “And Hittites are good with iron, so he has made fast friends with our leader.”

“I have heard about you from your fellow warriors, son of Jehoiada. It is my pleasure to meet you,” said Keth, holding out his arm. Benaiah grasped it and slapped him on the shoulder, then winced when the man did the same. Keth pulled his hand back apologetically.

Josheb chuckled. “Forgive Benaiah; he was butchered by a band of savage rodents a few days ago.”

“Lions. And I won.”

“Winning entails receiving no wounds and hanging their tongues around your neck as a prize.”

The three men walked together through the gloom, picking their way around sleeping men and those just now arising. Benaiah
looked across the camp to the Philistine position and saw no one up there yet. The wind must be keeping them inside their tents, he thought, then grinned. David never let weather deter him. Everyone in David’s army would be up and moving quickly, despite having, as yet, no specific orders. One can never move fast enough, David always said.

They passed men chewing on hard cakes of dried bread and, seeking a little variety in their dull wartime diets, bartering with one another to swap fruits and nuts, freshly picked and delivered to them before the strange cold snap had blown in. Several grumbled about being up so early; others complained about the cold morning. One group was tossing pebbles to see who could land one inside the nostril of a soldier who had not yet awoken.

A section leader walked by, saw the sleeping man, and kicked his jaw lightly, causing him to startle awake and swing at his imagined attacker, only to miss and careen over sideways. His pebble-throwing squad mates laughed hysterically.

They came to an opening in the center of camp and stood in front of a set of three tents, held down by ropes but threatening to fly away in the wind. The tent in the middle was larger and designed for meetings. Benaiah saw a crowd of men already gathered in the entrance. He held open a flap, and they stepped inside.

In the orange glow of several torches, he saw Eleazar and Shammah standing around a circle in the dirt where a crude outline of the countryside had been sketched. Josheb bid them farewell and made his way toward the spot. The tent was crowded with leaders of companies, logistics men, and section leaders, all talking at once.

Joab, who had been speaking to Eleazar, arms crossed, shouted for everyone to quiet down. Benaiah searched but did not see David anywhere.

Joab spoke again, loud enough to be heard over the powerful
wind outside. “He will be here soon. Stay close and stop cackling like hens.”

The group quieted a little but continued murmuring. Joab was tall and, Benaiah thought once again, insufferably arrogant. Always right there when David looked for a volunteer, stepping in front of others who offered. It was good for a man to be eager, but not at the expense of the efforts of everyone else.

Benaiah turned to Keth, who had been standing quietly in the corner behind him. “What brought you to us, my friend?”

Keth said, “I heard of this
apiru
named David.”

Benaiah nodded. He had heard the same response from many of the six hundred or so men who had come in from different lands. “Well, we are an interesting group. Half of us are in debt over our heads. Others stole cattle. Some are mercenaries. A more worthless bunch of men you will never meet. But they fight.”

Benaiah was sure that the conversations Keth had heard around campfires the night before had reminded him more of pagans than pious Hebrews. It was an odd bunch for the man who would be king of a united Israel to gather around himself.

“I noticed your men have iron weapons,” Keth said. “I thought the Philistines prevented Israelites from learning the skill.”

“True,” replied Benaiah. “There isn’t a smith allowed in our lands. We have access to smiths because we live in a Philistine city. That’s why David chose Philistia to hide from Saul — he wanted to learn the craft of forging. We still haven’t mastered it, so we threaten to kill a blacksmith’s entire family and that persuades him to keep us armed. David welcomes men like you because his army cannot fight with bronze anymore, and we won’t be able to use the Philistines forever. One day we will have to fight them. Already have, a couple of times. King Achish overlooks it. Philistines bicker among themselves just like we do.”

“I know the forging process. It will be my honor to help however I am able. Although I still do not understand what his purposes are,” Keth said.

Benaiah thought about it a moment. Keth might be a spy. He weighed his words carefully. “He was told by a prophet that the throne of Israel would be his one day. King Saul didn’t see it that way, so men started showing up to join David while he was on the run.”

“On the run?” asked Keth.

“From Saul. He has spent years running from him. Pretended to be insane so that he could hide among the Philistines. He was the greatest soldier in the king’s army, but he was forced to live like a wilderness hermit. A lot of us heard about this and decided that he was our man. We could … understand him. Criminals on the run and all. But he had done nothing wrong. Unlike everyone else here.

“Many are here because they believe Yahweh is with him. Others are here for the money. Others for women. Some want to be in positions of power when David takes the throne,” he said, then looked at Joab again, who was pointing his finger at the table and arguing with Josheb.

“Yahweh is your god,” Keth said.

“He is. He has many names, like El Shaddai. Some are not allowed to be spoken. I have even heard David call him … well … ‘ab.’”

“El Shaddai. I like that. ‘Dwells among the mountains.’ There were beautiful mountains in my homeland. But isn’t
ab
what children call their father?”

“David says that Yahweh
is
our father.”

“And you? You are a follower of Yahweh?”

Benaiah hesitated. “Hebrew men are circumcised when they are born, as a sign that we are set apart to Yahweh for his use. But not all of us follow the Law of Yahweh as closely as David does. For many of us, like me, it is simply an old custom of our people.”

“Then why does David have men around him, men he trusts his life to, who do not even worship his god?”

Benaiah smiled. “That is one of many things that cannot be explained around here.”

Benaiah watched Joab rudely pointing directly into Josheb’s face, as though he were a stable boy to give orders to. He frowned.

Keth eyed a soldier in front of them thoughtfully. “There are rumors of a better forging process than simply hewing iron. Some races already possess better metals for their weapons.”

“Perhaps that is why you were welcomed here. Have you met David yet?”

Keth nodded. “Briefly, when I first came. I heard about his fight with Goliath of Gath, even where I am from. The storytellers sing of it.”

“I was not there, but I have spoken to some who were. Goliath had four brothers, did you know that?”

“I did not.”

“He ran out against Goliath with just a staff and a sling. Alone. Against what he thought would be five of them. He assaulted the giant and was ready for the brothers. The brothers must have thought better of it around the time David cut off the Philistine’s head and yelled his challenge to them, covered in their more powerful sibling’s blood.”

“How did he do it?” Keth asked.

Benaiah waited for some shouting in the tent to calm down again. He spoke hesitantly, remembering his encounter with the warrior in the woods. He also wondered again if Keth was a spy. But something urged him onward, to keep telling this man what he knew.

“He calls it ‘the covering.’ I think he is referring to Yahweh, or some type of power from Yahweh. He asks for it just before a battle. He told me once that he asks for it all day long, even when there is no war. He used to, anyway.”

“Used to?”

“I haven’t seen him do it in a while. We’ve been fighting continuously for almost a year, raiding up and down the frontier, and he hasn’t mentioned it. He is more brutal than even he used to be. He even lies to King Achish, our little Philistine overlord. Most of us wouldn’t have a problem lying to a Philistine, but normally David would have.”

“You mentioned raiding. Raiding against Philistia?”

I should not be telling this man everything, Benaiah thought. But then another voice responded,
Tell him.

Benaiah felt his neck prickle. He glanced around to see if someone had whispered in his ear. No one there.

“No. Mostly Amalekite country,” he said. “Also Moab and Ammon. I ran into a band of Amalekites several days ago. I think there might be a larger force of them moving into our lands, but they’re so scattered and disorganized that the more I think about it the more it is hard to believe that they could muster enough cooperation to do any real damage.