Day of War (14 page)

“Saul ordered the men to execute Jonathan,” Gareb continued at last. “I’d be fed to the vultures before I let that happen, and others felt the same way, so we all shouted to the king that he would have to execute all of us if he touched Jonathan. Yahweh’s anointed king or not, there would be blood before such a great warrior was put to death over something like that. He relented.

“That was only the beginning. Other things have happened through the years. The son of Jesse, David, was the main reason they fought.”

“Do you think David is a criminal?”

“He is a criminal. He leads a band of criminals.”

Gareb stopped. Eliam shifted in his seat. He did not want to push Gareb. He was learning much.

“Jonathan is loyal to his father and will die because of it one day. Probably soon. But his heart is with David and those criminals. I see it in him. He would leave this evening and join them if his father was not the king. I don’t know why.” Gareb noticed Eliam’s confused look. “They were relatives once. Saul gave his daughter to David as a wife after killing Goliath. I know you’ve heard
that
story.”

Eliam nodded.

Gareb continued. “Saul wanted David dead. Thought he was a threat to his throne. Which he is. He will have it one day. Even Jonathan, the heir, said so once. Said that Yahweh had determined that David would rule Israel.

“Jonathan and David are close because they fought many battles together. You’ll learn about what happens among men who fight together soon enough. No words for it. Not love. Far beyond that.

“But he doesn’t talk about David anymore. Doesn’t want us to mention it to him, but as I watch him, I know that his heart left his father’s tent a long time ago. His heart is in the desert with those criminals.” Gareb shook his head. “There was a time when I would have joined them also. But David could have returned to save our lands and never did. He ran from his responsibility. But much worse than that, he is with the Philistines now. Our scouts tell us that he was marching with them to battle against us.

“He is a brave fighter. But he is also a selfish and arrogant man who deserves nothing but the poison of an asp. Jonathan should have forgotten about him.” Gareb nodded and looked back at Eliam. “That is enough for now. You still need to learn this role.”

Without another word he began to walk again. Eliam leapt up and followed him, picking his way around the rocks, wondering what it all meant.

A dog chewed on the leg of a dead woman.

In the harsh sunlight of the field outside the city where the raiders had taken them, Sherizah watched as the dog snarled and pulled, trying to separate a piece of flesh from the leg. She watched numbly, impassively, trying not to care but still feeling revulsion. It was a Philistine woman who had died when the raid began, probably of fear since no soldier had killed her. Before the raid, she had been a foul and ill-tempered woman, frequently stirring up trouble at the well, always inciting people against the Hebrews.
She deserved it.

Sherizah squeezed her eyes shut. She would have been appalled at such a scene at any other time, but after the previous night’s terrors it was just another sight, just another horrible image that ran together with the previous one.

There was the image of her home being burned. And the sight of her friends, women she was close to, being pulled away by heathen men who said and did awful things.

The images flashed by, one and another, and there were screams, and there was no end of it, the images of last night running together with those of a time long ago, and there were her girls, lying in bloody heaps, defiled, and her hair kept slipping out of its tie, and it made her so angry so suddenly that she cursed, loudly, drawing faces toward her.

She lowered her eyes to the sand. The terrors and the death had found her once more, even in the place they had gone to escape them. The smells were everywhere, and the screams. Smoke rose over the walls of Ziklag in dark plumes. The distorted air made the sky look like a bed of coals. Their men were gone. The other wives tied up elsewhere. Nothing was left but the dog eating that poor woman’s body.
She really had been a wretched woman, though.

Sherizah shook her head and retied the hair over her neck. He always liked it that way. He was gone, though. In the north, away to war, where he always was. Out with the men, away from her and the memories she probably brought to him. She’d once heard that men used to stay with their wives a year after marrying. It was written in the Law. She’d never had the year with him. She did not even know him.

Blinking, she turned away from the dog and curled up on her side, deciding instead to watch the movements of the raiders. They did not behave like Amalekites usually did, running wild with lust and bloodthirsty violence. There were clear orders given by officers who maintained control. It was an army.

One of them, a large man with black markings covering his body, seemed to be in control. He stood nearby, watching it all. Sherizah lay in the sun, in a row of women, and watched the continuing destruction.

The Egyptian prodded a mound of gold coins and pieces of silver with his foot, then walked across the treasure room. This was more wealth than he had ever seen in one place, other than the palace that was Pharaoh’s future tomb. These Hebrews had been very good at their work.

He kicked a stack of gold coins over and watched it spill among the sand on the floor. Dust rose lazily and he wiped his eyes. The gold was good, as was the silver, but those things did not interest him like the iron. He ducked under the beam and waited for his eyes to adjust to the still-dark interior.

In the daylight now streaming through the doorway he could finally see what he’d missed last night. There were piles of it— scraps of discarded weapons and shards of wheel casings from chariots. Scrap iron covered an entire room of the storehouse. Much of it was rusting and no longer useful, but clearly someone had been trying to work it. There was a table in the corner with tools the Egyptian recognized as the tools used in forging. But the room was not an iron forge. There were no signs of a blacksmith shop. It was a mystery.

The Egyptian had been well educated in his homeland and was familiar with the working of metals. He even knew how to smith his own blades if necessary. But this was very odd. The Philistines had plenty of their own blacksmiths that the Hebrews could have used. Why the secrecy? His painted eyes searched the room in the stillness for any indication of purpose.

The Hebrew men living here fought with iron weapons, that much was obvious, and it was also clear that they had them serviced by local blacksmiths in the city. A room full of old and discarded metals, blacksmithing tools without a forge, all of it hidden away. The treasures of gold and silver were in full view, so why were worthless pieces of old iron hidden? With willing and able blacksmiths only blocks away?

It bothered him. Hebrews were an odd race, so unrefined and barbaric. They didn’t even use chariots. They were also one of the oldest enemies of his people and had once been slaves of the glorious Nile Kingdom. The pharaoh had not said so, but the Egyptian suspected his purpose in this country: Pharaoh wanted intelligence for an invasion to reclaim the Hebrews as slaves again.

He walked back outside. Was there some kind of sacrifice to their god in the iron? And why were there Hebrews in this city at all?

A soldier shouted, and Karak turned. Another round of captured females, this time Philistines. Karak had given his men strict orders not to harm any of them, especially the Hebrews. Hebrews were the most valuable slaves when trading because their women never lost spirit. Many foreign kings liked women in their harem with plenty of spirit.

When they made it back to Amalekite lands, the children would be sold, the women put in harems, the men sent to work in the fields, and Karak would be a wealthy man.

As he watched the huddled mass of Philistine women being lined up next to the Hebrews, he reflected on the night before. It had been an incredible, unprecedented success: No men had been lost and an entire Philistine city completely captured. All of the gold and valuables would be removed and the buildings burned. It was too perfect to be believed. And wine! Wine was rare among the Amalekites. The Philistines made marvelous wine. His army would not even be able to continue their campaign without first returning to their lands with the captured bounty.

There were enough captured wives to supply an army. The final count was two-hundred and thirty. Including the children, there were over four hundred captives. The weapons and plunder the
Egyptian had found were enough to convince Karak that the city’s men were raiders, and the only explanation was that the rumors of a warlord named David were true. David must have been living among these people, as they’d suspected; he may have been the governor himself and may have marched with his men to war in the north. That explained why a Philistine city was dominated and populated by Hebrews.

On the ground next to him was a Hebrew woman hiding her eyes. He searched for what she shied away from and saw the body of the older Philistine hag who had died in the street during the raid. Except for the Philistine woman, no one had been killed, difficult as it had been to prevent it.

He had heard that the heart can stop in fear. He had never seen it himself, until then. He had often feared that it would be his fortune for the gods to let him die in such a way — no honor or glory on a battlefield, just falling to the ground and dying before his enemies like the old Philistine woman.

He looked down at the Hebrew wife. She was attractive. He had examined all of them. Karak reached down and pulled her up by the hair.

The woman gasped and closed her eyes. Karak pulled her face close to his and smelled her. He waited for her to open her eyes, but she kept them closed. Most women he captured begged and pleaded with him.

He ran his hand up her chest. Then he held her throat. “Where are the wives of the ruler of this city?” he asked. She did not respond.

Karak ran his hand over her body again. He would enjoy her one night soon, when it was her turn. Destroying Hebrews and burning their cities and having their women. He was a happy man.

Karak threw her down and walked away, searching for the Egyptian.

She is weeping. Yahweh has allowed this. Why? I feel the sorrow, but there are no tears in my eyes. It burns, though, burns—and I feel very tired. There is no escape from this sorrow.

Sherizah stumbles blindly into my chest, I place my hands in her hair, press my face against her head. Both of them gone. Amalekites have done this.

Amalekites.

I yell then, I push her away, I find the club …

In the town, the first Amalekite dies loudly, screaming, his throat filling up with blood. I grab his jaw and break it, then club him again. A warrior rushes toward me, and I strike him too, feeling anger and hate and power. I fight more of them, one after another, two or more at a time. Many are dead and I have killed them, and I want to kill more of them. I see an Amalekite child, and strike him down. He would have become one of them one day, and Yahweh desires them dead—not that I kill them for that reason. Yahweh has left me; he is gone. I will kill them anyway. I will kill so many of them that the desert will fill with
black blood, and the vultures will greet me, knowing that I bring them more dead Amalekites.

A man surrenders to me, dropping his weapon, pleading for his life. I strike his face, crushing his head. And then I move on to the next with a roar of anger, a wail of grief, and I swing my club …

Benaiah rested, staring at the ground. Three days into the march, and still nothing. No word, no fresh rumors of Ziklag.

And still no bodyguard. He had been drawing up plans for formations and experimenting with the old methods. Guarding a man on a battlefield was difficult enough, but when that man desired to be fighting himself, it became impossible. Benaiah had to throw out much of what was taught regarding bodyguards. Kings and nobility, under normal circumstances, rarely sweated on the front lines. While serving in Egypt, Benaiah had never seen the pharaoh so much as mount a chariot to ride to battle — the reason his sons were plotting against him. David was different.

The foreigners Benaiah had selected for the bodyguard were good fighters, but he could not shake the suspicion that they would prove untrustworthy. They might be assassins sent by rival kingdoms — or worse, sent by Saul. He had no way of knowing who was loyal.

Word flew through the ranks that an elite guard was being formed, and as had undoubtedly been the case since the dawn of warfare, men sought to compete with one another for a spot in it. Men who had been with David for a year or more had been selected first, since they had already demonstrated their loyalty in combat.

For their service, Benaiah had proposed that David’s bodyguards receive a tremendous wage, more than, to Benaiah’s knowledge, any mercenary had ever made. This was to drive the men to compete with each other for positions and enable them to resist the temptation
of being wooed away to a higher bidder. When Benaiah had presented this plan to David, he had heartily agreed. Of all the things David held dear, Benaiah had noticed, money did not seem to be among them. And David was an exceedingly wealthy man after all the raiding—even though he had sent most of the plunder to the villages of southern Judah, there was a storehouse in Ziklag full to the ceiling with treasure.

Benaiah decided that he would worry about it no more until they reached home, only a few days of marching away. The men were anxious to
charge
toward the city as quickly as possible and told their officers so. But David wanted them to rest and eat. There might be fighting soon. This was wise, Benaiah knew, but he was running out of ways to take his mind off Sherizah.

It was the middle of the day. The sun had finally begun to feel hot as they marched, and winter clothing had been abandoned for lighter, cooler garments. Now men were stripping to their bare chests. Those not worried about their families compared muscles and argued over who was better endowed.

Benaiah, kneeling, looked up at Eleazar, studying the hills on their left. Someone shouted, and all of the men rose and prepared to move. Benaiah strapped his gear back on and waited as Eleazar did the same. The two of them looked around for someone to walk with. They led no companies or squads, so they tended to wander freely among the columns of men. They saw Keth at the front of the Hittites and made their way toward him. Josheb and Shammah appeared as well.

“Where is Joab?” asked Benaiah.

“With his brother Abishai,” replied Josheb.

“Did you not hear? He finally gave up his independence and stitched himself into David’s tunic,” said Shammah.

The humor was so unexpected that the entire group of them halted and stared at Shammah, who looked back at them awkwardly.

Wide-eyed, Josheb said, “It cannot be. Not Shammah.”

Shammah scratched his face and looked at the ground.

Eleazar said, “That was actually funny. Tell more jokes like that and you will finally get a woman.”

“You do not have a woman, Shammah? No wife or slave girl?” Keth asked.

Josheb chuckled. “Shammah has killed entire troops of men with only his hands but bumbles all over himself when a beautiful woman walks nearby. We can’t even get him to talk to them. I offered him my sister just to put him out of his misery, and he still refused.”

“Because your sister looks like you,” said Eleazar.

“One day the right one will come. Yahweh will guide me to her,” said Shammah.

“Just don’t be guided to the camels; you look desperate enough to make love to them if left alone,” Josheb replied.

They roared at that one, and despite his best efforts, Shammah could not disguise his own smile.

“I’m still not convinced that an Amalekite army is waiting for us, Benaiah,” said Eleazar.

“I’m not either. But I fought ten, and one of them said there was. How large a force would they need? Every Philistine king marched north with that army. There won’t be a man in the south to stand between them and all they want to take.”

They resumed their march in thoughtful silence. They had gradually made their way to the front of the ranks, alongside David, who had been marching alone. He was the only man among them who spent most his time alone, and each of them wanted to provide him company.

David looked up from the road and smiled. “Hope you are all ready for whatever we find.”

The other men nodded.

“Where is Joab?” asked Josheb.

“I sent him to the rear.”

“Sir, if I may ask …,” said Keth.

David nodded.

“Could you explain your relationship with your deputy Joab? So that I am fully aware of the line of command.”

“Of course. Joab, as you probably heard from the men, is my nephew and reports to me. He and Abishai, his brother, ensure that my orders to the line units are carried out. You all,” David gestured to the others in the group, “will be independent from him. All of you report directly to me, as Joab does.”

David adjusted his pack. Benaiah loved him for carrying his pack like the others. No special treatment.

“Keth, you will eventually command the armorers, so your role will be slightly different because I don’t want the armorers engaged in battle. It defeats the whole purpose of trying to get iron workers if all of you fall on the battlefield. But if your reputation is accurate, you will inspire the Hittite men who will not be able to win glory in the field,” said David.

Keth did not answer. Benaiah wondered why he did not complain, having just been told that he would have to stay in the back with the gear when the fighting started. No honor could be won while defending baggage.

“Sir, what will we do if there is trouble in Ziklag?” asked Shammah.

“We do not yet know if there is trouble. If there is, I will choose a course of action when the time comes.”