Day of War (26 page)

You train my arms for war. By you I can run upon a troop. By you I can pass through the valley of the shadow.

Joab’s line was ahead to the left, still fighting their way forward but far too slowly. The command tent should have been taken already, but David could not see what was stopping them, and he could not find Joab.

Then he spotted him. Joab was circling an Amalekite warrior, and even though he could not see him clearly, David felt a tug of
apprehension in his spirit. The fire raged in his heart. Danger? Warning?

He slowed to a trot to make sense of it. The fire roared so heavily that he was forced to stop. His ears rang, and his skin crawled with restrained power waiting to be loosed.

He felt his body pulled between two forces that wanted to burn him or push him forward. There was no pain, only the sensation of desperate struggle within him as he watched the Amalekite fighter circling with Joab. Then the heat spoke to him as it always did, and he closed his eyes and felt it, and knew what to do.

He gathered himself, afraid but ready.
You promised victory, now let me claim it, God of my fathers, and do not let the adversary prevail.

Joab, clearly distraught now, tripped over a bundle of pelts hidden in the dark and thudded to the ground. David hurled the smaller sword through the night toward the enemy warrior, who saw it coming and blocked it with a shield.

David leaped over Joab, dodged the warrior’s first attack, and swung the sword of the Philistine giant toward the man’s side. The fighter saw it just in time to roll away, and the great sword struck the dirt. David yanked it back and took several quick steps away from the fighter.

The man was illuminated clearly now. This was no Amalekite soldier he was battling. He had seen these figures before.

Joab had regained his feet and charged into battle alongside him, but David held up his hand and shouted, “Go to your men. You will die if you remain here!”

Joab started to protest, but David turned on him, anger flashing, “Get back to your men!”

Joab left.

The fighter charged, and David dodged low and away. He stuck his leg out, missed the trip, then had to pull it back as the other man swung down a weapon with straps that he had pulled from out
of nowhere. It kicked up dust as it missed and struck the ground. David saw metal shards attached to the leather straps, and the thought of them ripping his flesh open made him blanch.

The fighter began to set his feet for another strike, but David leapt toward him, caught him off balance, and the two of them fell together. David hit him on the mouth with the hilt of his sword, then pulled the leather weapon out of the warrior’s grip. He pushed himself off the man and rolled. David tossed the leather straps into the darkness.

But then the warrior was on him, attacking relentlessly, too fast to be controlled. David felt sudden desperation. The man moved too fast, was not tiring, and David felt the heaviness of Goliath’s sword suddenly return—it felt like it weighed as much as a yoke. His wrists burned.

The warrior slowed the assault for a moment, and David caught the man’s leg and tripped him, then spun away to get some distance.

“Adversary,” David said, “Yahweh has declared this day as holy for victory. In his name, be gone!”

The fighter crawled back to his feet and stood silently for a moment, watching David, blood smearing his face, which showed no expression. David held Goliath’s sword at eye level, strength returning and warming his wrists. He stared hard at the man’s eyes. The warrior rubbed his hand across his beard and wiped the blood off on his armor.

David shook his head quickly to fling the sweat from his brow. His eyes were blurry from the wind swirling from the escarpment above. “Adversary, in the name of Yahweh and by his great power, be gone!” David’s free hand fell to his waist and he pulled out the sling. He held the cords between his fingers and let the pouch drop next to his knees. David saw his enemy’s eyes glance at the sling. David had not intended to use his old shepherd’s weapon this night. It was too dark and the combat was too close. But it had
the desired effect.
So that none will ever forget that the battle is the Lord’s.

The fighter tipped his head slightly, as if acknowledging him, then walked away into the darkness.

David lowered his sword and took several deep breaths to steady his nerves.
You train my arms for war, you train my arms for war, bless you for your covering. Thank you for testing me. Forgive me for leaving your council fires.

He prayed quickly and with urgency. Whatever came into his head, he gave thanks for. He stood a moment to breathe, then sprinted forward, tucking the sling back into his waist and keeping out the blade of the giant he had slain in his youth.

Benaiah watched the dimly lit blanket of the Amalekite command tent begin to waver. Joab’s men had begun to slash at the ropes holding it up. The firelight was failing, since the fires were no longer being stoked, and it was difficult to see, but Benaiah could tell that Joab’s men had surged forward again, so whatever David had done had worked. The two companies on the flank were annihilating the drunken raiders. Any who tried to surrender were butchered.

The clanging and clamoring increased. There were shouts, and then the dark shadow of the command tent collapsed in a terrific burst of dust and fragments of animal hide. Joab’s men had finally formed a line.

He bellowed aloud and jumped to his feet. The men echoed him, and surrounded by the sound of battle, they charged down the hill. Benaiah choked away the fear and ignored Sheol, because his turn had come and the men would be counting on him. There was nothing left to do this night but kill Amalekites.

It was the only thing he did well.

Joab cut the final length of rope holding the tent up and darted out of the way as it collapsed in a great, heaving pile of animal hide. The smoke increased as the fires caught hold of the material. There were more shouts, and the sound of men coughing while dying, but the only ones dying were Amalekites. He had not lost a man yet, a development so shocking that he had yelled at the officer who reported it to him. But a check of the squads revealed that it was true. To have lost not a single man? Was Yahweh present after all?

Abishai rushed up. “Where have you been? What took so long?”

“Never mind. Keep the perimeter formed and wait for the second strike.”

He ignored Abishai’s confused look and stepped over the tent ropes toward the circle of captive women and children. In the firelight, he recognized Abigail sitting at the front of the group.

Relief washed across her face when she saw him. “Joab! Where is my lord David?”

“He attacks behind us. Is everyone here?”

“No,” she replied, looking around. “Deborah, Rizpah, and Sherizah were taken when the assault began. By a huge man, not an Amalekite.”

Joab swore. He walked past her and grabbed another soldier eyeing the group, probably searching for his own family. “Hold this line. Go nowhere until the orders come.”

The man nodded absently, eyes still searching the huddled women. Joab kept walking, then began to trot, anxious. When he reached the other side of the group, he had a clear view beyond the smoldering ruins of the tent.

The line formed by his and Abishai’s men was tight, and despite his delay earlier, things had gone exactly according to plan. Both companies were wound in a circle. Each man had ignored the urge to wade through the crowd of captives to find his own; instead, they readied themselves by facing the battle.

Joab looked toward the shadowy hills and forest from which they’d come. He heard the commotion of Benaiah’s flank attack but still could not see it. The Amalekite soldiers had abandoned all discipline and were actually running away. He smiled.

Out of the darkness behind him walked David, Goliath’s broadsword drawn. Joab watched him stride past the group of women and nod at his wives Abigail and Ahinoam.

Remarkable discipline. He told the men not to go to them, and neither does he.

“Joab, hold this line until Benaiah gets here. When he arrives, take your company and leave Abishai and the rest of the men to guard the women. He won’t like it, but make sure he does it.”

“What about the Philistine captives?”

“Guard them too. Everyone returns with us.”

David turned and disappeared into the night before Joab could speak again. He wiped a finger over his eye; sweat and grime were seeping in and burning.

Who was that warrior from before?

Not now. The line.

He looked in the direction of Benaiah’s attack.

Shammah checked his arrows once more. The arrowheads were solid iron. They would penetrate light armor with great effectiveness. The first of the Amalekites, seeing that their command tent had fallen and deciding to make a hasty departure, were now approaching the Three, and Shammah’s bow was poised and ready. The sheep’s-gut cord was rough on his calloused fingertips as he touched it, notched the first arrow, and waited for a target to materialize out of the black expanse of the field.

Only what is necessary and nothing more. Yahweh, God of my fathers, only what is necessary and nothing more.
“Pray day and night to your God,” his father had told him.
Offer praise to our God and arrows to our enemies.

Josheb and Eleazar both jumped as a man appeared next to them — a fleeing Amalekite, drunk and terrified. In one practiced motion, Shammah acquired his target, drew the bowstring, and released. The arrow buried itself in the man’s chest. He fell to his side, confused, knowing that something had struck him but unsure what or how. Josheb vaulted over the boulders and finished him off before he could react further.

The three of them leaped to their feet and began to charge forward through the darkness. Black figures of fleeing men were highlighted now against the fiery glow of the encampment, so Shammah, on the run, fired his next arrow at the closest one. As soon as it left, he jerked another out of his quiver and heard the twang as it snapped free.

Another arrow, another target, then another. Josheb and Eleazar
kept pace with him, waiting to get closer to the enemy before using their weapons. Shammah loosed arrow after arrow until the quiver was empty. He was the only man in David’s army who could shoot accurately while running.

“Close up!” Josheb shouted. The three had fought together so many times that they operated by instinct. Hundreds of enemy soldiers were moving toward them now, probably thinking that they could salvage something from the defeat by killing these isolated warriors.

Shammah let Josheb slip in front and to the left of him while Eleazar covered their left flank—a perfect wedge, with Shammah taking the right flank. They would burst through the line of charging soldiers and separate, with each drawing enemies toward himself. For the crash through the line, they would need heavier weapons, like —

“Weapon change! Pikes!” Josheb shouted.

Shammah tossed aside his bow and pulled the pike shafts from the leather quiver on his back. The Three did not use armor bearers because none could keep up with them. Shammah was the biggest of them, and his style of the
abir
was built on strength, so he carried the extra weapons for the group.

Shammah tossed a pike across to Eleazar and handed one to Josheb. Then he held the tip of his own out as he ran through the night, approaching the fleeing soldiers bearing down on them, and he thought of his father’s words.
Strength, courage, honor; love those things, my son. Walk humbly.

The wood was cold in his grip. The enemy was close.

Only what is necessary and nothing more.

The thunderous sound of two hundred more angry warriors racing across the camp split the night air. Benaiah’s men smashed into the remnants of the Amalekite perimeter like a herd of hungry predators,
desperate for vengeance, cutting down soldier after terrified soldier like so many stalks of wheat.

For a moment, the foreign army looked as though it might make a stand. The Amalekite soldiers to Benaiah’s right had not been drinking, and most seemed able to find their arms. But their resistance didn’t last long—under the murderous hate of David’s army, every Amalekite abandoned his position and fled.

The enemies stumbled and blundered over cookware and packs. Livestock bleated. A few men lashed out at their attackers in their blind fear and killed each other instead. Those too drunk to understand what was happening swung their swords at any shape. Smoke was so thick that many Amalekites thought they were fighting shadowy phantoms from the netherworld. The war cries of the attackers were in coordinated and perfect unison, as David had trained them, giving the impression of a vast force of many thousands of possessed souls.

Benaiah’s men surged forward until they came to the collapsed war tent Joab’s men had surrounded. David’s army was now concentrated in the middle of the camp. The captains met in the center, next to the elated families. To the amazement of them all, not a man had been lost yet.

Benaiah and Joab, panting, bloody, knelt next to a dying fire and began to reform the attack. Benaiah had not expected such resounding success. Even so, the fragments of the shattered Amalekite force had been pushed and channeled into the canyon where the Three held position. Brushing the ground at his feet clear, he hastily set up several sticks and pebbles, representing the positions of all the forces as well as he could, with Joab’s assistance. Joab’s replies to Benaiah’s questions were terse, and Benaiah sensed that something was wrong. But this was not the time for it. When Joab answered too vaguely on the number of men attached to the north flank, Benaiah yelled at him to focus.

In a sudden rage, Joab punched him in the face.

Stunned, Benaiah could only stare dumbly. Enraged, before he could stop himself, Benaiah kicked Joab’s knee with such force that Joab fell.

Benaiah tried to hold himself back, but the kick had felt so good he wanted to kick Joab again, to bury his foot into Joab’s throat. He wanted blood—wanted it so badly that he didn’t care about the shrieking women and children watching them fight. He only wanted to pummel this arrogant man until his face poured blood.

The two of them scuffled like rabid dogs, without strategy or effectiveness, fueled only by hatred for the other. After several violent seconds, a powerful arm grabbed Benaiah’s tunic and jerked him away from Joab.

Joab, embarrassed for the second time that night, glared at Benaiah with such loathing that Benaiah almost shook off the hand restraining him and attacked again.

“Stop this now! Control yourselves! You’re behaving like children!” It was David’s voice, and David’s hand that held him, no doubt concerned that Benaiah might kill his nephew. “Son of Jehoiada, I order you to control yourself!”

Benaiah felt his control returning. Battle lust made a man do foolish things, made him kill and rape without knowing what he was doing. But Benaiah had been trained to resist it, and now he had failed to do so. He thought of Sherizah and how close she must have been. Had she seen the fight? He wanted to see her so desperately that he cursed discipline and order.

David, still holding tightly to Benaiah’s waist, spoke urgently into his ear: “Benaiah, come with me.”

Benaiah let David lead him a short distance away, near a pile of enemy dead to which the men were dragging corpses.

“Your wife is not among the captives. Abigail said she and two others, Deborah and Rizpah, were taken.”

Benaiah blinked. Sherizah gone. Yahweh had taken her from him once more.

“We need to press the attack here through the night, but you may take Eleazar and Josheb and find the women,” David said.

“What about your bodyguard?”

“Yahweh protects me this night.”

Benaiah wanted to add something about Yahweh and his protection but resisted the urge. “Did the women see who took them?”

“A large man. Said he had light skin and looked like an Egyptian. Said he was a cubit taller than any of us and carried a spear larger than a weaver’s beam.”

Benaiah held his breath. A large man. An Egyptian. He saw hot sand and the sea, dark visions of a massive warrior, the pharaoh’s cold stare, maidservants mocking him. It could not be the same man. “Women exaggerate.”

“It was Abigail. I believe her.”

He held up his war club, covered in the blackened blood of the first assault. David eyed it a moment. “Remember the covering,” David said.

“Yahweh has left me! I don’t want him or his covering! What god allows a man’s family to suffer and his children to die?” The words had poured out of him, and Benaiah was surprised at the depth of anguish in his voice. The group near them had gone quiet. A piece of burning wood nearby snapped, sending a shower of sparks up.

Benaiah regretted his words immediately. This was not the time to shout and moan like a woman, not when a battle was raging and his wife needed to be rescued.
Hurry up, you fool! They are getting away! Why aren’t you moving?
He ordered himself to move, but his legs felt like bronze weights. He stared at the ground.

David was still beside him. “I did not know of your suffering, my friend, but I know that Yahweh is for you and not against you,” he said.

“You are very sure of that? Even after everything?”

“Even after everything.”

Benaiah took several slow breaths. “I fear that Yahweh will never come to me again for what I have done. I did not —”

“I know, brother. I have not always walked with Yahweh either. I have left his council for my own paths and live with that every day. I want to blame myself for all of this,” he gestured toward the captives, “but I know that is not what he wants. He only wants me to return to him. Stay focused, Benaiah. You will get her back. Yahweh has promised it, but you need to hurry. Men who waste time lose everything dear to them.”

Benaiah started to speak, but his voice caught and refused to leave his throat. Both men stared at the rocks at their feet, listening to the sounds of the battle around them, knowing they needed to keep moving but taking this moment.

David raised his hand and put his palm gently on Benaiah’s forehead. In a soft voice, he prayed for Benaiah to accomplish his mission. He prayed for covering in the day of war.

When he was done, they embraced. David stood with him patiently. Benaiah’s muscles pulsed now with raw energy. He took a long breath, tasted the smoke on his tongue, washed it with water from the pouch — and then ran. He took great strides past the freed captives, the mercenaries, the celebrating families. The other men were allowed a moment to find their loved ones in the group. Tears, laughter, screams of joy and delight, fathers tackling children, hardened warriors unashamed of their relief and their tears. He looked at the children, laughing and jumping, and imagined seeing his daughters among them as he ran past.
Not there, Benaiah. Neither is Sherizah. Even if I get her back, she will never come to me again.

One of the men had swept a little girl into the air and kissed her face, causing the girl to shy away from the fearsome and bloody warrior she did not recognize as her own father. The man kept kissing
her and clutching her hair and the little girl shrieked in fear, but the man did not care. He kissed her through his blood-soaked beard and held her with powerful arms. A woman stood next to him clutching his waist, as if she wanted him to do the same with her.

They were behaving like fools, and it was the most beautiful thing Benaiah had ever seen. He turned and raced toward the gaping canyon rising in the night ahead of him, thinking of his wife’s beautiful dark hair.

The battle had slowed because the Amalekites were in full flight. David and his men would pursue the Amalekites throughout the night, and most of the men, no longer needed in the fight, were now preparing. Provisions were passed out and water bags were filled. Benaiah passed a soldier, nearly hidden in the dense smoke, shouting orders in a foreign tongue and carrying an armload of weapons. It was Keth, performing the task that would receive no glory but was indispensable.